For a dreamy, amazing hour or so, we all time travelled back to the year 2000 at the British Open. Tiger Woods, in a blood red shirt and ink black pants, stood atop the leaderboard on the back nine on Sunday at a major. Hitting shots nobody else hits. Perhaps the greatest win in golf history was about to be written, by a guy who just 14 months ago was gorked out on goofballs, crashed in his car at the side of the road in Nowhereville Florida, unable to swing a club. Everybody thought: "This.... is... happening!" Then, it all disappeared, like a fever dream. *John Ronis* , my former swing instructor and co-host of "The Capital Golf Gang" joins me today to dissect where and how it came apart.

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For a dreamy, amazing hour or so, we all time travelled back to the year 2000 at the British Open. Tiger Woods, in a blood red shirt and ink black pants, stood atop the leaderboard on the back nine on Sunday at a major. Hitting shots nobody else hits. Perhaps the greatest win in golf history was about to be written, by a guy who just 14 months ago was gorked out on goofballs, crashed in his car at the side of the road in Nowhereville Florida, unable to swing a club. Everybody thought: "This.... is... happening!" Then, it all disappeared, like a fever dream. John Ronis, my former swing instructor and co-host of "The Capital Golf Gang" joins me today to dissect where and how it came apart.



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