Jim Furyk finds his emotions at RBC Heritage

— -- HILTON HEAD ISLAND, S.C. -- Jim Furyk never asked for our sympathy. He never whined, never bellyached, never cried about conditions or karma over the past 4 1/2 years.

He never made excuses, either. Not after any of his seven runner-up finishes since that last win, when he clinched the 2010 Tour Championship in the rain, cap skewed backward. Not after 31 top-10 finishes in 99 starts during that time or a lamentable 2-7-1 Ryder Cup record.

Forever instructing us not to glorify those "tough times" which netted him $14,828,330 in close-call cash, Furyk always put a positive spin on those frustrations. He offered a unique perspective that not many others in his position would have seen through tear-soaked eyes.

But now the truth can finally be told.

In an RBC Heritage victory that symbolized his lengthy struggle to claim another trophy, Furyk posted a final-round 8-under 63, then waited as Kevin Kisner forced a playoff and matched his birdie on the first extra hole. When Furyk's birdie on the second playoff hole clinched it, he threw his putter to the turf and punched the air with a raucous fist pump.

"That was four-and-a-half years of frustration in that celebration," he admitted.

He admitted something else, too.

He said that his positive spin and unique perspective in the face of adversity weren't so much the byproducts of a sunny disposition -- or at least a keen sense of mental fortitude. The truth is, he simply didn't show his frustration, because that's not in his nature.

"I'm just not real good at sharing my emotions," Furyk said. "I'm good at definitely hiding it. And I was frustrated. I was getting to the point where losing hurts a lot more than winning feels good. I was starting to believe that."

It's one thing to lose. It's another thing to lose repeatedly. And yet another to lose repeatedly after a career in which winning had become a regularity, then being forced to answer questions about the pain and heartache of those losses -- especially when you're not such a touchy-feely kind of guy in the first place.

That was the quandary that afflicted Furyk over the past half-decade.

Let down his guard and allow us to visibly witness his growing despair toward failing to win again? Or keep us at arm's length, covering the truth with a mixture of perspective that continually shrouded his innermost irritations?

He chose the latter -- or, perhaps, it chose him, his personality unwilling to afford anyone outside his inner circle a glimpse into how he really felt.

When he finally won again Sunday, he was able to confide in the rest of us, admitting how painful those losses actually were.

"I won't say it was a negative attitude," he explained. "I always did feel like I was going to win a tournament again. I believed that in my heart. But I was starting to feel like this game is beating me up."

Despite his penchant for hiding those true feelings, it's not as if every opinion that Furyk offered on the subject was bereft of heartfelt analysis.

Just two months ago, when questioned about another close call at the Northern Trust Open, he responded with as thoughtful an answer as could ever be expected.

"It's that little taste of honey when you get so close and don't get over the hump and win that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth," he said at the time. "It leaves you hungry. It's definitely a bitter pill to swallow. But if my other choice was to finish 20th and never be in the hunt, I'd take the first one every time. I'm not happy about not winning, but it sure beats the hell out of playing [badly]."

It takes a strong resolve to admit that repeatedly coming close and losing is preferable to never coming close at all.

In this respect, Furyk was dead-honest in his assessment of the situation. Even if he didn't want to bother the world with his anguish, he understood that it was better than not feeling anything at all.

And yet, after the playoff triumph Sunday, after he threw his putter to the ground and pumped his fist, Furyk insisted that it wasn't relief awash across his face. He was simply happy to win again.

"It's really not relief at all," he said. "It's zero percent relief and 100 percent joy. It feels really good."

Four-and-a-half years after his last victory, Furyk can be completely candid again. No longer does he have to sugarcoat the bitterness or find silver linings.

For a man who readily admits that he isn't good at sharing his emotions, he did an admirable job of displaying them for the world to see after finally claiming this long-awaited win.