Scott had forgotten about Argentinian former-chimney Angel Cabrera. El Pato forgot about the pressure and the stage and the crowd and course and landed one of the gutsiest approach shots you’ll ever see. Birdie. Playoff.

Great players. Great shots. Great moments. That’s why we love major championships.

What will be the lasting images from Merion? A plague of missed three-footers? Shawn Stefani lucking into an ace on the 17th after landing his tee shot in the rough? Phil Mickelson holing from the fairway on 10 and subsequently blowing another chance to claim his national championship? Justin Rose using a three-wood in the thick stuff off the 18th green? Hell, the most memorable shot for any amateur golfer Sunday was Steve Stricker channeling his inner municipal course demons and dead-shanking a layup into a home economics classroom on the Haverford campus.

Rory McIlroy broke a club. Jason Dufner tried to drown one. Is this what we want out of the “toughest test in golf”?

Close games do not always equate to exciting ones and Merion’s stacked leaderboard Sunday did not lead to exciting golf. When the US Open returns to the Land of the Red Wicker Basket in twenty years they’ll still be talking about Ben Hogan and the car wreck, Trevino and the snake, David Graham and perfection off the fairways. They won’t be putting a plaque behind the 18th green for Rosie and his three wood.

Tiger or the field? This week the field won. The literal field. The course landed uncontested jabs to the jaws of the best golfers in the universe and as the sun set Sunday night Justin Rose had the least amount of blood pouring from his mouth.

We glimpse into the future. Five years. Clubhouse bar after a tough morning eighteen.

MAN 1: Who won the Open that year?

MAN 2: Was that Rose?

MAN 1: Yea, yea I think that was Rose. At Merion.

MAN 2: Do you remember anything else about that tournament?

MAN 1: Yea. It was hard.

MAN 2: Oh yea. It was.

MAN 1: And Mickelson blew it.

No, the US Open should ever be an easy chore. But it should be an entertaining one. That was the only test Merion did not pass this week.

What the Old Firm means to Scotland financially is undeniable. One only needs to read quotes from Fox Soccer, the American TV network which acquired SPL rights in March, to understand the implications:

”Options are available to us and at present we’re weighing them,” network spokesman Lou D’Ermilio said.

Options? This is a nice way of saying, “We’re looking to get out of spending millions to air Dundee v. Hearts twice a season.”

But there is a symbolic toll to be paid as well. The Old Firm gives the SPL credibility on the world stage. It draws eyes. Creates discussion and controversy. Captains of international sides (Samaras, Bocanegra…etc.) sign with Celtic and Rangers to play in those two games a year.

When I grew up in Kearny, New Jersey (Soccertown USA, folks) we looked forward to spending two hours at the Scots American club twice a year. The blue shirts on one side of the hall. Green and white on the other. The winning supporters controlled the juke box til nightfall. (And often we’d be forced to listen to Blue Moon on loop for what seemed hours.) Outside of El Clasico, I can’t name another match on the calendar I’d rather watch.

But now Rangers will be forced into the third division. They’ll lose almost all of their talent. They’ll flounder for several years and Scottish football will finally arrive where its been headed for years: irrelevancy.

Sunday – under the bright lights of Kiev – it was Spain who shone brightest and erased the any doubt of their greatness. Greatness in the truest sense of the word. Tiger Woods. Rafa Nadal on clay. The late-90s New York Yankees. Spain ’08 – ’12. That’s the level of greatness we’re encountering.  Sunday they provided their signature victory; the signature victory of this dynastic era. And no one saw it coming.

It was only a few days that this Italian side, led by the Pirlo renaissance, found the offensive complement to their reliable defensive resistance in the form of the enigmatic/insane Mario Balotelli. Super Mario’s thrashing of the German centre halves and physical dominance had many wondering if Italy were not poised to upset both of Euro 2008′s co-favorites and claim their most surprising title yet. Ninety minutes and four goals later the story of Euro 2008 had been written with one word defining the Spanish performance: Unparalleled.

Here are two stats to floor any neutral: (1) Spain has not allowed a goal during a knockout match in any of the last three major tournaments they’ve entered and won. (2) Before Sunday only one player had won two Europeans titles. After Sunday? Thirteen. (Thanks to Grant Wahl and the folks from Football Daily, the Guardian’s podcast, for those stats.) There are a dozen or so more stats telling the same tale.

Are they the greatest football team in international history? Perhaps not though I’d like to see them go 90 minutes with the famed 1970 Brazil side. Is their current accomplishment, three consecutive major titles, the greatest in the history of international football? Yes. Yes. 100% yes.

Brazil looms in 2014 and there will be a special pressure on this Spanish side. Not the pressure of country or media. Not even the pressure top sides face with the bulls-eye focused squarely on their backsides. No in 2014 Spain face the pressure of eternal legacy. Another victory and the question will no longer be “are Spain the greatest international footballing team of all time?” Another victory and the question will be “are Spain the greatest team, in any sport, we’ve ever seen?”

See you soon!