First of all, I have no idea how Barbaro is doing. If you're looking for an update, allow me to refer you to one of the following websites: www.itsonlyahorse.com or www.seriously-itsjustafreakinhorse.com. Keep me posted.
Speaking of coming unglued, Michelle Wie Barbaroed at the John Deere last week. Pulled up lame halfway through the second round. Her prognosis is slightly more optimistic. Just a little heat exhaustion. Yet Wie's appearances in men's tournaments have become almost as uncomfortable to watch as those Burger King commercials with the midget from Seinfeld. (I was wondering if "midget" was an acceptable term before realizing no moniker seems offensive in light of a spot showing a team of little people building hamburgers. Apparently, John Rocker has landed a gig writing ad copy on Madison Avenue. Hopefully, he gets to take the No. 7 train in each morning.)
Wie, of course, always makes for good copy. But having missed the cut at the old Quad Cities in consecutive years with a sponsor's exemption, the question now is whether or not the next letter Wie gets from the John Deere will be a Dear John. Tournament officials are no doubt thrilled to make SportsCenter every night, but they couldn't have been happy watching that scenario unfold last Friday afternoon when Wie was carted off the course in agony. It looked disturbingly more like a violation of child labor laws than a professional WD'ing from a tournament. At any moment, you half expected someone to trot out a calliope and the bearded lady.
It was so discomfiting that I found myself rethinking my position on Wie's unique standing in the world of golf. I've been in the dwindling minority among the game's cognoscenti which believes she doesn't need to "learn to win" by beating up on other 16-year-olds and that she might as well take her lumps now and get paid for it. But that scene last Friday afternoon didn't look like the Wie I've covered since 2002 when at age 12 she became the youngest to ever qualify for an LPGA event.
Back then and in the years since, Wie's been all pig tails and poofy earrings and shopping and social studies, all of which belied a game never before seen in someone that age, male or female. Way back in 2003, one LPGA player told me there wasn't anyone in the field that week (and Annika was in the field) who wouldn't swap swings with Wie on the spot.
When I broadcast a Canadian Tour event Wie played as a 13-year-old in August 2003, there was a lilt in her voice that I don't hear anymore. Back then, she was talking about someday getting a driver's license and maybe going to Stanford and helping bring about world peace and curing cancer and -- oh, yeah! -- "I want to win The Masters!"
Friday, she looked instead like, well, a professional. Which, of course, is what she is now. And, by the looks of things, a weary one, both mentally and physically. The schoolgirl silliness is seemingly absent, replaced by the steely stare of someone who's getting paid for this. Couple of weeks ago at the HSBC Women's World Match Play (which, as the name suggests, was played here in this world), Wie was mum most of the way around the course in the four matches she played before bowing out in the quarters to eventual champion Brittany Lincicome. Now there's nothing wrong with not chatting up the player you're trying to clobber, but it's a bit of a departure from the giggly girl we've watched grow up the last few years. The amateur status is gone and so, perhaps, is a bit of the innocence.
By turning pro late last year, Wie also turned herself into a public figure and, thus, fair game for all manner of criticism. You can't let her cash runner-up money each week and keep saying, "Well, she's only 16." "Only 16" is fine if she's mixing in a tournament here and there between amateur events. But it's a different ball game. She's a pro now.
It's like Dippin' Dots. They were really cool and exciting when I was in high school. "Ice Cream of the Future!" Except they've been saying that now for 20 years, and everyone's still eating ice cream out of a cup, cone, or container of some sort. While most of her peers would love a bite of what Wie's having -- no worse than fifth in five LPGA events this year -- she didn't turn pro just so she could have seconds or thirds, no matter how lip-smacking good that sounds to her accountant.
Wie wants to win, which is good because we want Wie to win, too. Or make a cut in a men's event. Anything to bring back the giggle and shield us from more looks like last week when it appeared she'd rather be anywhere but a golf course. Like maybe the mall with her friends, eating ice cream.
I'd still take Michelle Wie's future over Dippin' Dots. And besides, things can change in a hurry. I actually saw another brand of little ice cream pellets at the movies the other night. (By the way, you'll notice that the only couples watching Pirates of the Caribbean are the ones who've been together since no later than the Reagan Administration. What other guy in his right mind would pay good money for his beloved to stare at Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom for two and a half hours? On the scale of comparative hotness, I fell somewhere between the dude whose eye kept popping out and the guy with octopus face.)
Maybe the future is now. Maybe Wie wins the LPGA's annual slumber party, the Evian Masters, in a couple of weeks or the Women's British Open the week after that. Maybe she makes the cut at the 84 Lumber on the PGA Tour in September. She certainly has the talent.
But until then, I'm afraid she may continue to feel like a one-trick pony, saddled as a well-compensated side show, unhappily grazing in the green pastures of professional golf. Personally, I'm ready to see that horse of a different color again.
Grant Boone is a husband, father, golf broadcaster, and sports journalist based in Abilene, Texas. He can be contacted at grant@greatcities.org.
The views and opinions expressed here do not reflect those of PGA.com or The PGA of America.
