Sergio Garcia has been spotted hitting himself in the knees with a hammer.

Phil Mickelson has been gnawing at the muscles in his forearms.

John Daly has been beating himself over the head with a three-wood.

What's wrong with these men? They've all figured something out: in 2008, you injure yourself, you win a major. (Well, not Daly; that's normal weekday behavior for him.) Tiger Woods blew out a knee, and he won the U.S. Open. Padraig Harrington's wrist crackled like an icy tree branch in January, and he won the British Open. I'm no pollster, but I'm prepared to declare this a trend!

Now, granted, two majors isn't much to go on. Statistically speaking, it's worthless. But then, what good are numbers anyway? I say it's all about the drama. And what's more dramatic than someone triumphing over adversity to win a major? TV loves it! The fans love it! Us cynical media types love it! It's flawless! (Thomas Bjorn there is already getting a jump on the competition.)

Picture this at next month's PGA Championship at Oakland Hills. It's Sunday, there's fog thick enough to hang your golf bag on, and nobody can see any of the golfers. Suddenly, a shape approaches the 18th green. Stumbling out of the fog, bloody and battered like Bruce Willis at the end of Die Hard, limping and holding himself up with his pitching wedge, his golf shirt in tatters, his visor askew, there to claim victory at last, is ...

... well, we'll have to wait and find out. But you've gotta admit, that's a hell of a setup, right? Who needs Tiger when you've got that kind of drama?