Before we went out, I knew I had no chance.

I just got beat.

You’re trying to survive. It’s desperation… It’s sadistic. In a way it’s fun, if you’re into that shit.

I’m going to get on the airplane and have a couple of beers now.

You’re actually fucking yourself.

You’ve got to be ready for it. And it’s happening more often. I never knew about it, never thought about it, until it’s in your lap.

Last year’s Open probably took a month to get over that.

The timing is unfortunate.

There was a clause in my contract where I could get out, and I’m getting out.

It’s a bit crazy.

I knew we were all in trouble.

We don’t have much of a chance.

I was thinking of taking out a little frustration.

I’ve never seen that happen.

I get all kinds of people telling me I have the best swing in the world—it’s beautiful, it’s effortless. But I know when that isn’t true.

What the hell are you doing up?