In any case, the PGA Tour toddles merrily up to the Travelers Championship in Connecticut this week, where 66 golfers finished under par last year, and Marc Leishman needed a 62 on the final day to win the thing by a stroke at 14 under.
Those are two very different games of golf. Each has its place, one supposes. At Merion, there were a total of 456 rounds played and only 23 of those bested par before Justin Rose won the trophy at 1 over. Rose made his share of mistakes - 16 bogeys to go with 15 birdies - but he didn't make any huge ones and he hit enough fairways that even playing 2 over for the final five holes of the tournament didn't cost him.
It was a humble victory, just the way the USGA wanted it, and the winner's score didn't even match the even-par rounds of Lee Trevino and Jack Nicklaus, who tied for a playoff at Merion 42 years ago. The course was set up this time to achieve the result it did, and the gallery and the local psyche seemed to like it just fine that way.
Perhaps any city would feel the same, but the Philadelphia region's protectiveness of Merion - which would turn aside nearly every member of the population - seems like part of a particular local insecurity. When the golf course beat up the best golfers in the world, the reaction was one of swaggering pride combined with a good bit of relief.
"Merion's got teeth, Tiger." So, if you thought you were going to come into this house and wipe your muddy shoes on the rug, you were badly mistaken, buddy.
This time Philadelphia wasn't the butt of a national joke that might have started when George Washington managed to lose the city to the British and had to retreat to Valley Forge long before you could even get a decent panini at the mall.
At the turn of the 18th century, Philadelphia was the largest city in America and its port was among the world's busiest. That isn't to say things have gone all downhill since then - beginning with moving the nation's capital to that fetid swamp along the Potomac - but somewhere along the way we went from overlords to underdogs.
That's a role that fits the preferred personality of the city at the moment, but the drawback is that underdogs never get their proper respect, and there is a civic obsession with taking notice of that. This television commentator said this about us, that national writer said that, and, yes, of course, they keep bringing up the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy and whatever other fictional entities we have allegedly pummeled with snow, serenaded with boos or boiled in oil. (And all of whom deserved it.)
New York doesn't give a fig what outsiders say. Boston doesn't. Chicago doesn't. L.A.? Not a little bit. If you don't like them, stick it in your hat and take it somewhere else. But Philadelphia cares how it is perceived, taking umbrage at every slight because deep down in the pit of the local insecurity, the fear is that those smart guys might be right.
That's why Merion mattered. Maybe we lost the capital, and the population race, and the port is rusting, and all the local teams stink, but at least not everything has passed us by. The Old Man of the Main Line took a few punches, but gave out a lot more. It was as if Stallone was doing his roadwork down Ardmore Avenue instead of Ninth Street, then running to the top step of Jos. A. Bank to purchase a celebratory ascot.
It was a win for the golf course, for sure, but it was also a win for all of Philadelphia. And, let's face it, folks. We needed one.
Contact columnist Bob Ford at email@example.com. Follow on Twitter @bobfordsports.