Are tears more meaningful when they drip from the eyes of the supremely accomplished?
Watched a lot of The Masters. More so than ever before in my life. And dug it.
Watching golf brings me peace. The beauty of the surroundings, the birds chirping happily because they have free seats, the sun, the warmth, the summer clothes - it soothes me.
Watched a whole hell of a lot of the NCAA Tournament as well, which signaled another change in me.
Everything is symbolic with me, and somehow, putting in the effort to enjoy these two events feels like positivity to me. Feels like change. And I ache for change in 2017, more so than ever before. Between cancer and a disappointing run at retirement, 2016 felt like failure to me when it should have been a year of supremacy.
Doing different things, and doing things differently are the key to smashing stasis and allowing me to fly like the majestic eagle that I am.
Christ, I love words.
One thing I keep falling down on is The Bruins. Every year I tell Keith "Gonna watch a whole shitload of Bruins this year." Every year I don't.
And Keith says "Jesus Christ, Dad, you are such a wimp, such a loser. Don't you ever get tired of getting distracted by shiny objects?"
I love hockey. Fucking love it. It shares so many characteristics with football that it is a natural for me. But for some reason I cannot develop a Bruins routine. However, they are in the playoffs - I will watch them religiously.
I can hear Keith laughing in the background.
But I digress.
The Masters opened with a tribute to Arnold Palmer. They brought out his Masters jacket and draped it over a chair. Some golf administrator said some words and then - Jack Nicklaus and Gary Player stepped up to each hit symbolic T-shots. They hugged each other; both had tears in their eyes - they were visibly shaken and deeply emotional.
It really got to me.
Is death even more meaningful when you have had a hugely successful life?
Those three guys are giants in their sport. They have lived lives to be proud of; defined by success and achievement. Lives most of us can only dream of.
They are members of an exclusive club. Not just in the golf world, but in life in general: People who made the most of their time here on earth.
Us wee folk waddle through life with our heads down, mostly surviving it (up to a point) rather than enjoying it. Not enough money, not enough fun, not enough freedom, not enough dignity.
We don't think about death a lot and suddenly there it is - bam, you are gone.
And still, the ones left behind grieve - they feel pain, fear and confusion.
I don't know if the tears of Jack Nicklaus and Gary Player got to me (and it really got to me) because of who they are. I don't know if their grief hit me harder because of what they have achieved, what they have done with their lives, and what Arnold Palmer accomplished in his lifetime.
Maybe their tears got to me because it made them human. Death as the ultimate equalizer.
I don't have an answer for this.
I do know that the tribute to Arnold Palmer got to me more than it should have- I am not a lifelong follower of golf.
Death as equalizer; death as the ultimate irony of a life well lived.
Too deep for me, baby.