Herb Wind's Spinning: The New Yorker On The 2015 Masters

Note to New Yorker editor David Remnick: we subscribers know you hate golf, so just don't try to fake it once a year? Please?

Because in a sad state of affairs, the still-fine magazine that was once home to Herbert Warren Wind now rarely acknowledges its golf heritage. When it does, they roll out this hilarious attempt to sound like Wind. Only minus the knowledge-of-golf component.

John Cassidy opens with the lede of the week...

There’s an old saying that goes, “The Masters doesn’t really begin until the leaders start out on the back nine on Sunday afternoon.” This year, that was where the tournament more or less ended.

Oh come on Dan, I know you hijacked this man's laptop.

When Jordan Spieth holed out from just off the green, to the left of the tenth hole, he moved six shots ahead of Justin Rose and Phil Mickelson. For a player of Spieth’s quality and steadiness, half a dozen shots is a huge lead, and despite the best efforts of the television commentators to insist that it wasn’t over, we all knew it was.

We did?

After dropping a "preternatural calm" mention, there was this epic:

Golf of the very highest order, which is what Spieth played for much of the tournament, is impressive rather than exciting to watch. The ball proceeds from the tee box to the fairway to the green to the hole without much interaction with the bunkers, trees, or other hazards that interfere with the progress of ordinary players. It is tempting to say that the game is made to look easy, but anybody who’s ever tried swinging a club knows that this is an illusion.

Oy vey.