A Tiger of a Magnificent and Complicated Tale

     There is simply no denying the magnitude of the unbelievable story that was written Sunday at Augusta National. There can be an argument about whether Tiger Woods or Jack Nicklaus is the game of golf’s greatest player, but nobody has ever moved the needle like Woods, and even though Jack also wrote a magnificent story in winning a Masters in his forties, we live in an age where the epic nature of Woods’ accomplishment dwarfs that day in 1986.

     It’s also the fact that Jack was a family man who never had a hint of scandal around his life, so the only thing that was redemptive about his final major win was his age. Conversely, just over a year and a half ago, Tiger Woods was arrested for DUI, with multiple drugs in his system, so out of it that he thought he was in another part of the country. He very easily could have had a far more tragic occurrence than merely being stalled by the side of the road. It seemingly completed one of the most calamitous falls from grace in the history of not just sports but public life, complete with serial infidelity, and much more.

     Tiger also had set himself up for a complete lack of sympathy by the way he carried himself on the way to the top. He was completely dismissive of his peers, often rude to adoring fans, and had complete contempt for an almost universally supportive media. I saw it first-hand on multiple occasions covering tournaments. The toughest job in sports perhaps has belonged to Mark Steinberg, his agent, who has had to put more fires out than smoke jumpers. But still, his greatness made him countless fans, who could blithely defend him against any naysayer.

     I was no fan, but one thing I WAS a big fan of, was the fact that Tiger brought whole new demographics of fans to the game. Not just million of African Americans who previously had zero interest in golf, but many, many more young people. Tiger made golf cool, or at least cool-er.   

     The very unlikely road back from the abyss started with his fourth back surgery. It was a fusion that not very often works, at least not for an athlete to return to any kind of form. Tiger himself has been very open about thinking that he might never even play again. But in small steps, which actually included chip yips and the like, Tiger moved slowly forward. But only seemingly back to playing tournament golf, and perhaps being mildly relevant. I would have bet decent money on him not winning again, and real cash on him not winning a major.

     But there soon were signs. Tiger got into the lead at last year’s Open on the back nine, before the man he would vanquish on Sunday, Francesco Molinari, disappointed millions with his rock-solid play. He was in the hunt at the PGA, but the recent bad man of the majors, Brooks Koepka, turned him away. Koepka would fall short to him on Sunday as well.

     Then came the Tour Championship. Tiger blew away the field and the reception he got in Atlanta after the win is usually reserved for popes and kings. It was an amazing moment, but little did we know it was merely a prelude.

      Because there were also still some ominous signs for Tiger. He was awful at the subsequent Ryder Cup and looked like an old, tired man. He had to pull out of a couple of tournaments this season with neck issues, and was a lackluster 81st in the Fed Ex Cup standings as he came to Augusta. Maybe the Tour Championship coronation was going to be his glorious swan song.

     Then came Sunday at the Masters. There was a different feel. Threatening weather turned it into a morning event. For three hours, it looked like Molinari was going to rock steady his way to a win that was going to add another piece to his storybook rise that included the Open, win and rock star status as the undefeated leader of Europe’s Ryder Cup team.

     But, here came the leaders heading to 12, and it became the mid-2000’s again, a time when Tiger was king and merely his presence on the leader board made everybody play “all fall down”. This wasn’t supposed to happen anymore. The “Tiger Factor” was dead. These young guys were too fearless. Uh, no. Consecutively, four of five contenders dumped their tee shots in the water, including the formerly unflappable Molinari, and Koepka as well. The one who didn’t was Tiger. The Big Cat wasn’t spectacular, he was steady. He didn’t eagle the par fives, he made routine birdies and waited.

     First Patrick Cantlay grabbed the lead, and promptly three-putted consecutive holes. Then Xander Schauffle jumped to the lead, but then blew his tee shot into the pine straw, and failed to birdie the blissfully easy 15th. Then Tiger produced his one magic moment, stuffing his tee shot tight at 16. Now he had to be caught.

     No one was up to it, not even Koeopka, trying to haul down half of the last eight majors. The usual stone-faced killer missed very makeable putts at 17 and 18, meaning that Tiger merely needed bogie at the last to cap the miracle comeback. He showed his now-mortal side by needing the cushion. He virtually shanked his second shot well short of the green, but played it cozy on his chip, leaving him two putts to win. The old Tiger likely would have buried the par putt for a grandstand finish. But no doubt this Tiger was damn glad to settle for the tap-in that made history and sent the gallery into euphoria.

     His reaction was great. No golfer has ever looked cooler pumping his fists, and his heartfelt hugs with his family were a joy to behold. This was truly a Hollywood story, and I think it would be foolish not to make all this into a film, if they told it right.

     I wasn’t rooting for Tiger on Sunday, and I am sure I was in a tiny minority. Tiger truly has mellowed some, become more likeable, mixing far more with his peers, showing some humility and a human side. I give him much credit for that.  But I am not going to just forget all that went before. It took countless wake up calls for him to pick up the phone. This is a comeback story for the ages, but I’m not sure it’s quite a feel-good one. A slew of bridges were burned along the way.

     That can’t, however, take away the drama and eventual majesty of this incredible moment on a cloudy early afternoon in Georgia. It’s why we watch sports. Millions will never forget what they saw, how hard they were pulling for it to happen, how great it made them feel, and will tell the amazing story over and over again.

     Or at least part of it.