So, Paul Casey had it. The European Masters was practically nestled in his golf glove. Then, his putter got cold. Like, "forgot to defrost the chicken" cold.
He missed a putt to win. In regulation. Then he missed four more in the playoff. Four. Inside 20 feet. We’ve all been there, haven’t we? Staring at a ghost of a putt, wondering if the club suddenly weighs as much as a small child.
Lawrence, meanwhile, was just playing golf. He shot a 62. Came from six shots back. Didn't even break a sweat, I bet. He just chipped away while Casey was busy torturing himself with every missed opportunity.
It’s always the same story in this ridiculous game. Someone’s got it, then they absolutely don’t. Golf giveth, and golf taketh away. Mostly taketh, if I'm being brutally honest.
Lawrence birdied the fourth playoff hole. Casey did not. Game over. Lawrence gets to hoist the trophy again, tying some old record. Casey gets to replay those four putts in his head. For a long time.
He really should have won. He absolutely had it. Then the putter decided to retire mid-round. Just packed its bags and left.
Some days the golf gods smile. Other days, they apparently enjoy watching you miss 10-footers on repeat. It's a beautiful, brutal sport.