While Jordan Spieth was chunking cheesecake-sized divots and setting up a Butler Cabin handoff more cringe-worthy than Ricky Gervais' "The Office," I was grocery shopping.
It was a dumb move. I missed out on a memorable, funny thing. The decision was instructive, though; I tend to opt for personal magnetism over sheer dominance. Spieth is as boring as he is great, and his running away with another Masters wasn't doing much for me. So I went to Trader Joe's. It backfired, but I'd do it again.
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On Wednesday night, I'm not going to Trader Joe's.