Why I'm uncomfortable with Easter sport extravaganza

By Malcolm Knox
Updated April 15 2017 - 10:03pm, first published 12:22am

So here was your flint-eyed columnist on Monday morning, still festering in his dressing gown like Michael Douglas' Professor Grady Tripp in Wonder Boys, tears rolling down his cheeks as Sergio Garcia sank that putt that let the plug out of 19 years of frustration. Garcia's joy could melt the meanest heart. To empathise with his transcendent ecstasy had the quality of a religious epiphany. And omigod, on Seve Ballesteros' 60th birthday too, just as a sunbeam broke through the clouds, don't set me off again.

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