Dude knows it's still in there somewhere.
The blend of talent, command, and ice-water-in-veins poise that rekindled memories of a hard-charging Arnold Palmer is Jordan Spieth's gift to golf.
And it's halfway there toward resurfacing and dulling the perception of a Masters collapse that could've threatened to define his budding career to the point of haunting it.
Conspicuosly absent from that closing menagerie: no little tigers.
Frankly, perception can trump reality to the point that it becomes reality.
It's a fine line dividing Arnie's mastery and the Shark's misery. Spieth's living on that edge right now, and he's basking in it:
Does a dude under pressure put marshmallows on top of golf balls?
The real answers will come this weekend.