Brooks Koepka is going to hate this column.
He's going to want to print it out, tape it to a 20-pound medicine ball, and throw it against the wall for an hour until it's reduced to a fleshy pulp. But if you think that's because I'm about to rip him, or question his toughness, or that I'm about to grumble that his recent run of dominance is bad for golf, you're dead wrong.
I come to praise him, not complain about him. I'm ready to officially crown him the Troll King of American sports, and -- to quote from the gospel of "Office Space" -- celebrate his entire catalogue.