By William Jempty of OTB Sports

By William Jempty of OTB Sports

Young Kim calls her headgear a‘bucket hat’. When asked after today’s round why she wears different hats,Young said. “I like this bucket hat because it's good for the strong sun. Still I don’t want to change my hat.” As a malignant melanoma survivor, I’m glad to hear Young is conscientious about her skin care. I’ve had too many friends die of skin cancer.

Young’s hat is made by Bogner,one of the golfer’s sponsors. If you’re superstitious, it's the same type of hat Young wore when winning last year’s Corning Classic, and she is atop the leaderboard of the Stanford International after round two.

A second round 67, which is tied for the best round of the day and featuring six birdies, has Young at seven under par and leading by one shot. In second place at minus six is  Annika Sorenstam who also shot a 67. 

Gusty winds made scoring difficult today. Only six players are under par for the tournament. Also equaling Young and Annika for the best round of the day, was Seon Hwa Lee. Seon Hwa’s 67 has her one over par for the tournament and in a tie for sixteenth.

By William Jempty of OTB Sports

"Either he's dead or my watch has stopped."

Having passed to his eternal reward in 1977, Groucho Marx was not paired with any of the pros at the Stanford International Pro-Am. So it only seemed like eternity out there on the course today. With many of the celebrity amateurs doing their own impersonations of Marx's "Dr. Hackenbush", play went from slow to downright glacial here in South Florida. Suffice to say, its been no day at the races in Aventura with the pile ups on the course more reminiscent of a Mack Sennett film than a Marx Brothers comedy.

By William Jempty of OTB Sports
 
The inaugural Stanford International Pro-am began Thursday at the Fairmont Turnberry Isle Resort & Club in Aventura, Fla. 112 of the finest women golfers in the world are teeing it up for the 72-hole LPGA event. Whoever wins this weekend will take home a $300,000 winner’s check. Other than the year-ending ADT Championship, this is the first time the LPGA has played a tournament in South Florida since 2001.

2008 LPGA leading money winner and 2006-07 Player of the Year Lorena Ochoa is not playing this week but the Stanford still has a strong field. Cristie Kerr, Annika Sorenstam, Karrie Webb, Paula Creamer, Juli Inkster, Seon Hwa Lee, Morgan Pressel and Suzann Pettersen are all here at Fairmont Turnberry Isle.
 
One thing that makes the Stanford International unique on the LPGA tour is its Pro-Am format. All 112 professionals this week are playing with an amateur partner. Celebrities teeing it up Thursday included tennis star James Blake, Stone Phillips of NBC News, former Miami Dolphin Jay Fiedler, current Dolphin kicker Jay Feely and celebrity chef Ming Tsai.
 
The weather was sunny, with a couple of brief drizzles in the late morning. A cool breeze has kept scores from going too low.

While the NFL draft is this weekend and the NBA draft not for another two months, it's the basketball version, with recent news indicating that most of the top college freshman players will enter the draft, that has attracted more of my attention.

For the second straight year since a minimum age of 19 was instituted in the NBA, freshman will almost certainly be the top picks in the draft. Last year it was Ohio State's Greg Oden and Kevin Durant who went one-two--to Portland and Seattle respectively--in the draft. This year the cream of the freshman crop are again choosing the one-and-out route at college, with Kansas State forward Michael Beasley and a pair of guards, Memphis's Derrick Rose and USC's O.J. Mayo likely to be the three top picks in some order. Insiders are predicting that more than half the lottery picks, which should include high-profile players like UCLA's Kevin Love and Indiana's Eric Gordon, will be frosh.

Obviously, this NBA rule change has been a win-win for college basketball and the NBA. The nation's elite high-school players are now doing a campus drive-by, giving the NCAA tournament more star power. And as a result, the NBA gets to draft players who are presumably more mature on and off the court with the added benefit of some March Madness exposure that helps promote them. NBA Commissioner David Stern has obviously been delighted with how his brainstorm has worked for his league and he would like to push it even further, raising the entry-age to the NBA to 20, though it's not clear that the union will accede to this proposal.

But just because the higher entry age bolsters basketball at two levels doesn't mean it's a good idea for society. Sure there were high-school players who opted to go straight to the NBA and whose games weren't ready and who weren't mature enough to handle the rigors of the pro league. But just a superficial glance at this past season, certainly the NBA's most entertaining and untroubled in many a year, reveals that of the consensus top candidates for MVP--Kobe Bryant, Kevin Garnett, LeBron James, Dwight Howard and Chris Paul--four entered the league directly from high school, with only Paul playing two years of college ball at Wake Forest.

But if the premise of the immature player and his difficult adjustment is overstated, the result of the new rule is far more egregious. It's a complete academic sham. Players who would have gone straight to the NBA now spend one reluctant year taking a scholarship spot from a kid who might really want to be there. And, of course, one year may be a slight exaggeration since these gilded kids can pretty much stop going to class as soon as they've served their school by demonstrating their wares in the NCAA tournament. The graduation rates for so many of the elite basketball schools are already so embarrassing that it's hard to see how adding a layer of one-and-outs does anything but exacerbate the problem.

It may be a bit too facile to touch on how we treat youth in our broader society. But it seems ludicrous that we deem 18--year-olds mature enough to enlist in the military, with potentially dire consequences, yet are hellbent on protecting them against the consequences of not being ready for prime-time NBA basketball. If the pros want to backstop the kids, why not make a provision of every contract with a high-schooler guaranteed money that would be reserved for a college education if the NBA thing didn't work out. I understand why the NBA, with its public relations problems in recent years, prefers more mature players. And I understand why the NCAA wants to exploit the talent to boost its TV ratings before turning the kids loose. But what that adds up to in those places where basketball is not life's paramount concern is nothing short of a fraud.

Once an American passion as the "sport of kings", horse racing, today the sport of sheiks, can no longer claim much of a hold on the average American sports fan. But the Kentucky Derby remains one of those events that transcends its sport, still a destination date--the first Saturday in May--for many of us who can't be bothered with the Santa Anita Derby or the Florida Derby or the Wood Memorial.

For those who can't wait another few weeks for this year's top crop of three-year-olds to convene at Churchill Downs, the perfect spring movie--"The First Saturday in May" by brothers John and Brad Hennegan--opens at theaters around the country today. It is a charming documentary about the run for the "Run for the Roses", as seen through the eyes of six hopeful trainers and their horses, each man hellbent on making it to Louisville on that special Saturday. While several of the trainers are quite successful, none command the mega-stables that can count on an entry or evenj several entries in the Kentucky Derby each year. For some of them, the Derby is at best a very occasional privilege and,for others, just getting to the starting gate of America's preeminent horse race is a once-in-a-lifetime dream. "I'm 48 and I want to go to the Derby before I die," says one of the trainers whose horse....well, let's not ruin it, since not all the horses make the Derby cut.

Given that the year is 2006 and one of the six horses is Barbaro, there is not much suspense about the outcome of the Derby itself--the largest winning margin in 60 years--and, of course, the tragic end when the great horse breaks down at the start of the Preakness two weeks later. But even the death of Barbaro--after an eight-month struggle that captivated the nation and broke its collective heart--can't obscure the beauty and joy surrounding these magnificent animals, the folks who love them and their Derby quests. As one woman owner of a certain age explains about the winner's circle, "When you get to my age, you don't have to go to the plastic surgeon. It's an instant facelift."

So's the film.

Frankly I'm still reeling from my sorry showing in the March Madness pool, compounded by the fact that my pal Michael, a shrink whose every breath is deeply considered, won because on a random road trip more than 30 years ago, he stopped in Lawrence, Kansas and bought a Jayhawks T-shirt.

I have a slightly better chance in my Masters pool, a two-man affair where my golf-crazy pal gets Tiger and I take the field. The odds are slightly in my favor, since Tiger has won 13 majors in the 11 seasons since he romped to his first Masters title in 1997--and only four Masters, or slightly better than one in three. Still, nobody feels smart betting against Tiger, not when he is at the top of his game as he is now and not when he is well-positioned--tied for 19th and four strokes back after a par 72 first round--with the course almost certain to play harder the rest of the weekend.

Side bets aside, there is certainly a part of me that would prefer to see Tiger win Sunday and prolong the season's only suspense--no, not the FedEx Cup, but his odds-against shot at the Grand Slam. Because even though the talent on the tour is unquestionably deeper than at any time in the game's history, Tiger feels like the only game in town. At least the only one that generates sustained interest.

It is not hard to understand why the tour honchos and the sporting press have tried desperately through the years to drum up a legitimate rival for Tiger, but--from David Duval to Sergio Garcia to Ernie Els to Vijay Singh to Phil Mickelson--none have been able to rise to the challenge and most have slipped back at the very thought of it. Mickelson came closest and looked to be on the cusp of genuine rivalry until he imploded on the final hole at the 2006 U.S. Open. His 2007 decline, injuries aside, was inevitable: Mickelson's best finish in a major last year was 24th at the Masters and he failed to make the cut at both the British and U.S. Opens.

The arrival of Ian O'Connor's "Arnie & Jack" is a welcome reminder of how the power or rivalry serves not only the sport, but both men. And while nothing may derail Tiger from supplanting Jack Nicklaus as the greatest golfer of all time, six more major triumphs is hardly a mortal lock. But Nicklaus' legacy of greatness will always be enhanced by the fact that he had to go through "The King," Arnold Palmer, to reach the top.

For those of us old enough to remember those days and duels, O'Connor's book is a vivid stroll down memory links. For those Tigerphiles who believe Woods invented the game at the end of the 20th century, it is a welcome elucidation of a golfing golden era. As O'Connor writes: "Arnie and Jack represented the perfect conflict in personality, background and style at the perfect time--just as TV was starting to plant larger-than-life figures in America's living room and dens"

By the time most current fans met Nicklaus, he was the beloved "Golden Bear". But in his early days, he was an unwelcome usurper, a pudgy kid--the legions of Arnie's Army called him "Fat Jack"--subject to catcalls and other rude behavior on the course. And while nothing could stop his game and he would soon surpass Palmer, Nicklaus could never match his style--at best a staid Perry Como to Arnie's Sinatra flash. But the rivalry made both men bigger than they would ever have been standing alone.

Golf is hardly the only sport where that is apparent. Tiger may be the greatest, but "The Greatest", Muhammad Ali, never wore that mantle as surely as after his three classic fights with Joe Frazier. It's too bad for Tiger and for us that he will likely never face that test.

It was almost 30 years ago that some very bright, young men gathered at the late, lamented La Rotisserie restaurant in New York City to hammer out the framework for baseball's first fantasy league (or "Rotisserie baseball," as it is still known by the game's first generation of players).

No doubt these folks had some modest ambitions for their little game and themselves. But given that they were journalists and, thus, both perpetual cynics and limited in their intellectual scope, they would never have regarded themselves as visionaries and certainly weren't craving mainstream respectability. But it came anyway, with roto-ball exploding over the next couple of decades into not just a game and guilty pleasure but an industry that would embrace many sports, serve millions of participants with vital (as well as worthless) information and produce billions in annual revenues.

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