The Love and Hate of Tiger Woods

I can still remember an April Sunday back in 1997 when a young Stanford dropout and freshly minted professional golfer schooled the field at The Masters in Augusta, winning by a twelve stroke margin over Tom Kite.  For many of us, it was the first time we saw this young fellow—a guy with a distinctive name who forever changed the sport of golf.  Even back then, with only one mark in his major win column, we knew for sure that we were watching something special, perhaps the best that ever lived. 

It is exciting—even intoxicating—to watch someone achieve at such a high level.  Breaking performance barriers is reaffirming.  Tiger’s achievements taught us as much about the challenge of golf as man’s own ability to approach perfection.   Even more importantly, by broadening the spectrum between himself and everyone else, he opened our horizons to greater possibilities, expanding what we believe possible about ourselves and our own prospects for greatness.

No one doubted that Tiger would be capable of overtaking every major record in golf.  His attention to detail, his sheer physical talent, and his ability to deliver himself out of almost every situation boggle the mind. One does not get the impression that he is well liked by the other golfers, but the shock and awe at his commanding skillset is evident.   By raising the bar, he transformed the sport of golf, reinvigorating an old industry and creating opportunities for superstardom. 

As they say, the bigger they are, the harder they fall.  Tiger’s fall from grace and golf’s #1 ranking are as spectacular as they come, rivaling even the smarmiest of politicians and televangelists.  As a woman, I learned to abhor Tiger Woods for his infidelity, his lack of character, and his sense of male entitlement.   With each new revelation, no penalty was good enough, no smack with a golf club hard enough, and no divorce settlement punishing enough.  I am sure I was not alone in predicting the end to his career and at least the possibility that his personal prospects would suffer even more.

But there is that special sauce that separates the champions from the rest of us, and Tiger was blessed with a healthy schmear.  After some clumsy handling of his “rehabilitation,” he re-entered the PGA circuit a humbler and more human version of himself.  Once we became aware of his flaws, the chinks in his armor were more visible to the naked eye.  He squirmed in the public lens skyclad and vulnerable, slowly adapting until he was comfortable in his new skin.  The competitors gave him a wide berth while he castigated himself for each misstep and miscalculation.  One thing is always clear:  he plays to win.

And today he did.  Tiger came to the Memorial to tie Jack Nicklaus’ record of 73 PGA wins, and to do it in the house that Jack built.  His victory was hard fought, but after birdies in three of the four final holes nobody doubted that Tiger was title-worthy.  The clincher was a fifty-foot chip shot on the 16^th for birdie that would have pulled bogies out of lesser men.  It was a reminder of the champion that was, and the champion that could be once again.

Today, Tiger Woods is once again a hero.  We remember the snafu of his personal life, yet it becomes less important with each new victory, less pronounced in our memory with each miraculous shot.  He is not forgiven his sins; he is simply redefining his value proposition.  As we emerge from a period of economic collapse and political helplessness, who among us does not want to believe that there is the possibility of salvation?  Tiger will never again achieve a state of grace, but somehow he is recovering his footing.  It is reassuring to us all.

Tomorrow's blog:  A Final Bow for Eddie Alberts