The Rocket Mortgage Classic, bless its heart, seems to be going out with a bang. Or maybe a whimper, depending on how you feel about its impending demise. This year’s lineup, stuffed with ten Major champs and a staggering twenty-one guys from the Top 50, is frankly ridiculous. It's like the tournament knew it was getting the boot and decided to throw one last, ridiculously over-the-top party, inviting all its most successful buddies for a final, glittering hurrah before it shuffles off this mortal coil. I’m picturing it as golf’s grand finale, a dazzling opera before the house lights come up for good.
Naturally, with all these big names milling about, we can expect the usual brand of golf drama. The lucky ducks who snagged a spot on this roster will, I’m sure, churn out the kind of nail-biting action that keeps us – well, the ones who haven't yet traded their golf obsession for competitive napping – glued to the tube. This field promises the sort of exquisite tension usually reserved for arguments about whether socks should be worn with sandals, but with way more hazards and a lot less intellectual rigor in the post-round pressers.