A little different take on the British Open...

The golf world was stunned and pleasantly surprised this week by the performance of 53 year-old Greg Norman, a former world number one who essentially abandoned the game a half-dozen years ago.

Many were cheering for the old guy, who, like your local blogger, looks far younger than his age. (Yes I do, dang it!)

No one cheered more than little Chrissie Evert, Norman’s new squeeze. She followed him around like a school girl, held his hand walking through the parking lot, and otherwise quietly stayed in the background, admiring her new man.

Seems like storybook love, doesn’t it? Aging, rich, blond, buff golfer weds giggling tennis star. A trophy wife for the rich guy…happens all the time. Listening to the interviews and the media, it was all so perfect. Good ‘ol Greg, happy in life, happy on the course, content with his new giggly bride.

But the media often ignored some cold hard facts.

One, for close to 20 years, Greg was best friends with Chrissie’s former husband. Chrissie was best friends with Norman’s dowdy wife. That means that dumping his dowdy wife cost Greg a cool $103 million, and Chrissie dumping Andy Mill cost her a cool $11 million. Now, I do not know how rich they are, but $114 million had to hurt. Even if he’s a billionaire (not likely) that’s 10 percent of his wealth.

Two, he spent that $103 mil to acquire not a giggly, single, young, hot, gorgeous Eastern European tennis star (think French Open champion Ana Invanovic, www.anaivanovic.com), but the giggly, sweet, mean as hell 53 year-old wife of his long time best friend. I say ‘mean as hell’ from personal experience; in a former life, I lived in the tennis world and once officiated matches in which the new Ms. Norman played. ‘Mean as hell’ might be a slight exaggeration, but “cold,” “impersonal,” and “calculating” don’t do her justice. (Okay, I really, really wanted to use the word “bitchy,” but that would be incredibly sexist.)

Three, Mr. Norman should watch his back. Giggly Chrissie has a history of dumping guys who don’t perform, including Jimmy Connors, John Lloyd, and now Mr. Mill. She’s not averse to breaking up a marriages either. In 1986, she met Mill when he was married to a former Miss California. She was still married to Lloyd. Over the next 19 months, Mill divorces his beauty queen, Evert divorces Lloyd, and voila, Mill and Evert marry.

As recently as 5 years ago, he’s what she wrote about Mr. Mill:
"Andy and I have been married fifteen years, and I said to him just the other day that I feel closer to him now than ever. I mean, it's different. It's not the goose bumps-passion-fireworks kind of thing. It's more like knowing he's a keeper. And I just know that I'm going to grow old with him."

True, she’s always taken the high road and just divorced them all, but you never know, if ‘ol Greg starts to slip she might have to solve this one with a little antifreeze, if you know what I mean.

Let’s fast forward 10 years and listen to a little bedtime chatter between a now 63 year-old Greg and 63 year-old (going on 17) giggly Chris….

“Honey, are you going to play in that little British Open again this year? It was so much fun back in 2008; you were so handsome with your blonde hair flying in the wind, and it was so exciting having all that attention. You haven’t done so well lately honey, and well, that and a little Viagra might get you going again.”

Greg:“No, Chris, I’m not. I just can’t compete with these young guys; they hit it a mile and make every putt. I’m 63 for crying out loud, my legs are dead, I can’t see, and I’d have to wear a damn wig to have enough hair to let it ‘fly in the wind.’ Wish I could, but no, I don’t plan to go.”

Chris:“But honey, can’t you just win one more tournament? I haven’t been in People magazine in forever!”

Greg:“I’d love to hon, but time is my enemy…I’m just too old.”

Chris:“Sure, Greg. I understand. Did I tell about this great new health drink I’ve found? Tastes a little like antifreeze, but it really makes you feel years younger…”

In reality, maybe good ‘ol Greg should drink the antifreeze now. For the umpteenth time, he choked away a big one. Norman had a two-shot lead, then opens up with 3 straight bogeys. And Nick Faldo was nowhere around.

Okay, so you’ve noticed that I’m a little sour on this whole wonderful Norman weekend. I am, and here’s why: Norman and Evert turn my stomach for betraying their spouses, their families, and indulging in themselves. Money can buy you a helicopter and a private jet, but it can’t buy class. Congrats to Padraig Harrington, and thanks for reading.