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?