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The New Yorker on Jordan Spieth

There’s a nice little ditty on The New Yorker’s sports blog about Bubba and Jordan and the Masters that you should read. A taste:

Spieth’s swing is a newly paved freeway through the heartland: smooth, straight, efficient, dependable. Watson’s is the spotty two-lane through the backwater. It’s tangled and indirect, a mess of rough road that seems to surprise Watson as much as anybody when it leads to the desired location.


Spieth plays with an effortlessness that is no doubt the result of great effort. He’s the Federer of golf right now: fluid motions, no sweat glands, an air of calm superiority.

5 comments on “The New Yorker on Jordan Spieth

  1. That was Watson’s second Masters win, yes? I think only a half dozen people have done that in the last 30 years. A dirt road over a freeway might be a better bet.

  2. Nicely written, but he is already being compared to Federer? Seems like a stretch. There is only one Rog.