Live from Annika-stock ... it's The Cooler.

At least, I think it is.

I'm still dizzy from the blood-rush to the head that came after every hole I followed Amazin' Annika at Colonial C.C.

	Simply put: Annika put on quite a show at the Colonial.

With so many fans and cameras vying for the best views of her historic golf rounds, we hard-working, inside-the-ropes scribes had to do the duck-and-cover thing near every green. Then, when it came time to pop up quickly out of the 90-second Johnny Bench Crouch and make a dash for the next tee ... WHOA!

Serious head rush. White flashes, seeing stars -- hey, it really was like Woodstock.

And how lucky we were. Not only did we have a first-hand, up-close look at a bold bid to alter the sports and gender landscape, but we were within spitting distance of our most loyal fans -- those behind the ropes.

It was a hilarious case study to hear the masses flip their humanity switch on and off.

Annika approaches a green: Fans shout, "You go, girl!" or "Go, Annika!" or "You the woman!" Inspiring stuff.

Media approaches same green: Same fans spit, "Look at these swine" or "Pffft. Media. Don't they have anything better to do?" or "Don't block my view with your fat butt."

Ah, the duality of man.

Just once, we wanted to do our duck-and-cover thing by the green and have a gallery member shout out: "I do your crossword puzzles!" or "Your movie times help me plan my weekends!" or the sincere "Thank you for bringing the world to my doorstep -- for 25 cents a day!"

Maybe the public is right: We are scum-sucking vultures. When Annika missed the cut, the press evacuation by the weekend rivaled Dunkirk, or Saigon in '75.

Vegas shifted its money line away from Annika's projected score to the projected weekend vacancy rate at the Courtyard Marriott in Fort Worth, posting over-under lines on rental cars returned on Saturday at DFW Airport.

The press tent, once 600 strong, must have looked like it had been quarantined for SARS by Sunday. I hear Kenny Perry did his winning press conference with a surgical mask on.

But what a ride it was. The Swingin' Swede was awesome, and split fairways like she was playing Golden Tee 2004. She produced goose-bump epidemics all over Colonial, and achieved the impossible -- she got dolled-up Texas babes to find their inner Babe Didrikson.

Usually, the Colonial and the Byron Nelson are known for the quality of talent outside the ropes, with trophy Texas women parading around in next-to-nothing and caring next-to-nothing about the golf.

But Annika changed that for two days. I saw frosted blondes with bought-and-paid-for tans sporting the "Go Annika" pins, cheering like Annika was Billie Jean King slicing a backhand past a wheezing Bobby Riggs. That, dwellers, is a massive sociological achievement.

Of course, by Saturday, it was back to normal. The pins were gone, the gold-digging was back. I saw two chesty veterans parading around in tight T-shirts reading, "This Chick is PROUD President Bush is from Texas." That said, I also saw a guy wearing a "FIRST IRAQ, THEN FRANCE" shirt in Annika's gallery, but that's beside the point.

The real point is, the home of The Cooler has domestic harmony. When I last checked on my girl before sitting down to write this, she was napping in the easy chair, peaceful look, and a "Go Annika" pin fastened to her sweater.

Vijay Singh was the farthest thing from her mind.

Awwwww.

Before we get too cute, let's move on to the Weekend List of Five:

	Dean who? He didn't the tournament, but he hugged Annika and scored points with female fans.

1. Dean Wilson: babe magnet
Who cares what Annika shot? It was way more fascinating to watch Dean Wilson, her previously low-profile playing partner, worm his way into the hearts of women everywhere with his strong-but-sensitive work. The Hawaii native, who had kind of a Dean Cain Thing going, started by wearing the "Go Annika" pin to the Tuesday press conference where he and Aaron Barber, another low-pro pro, were thrown to the wolves. Then, on the 10th tee Thursday morning, where the threesome started their historic round, Dean-o was chatting Annika up, big-time. Keeping her loose, making her laugh, looking cute. He kept it up all day, with the shy smile and all that.

The babes swooned.

By Friday, he had a cult following. One woman in the crowd had the "Aloha, Dean: I LOVE YOU" sign going. He sealed his place as the Sensitive Stud by sporting the "Go Annika" pin on his head cover -- which is in the shape of a pineapple, by the way.

Dean Wilson: Sweet, like a Pineapple of Love.

All the male reporters could see right through it. We'd all been there. We'd all tried to fashion similar bits at one point in our lives. We saw him working, and whether we wanted to admit it or not, the guy was good.

It seems only a matter of time before Wilson will get the inevitable call from People Magazine for their "50 Most Beautiful Shoulders to Cry On" issue.

The vibe was so intense, that when Annika told the press after her Friday round, gushing about Barber and Wilson, "I got two phone numbers, so that's pretty good," I was skeptical. Two phone numbers, I believe. I just think the two were Dean-o's home and cell phone.

2. Those pins
Can you believe the blown marketing opportunity? People were crawling all over Colonial, looking for Annika Souvenir Gear. Callaway produced those "Go Annika" pins for three bucks, and they flew off the shelves like half-off Spam at a Hawaiian grocery store. Colonial sold out of the things.

Still, people wanted more stuff.

Tough. That was it.

I was blown away, and had to check my calendar. Is this not America, year 2003? Should we not have Annika-at-Colonial souvenir anklet socks at $25, Gore-Tex jackets at $250 and "Annika Played Colonial and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt" for $2.50?

So, no Annika gear.

But we got Kenny Perry in a red plaid blazer and Tabasco shirt, at least.

That said, I wonder how the legs will be on those pins. They could be the golf equivalent of those USA Winter Olympic hats by Roots, which looked so cool for about a week -- then looked ancient and anachronistic when someone wore one in public. Like a Skylab helmet or something.

Shhh. Don't tell my girl. She's thinking of wearing it down to our Irish pub in the Haight. I'll tell her it's still cool.

3. Dark days in New England
This should be, by all rights, one of the most glorious Memorial Days in recent memory for Red Sox fans. The Yankees are sinking like Dom DeLuise in the deep end. The beloved Bosox are in first place.

Life is good.

	A snarl and 300 wins ... can Red Sox fans deal with the pain?

And then ... they get today.

They get Roger, going for 300 -- at the Stadium, against the Red Sox.

If he gets it, New England will plunge into inevitable depression, and thousands of psychiatrists will need to be on-call to write prescriptions for six states' worth of medication.

It can't be ... Roger, can it? It can't be ... 300, can it? It can't be ... the Yankees, can it?

Ugh.

Just when Red Sox fans thought they were out ... they get pulled back in.

I read where Clemens says he'll go into the Hall of Fame as a Yankee, even though he won 192 games as a Red Sox pitcher. This deeply offends me, and I live in California, for God's sake.

Nomar. Johnny. Manny. Trot.

Please, take care of business today.

A Nation's mental health depends on it.

4. More ballpark hi-jinks
Went to the Rangers-Orioles game with my boys Shuchie and T. Bud on Saturday night, only to have another Incident.

You know the kind: You're a God-fearing, beer-drinking American baseball fan, and apparently, that's not good enough for somebody.

This time, a cat in front of us objected to our game-long conversation.

Excuse me, Saddam -- but since when was it illegal to have a little freedom of speech at the yard?

Apparently, Mr. Ranger Fan had a problem with the fact that for innings three through eight we were discussing various topics -- ranking the top three Wisconsin sports legends of all time, the top three Green Bay Packers of all time and the top three Milwaukee Brewers of all time.

All right. So maybe we were a pain in the ass. I'll grant as much.

But Schuchie's a Cheesehead. What are you gonna do?

Anyway, this is turning into a problem. Last month at the Cubs-Giants, it was chirpy, Dr. Evil-looking guy mixing it up with your loyal Cooler Keeper. This time, it was a rug-wearing Rangers fan who, at one point, objected to our cheering of Aaron Fultz as "Little Fultzie," because he lives next to Fultzie.

People. They're the worst.

Oh, and for the record: a) Lombardi, Favre, Barry Alvarez; b) Lombardi, Favre and Lombardi; and c) Paul Molitor, Harvey Kuenn and Gorman Thomas.

5. Final thoughts on Annika
I got religion, dwellers. I had no opinion on Annika Sorenstam before -- none, I say -- and now I believe. Her ballstriking was gorgeous, like Ben Hogan. Unfortunately, her putting was not. More like Ben Franklin. But give her credit. Under that heat? I swing and miss at least six times. And the whole Underdog Thing loomed large, too. To see it all and feel it all up close was to embrace the damn thing wholly. Really -- one of the coolest events The Cooler has had the good fortune at which to sip Sparkletts.

That said, I was disappointed in one missing piece. As she came up 18, could not the crowd have broken out the "Ann-i-ka!" chant, a la the "Att-i-ca!" chant offered by Pacino in "Dog Day Afternoon"? Is this too much to ask? To have the gallery produce one last Pacino-like gesture? To think: Pacino in the "Go Annika" green pin, fastened to Michael Corleone's Army uniform.

Sudden thought: We could have used Pacino at The Ballpark in Arlington, telling Little Fultzie's neighbor: "I'm out of order? You're out of order!"

Woulda been rich.

Brian Murphy of the San Francisco Chronicle writes the "Weekend Water Cooler" every Monday for Page 2.