UNIVERSITY PLACE, Wash. -- In the dense thicket of prognostications, predictions, analyses and examinations entering this week's U.S. Open Championship, the massive underlying current of content runs in a direct line from one era to the next like a deadly accurate tee shot that never veers from its intended target.
The focus shines on Tiger Woods, then bolts shamelessly to Rory McIlroy and Jordan Spieth, symbolically screeching right past golf's latest lost generation. These players, Hall of Famers and journeymen alike, are the game's Middle America on a private flight from coast to coast. They have been rendered nothing more than a polite overview, something that catches our collective eye from afar, but unworthy of garnering anything more than indifferent attention.
Call 'em the Middle Men. They are the in-betweeners, surrounded by two eras, stuck in a film they've already seen. The pattern is strikingly recognizable: Their peers dominate the major championships while they are in turn forgotten, left as mere afterthoughts. Back then, it was just one player; now it's a small cluster. But the main theme rings familiar. So too does the end result: Never have there been so many accomplished players without a major title, a list that includes Sergio Garcia, Lee Westwood, Dustin Johnson, Luke Donald, Matt Kuchar, Henrik Stenson and Hunter Mahan.
It's not the lack of awareness that should serve as a source of frustration, but the rationale for it. Think about it: If you're a world-class golfer, in the range of 30 to 45 years old, the early part of your prime was likely minimized by Woods' prevalence. Just when that window started to open, along came these younger players, attempting to slam it shut once again. It's enough to lead to a mindset that is discouraging, if not demoralizing.
"Demoralizing? No, but it's interesting to see that shift," explained Justin Leonard, who won his first and only major in 1997 at age 25 in the Open Championship. "I think you're going to have guys who continue to come out in their early 20s and take on the world. They're not all going to achieve it, but some of them are."
In a delicious bit of irony, it's quite logical that Woods' era, which featured 14 major championships in the dozen years from 1997 to 2008, dovetailed into that of McIlroy and Spieth, who between them have won the past three.
Add in reigning U.S. Open champion Martin Kaymer, who was 29 at the time of his victory last year, and the past four major winners were under 30 when they won. That's a phenomenon which, since 2000, had previously occurred only in 2010-11 (with Louis Oosthuizen, Kaymer, Charl Schwartzel and McIlroy) and during the so-called Tiger Slam of 2000-01.
The logic here states that these younger players grew up never knowing a world in which a 21-year-old couldn't win the Masters. When Woods triumphed in 1997, McIlroy was 7 and Spieth was still a few months shy of turning 4. So the ensuing mindset was less fear of the unknown and more trying to keep up with recent history.
"There's a new belief level," said Graeme McDowell, whose lone major came at the U.S. Open five years ago, when he was 30. "I think Tiger has changed everything, really. He's changed the way the game is viewed. It's now a physical game. It's OK to throw weights around in your teens and be big and strong and hit it a mile. That's the new game. And I think there's a new belief factor that you can dominate from an early age and that it's OK to be 19, 20, 21 and win tournaments."
Hence, the lost generation -- the players who'd been patiently waiting for Woods to hit a dry spell so they might have an opportunity to start winning majors. Hence, also, any possible frustrations.
"There's no doubt that there's been a change in the old thinking that 30s and 40s are the prime time of your golfing life," McDowell continued. "I don't think there is a prime time anymore. It's gone from being you've got to be smart, you've got to be a wily old fox to win at this game. There's no such thing anymore. Tiger wins at 21; now players that age believe that it's possible to win majors at that age."
Golf's greatest competitors won't steal from each other; they will, however, borrow. Maybe it's an undervalued swing tip or the proper strategy to play a wicked dogleg or the precise read of a tricky downhill putt, but there exists a constant exchange of ideas, even unwillingly, that occurs between players.
Even the greats of the game aren't immune. So it shouldn't come as a surprise that when recently asked about the future of the next generation, Tom Watson invoked the intuition of Jack Nicklaus.
"As Jack said a long time ago about Tiger," Watson echoed, "the three things about life that will change your attitude when you're playing the tour is family, injury and desire. And right now things are going Jordan's way and Rory's way."
Watson's point -- and Nicklaus' too, as a corollary -- not only underscores the main theme of why these young players have taken control, but it also hints at potential change. Those words "right now" suggest that although the current infatuation may be with the newest generation, many of the game's changes can be cyclical in nature.
"The game is very cyclical; at the moment, it's certainly young blood," McDowell said. "But you just don't know what's inside a guy's head. Is one major enough? Does he want 10?"
Zach Johnson, 39, who won the Masters in 2007, said: "I don't think it's any different from what it was 10 years ago. It's hard to win; it hasn't gotten any easier. I don't know if that's changed. ... There's always great young players; there's always great veterans.
"I guess some people could justify to a degree, 'out with the old, in with the new.' At the same time, Phil Mickelson can win any time he plays. I mean, Davis Love can win out here. It just doesn't matter. There are so many good players and so much talent. I don't see a difference."
When the U.S. Open begins this week, the main focus will be on the game's last two eras, or generations, or however you'd classify the division. Golf's ubiquitous Middle Men haven't just witnessed this transition. They've lived it.
Stuck between one era of dominance and another pending, there exists an entire species of world-class professional golfer that has endured a career in which winning majors has been eminently difficult.
Of course, that notion could become blemished at Chambers Bay, the group of in-betweeners hoping to force a chasm in the storyline of young players claiming these events.
As Johnson put it: "This game never ceases to amaze me. The moment you think you have it, it'll chew you up and spit you out."