I've been thinking a lot lately about Jordan Spieth & the thin line between being buoyed by the magic of good fortune in golf versus getting mired in misery of bad breaks. The line is theoretical, obv. But it also may exist in the form of the tree branch hanging over 18 at ANGC.
I used to joke with @KylePorterCBS and @BrendanPorath that if watching DJ was like watching a Ferrari, Spieth was like a circus performer riding a unicycle down a flight of stairs. It was an amazing feat of concentration and athleticism, and it *always* felt like disaster loomed.
It used to annoy me when a small group of golf fans attributed Spieth's success to good fortune, as if he were sprinkled w/ fairy dust or taking does of Felix Felicis (indulge me; I'm reading Harry Potter with my daughter). Often, being great in golf means creating your own luck.
It also seemed to overlook the way he handled it when disaster did strike, and it often did. Make a disastrous double bogey on 17 at Chambers Bay? Birdie 18 when you get a Plinko-worthy bounce hitting 3-wood. Hit it sideways on 13 at Birkdale? Make a bogey from the driving range.
Even after the infamous meltdown at Golden Bell in 2016, I'll always remember how surreal it was he birdied 13 & 15 AND nearly aced 16. When his ball was in the air on 16, @KylePorterCBS and I were standing greenside. I swear to heaven and earth, we were convinced he'd dunked it.
One of the things I like best about Spieth is how open he was, for a long time, about letting you into his head to meet his demons. I think he was unafraid of taking them out for a walk, airing them for all to see, because he'd always been able to ignore them when he needed.
The infamous thing he said to Greller -- "Buddy I think we're collapsing..." after dunking two on No. 12, we only know that because Spieth shared w/ the media after. It's such a great anecdote, one he could have taken to his grave. And he just... volunteered it. Hard not to love.
In the midst of it happening, I thought his Sunday run at the 2018 Masters was going to be one more exorcism. It's still the most exciting round of golf I've ever witnessed. I've come to believe if he'd pulled it off, it would've gone down as one of the greatest rounds ever.
But that brings us to the tree branch that hangs over Holly, the 18th at Augusta National. This, I'm convinced, is the thin line between "Where Spieth Was" and "Where He Is Now." In this frame, anything is still possible. 
If that drive misses that tiny branch, I'm convinced he birdies 18 and wins a 2nd jacket. I don't know FOR CERTAIN, of course. But I know. I believe it as deeply as anything. He shoots 62, he wins, and the swaggering confidence he had on his best days remains internal. Forever.
Spieth never talks directly about that shot. I doubt he even thinks about it half as much as I do. But the suspicion that his luck changed -- at some point -- creeps into interviews sometimes. Like he ran out of Felix Felicis and now has to face it all alone. And he's adrift.
It's all mental, of course. There was never any luck, never any favorable bounces that used to cancel out bad breaks. In golf there are only bounces. Fair or unfair plays no role. You can tell yourself this an infinite number of times, but it's hard to believe it. It's embedded.
I'd love to tell you he'll recapture the magic he had before the fall, that he won't stand over a shot w/ 50 thoughts in his brain, all of them at war. But this I don't know for certain. Golf is cruel. Sometimes the unicycle crashes into a branch. And never feels the same again.
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