Tiger enjoys his own little miracle as reality dawns
SIGHS of disappointment followed Tiger Woods around Augusta National yesterday like faint echoes of his halcyon days. Later in the afternoon, a classic battle between the men who are still squabbling over who should take his crown captivated crowds at the Masters but by then, the old champion had already left the stage.
The huge galleries that had gathered to watch him in a steady drizzle on the third day of the tournament already knew that the fairy tale of the greatest comeback in sporting history, the improbable dream of a 15th major for the man who once ruled golf, had been a step too far for Woods.
All that was left for the Augusta patrons were murmurs of sympathy amid the pit-a-pat of spring rain on the canopy of green and white umbrellas as Woods marched from bunker to bunker and bogey to bogey and missed putt to missed putt during the opening holes of his third round.
He recovered his poise later as the rain abated but the stubborn optimism of Friday evening when he had given thanks for making the cut and spoken of his dreams of somehow forcing his way into contention had gone. The cycle of healing and suffering that has dominated the last few years of Woods’ life was beginning again.
So the resurrection will not be televised. Not yet anyway. When Woods walked out of the clubhouse here on Thursday afternoon and under the spreading branches of the old oak tree on its lawns, many still believed he was about to launch his comeback in earnest.
The crowds of officials and members parted silently in the sunshine to point his way to the first tee as if they were genuflecting before a deity. But the days when it seemed Woods would reign eternal have gone.
The Woods who played at Augusta this year was a victim of our inflated expectations. And his own. It was Woods who talked about his recent return to the professional tour after spinal fusion surgery as ‘a miracle’. The rest of us followed his lead and couched the return of the king in quasi-religious terms. As for the bookmakers, they made him the favourite to win the Masters.
It said something about the state of golf that it was so desperate to turn the clock back. Sure, everyone loves a redemption story but the fervour that has greeted Woods’ unexpected return to health and competitiveness suggests something more than that. It suggests that golf has not come close to filling the void left by Woods’ prolonged absences.
No one has come close to assuming Woods’ mantle. Rory McIlroy is the most gifted player on the circuit but he has been hampered by a series of niggling injuries and a sense of fretfulness. He has not won a Major since 2014, although the inspired way he played yesterday suggested he may be about to end that drought. Jordan Spieth is the closest to McIlroy as an heir to Woods and is a regular contender. Dustin Johnson has struggled to convert periods of dominance into major triumphs. Rickie Fowler is still searching for his first major victory. The same goes for Patrick Reed.
It would be ironic if this tournament, which had been set up as the occasion when Woods would be reborn, were to be the moment when McIlroy, Spieth, Reed, Fowler and Johnson, all high on the leaderboard at the start of the third round, joined in the kind of rivalry that golf fans have been yearning for and showed that the professional game really can prosper after Woods.
As yesterday wore on, the tournament looked more and more as if it was turning into a classic. At a time when golf courses across the States are closing at an alarming rate and concerns about slow play, the taming of the game by advances in ball and club technology and falling television audience figures, it has often seemed that Woods, even at the age of 42, is the only man capable of holding back the waves. To see him mired in mediocrity near the back of the field yesterday reminded the sport of its fragility.
It has been like that for Woods for most of the weekend. So many were willing him to win, so many analysts had persuaded themselves that he would win, that his one-over-par 73 on the opening day came as something of an anticlimax. His second round, when his predicted challenge for a fifth Masters crown had morphed into a grim struggle to make the cut, was not how the story was supposed to go.
The glory for Woods at Augusta was that he was here at all. That he was playing. That he was not lying on a bed somewhere, worn down by pain, catatonic, slurred, slumped at the wheel of his car, a mug shot, a curiosity, his life reduced to increasingly desperate attempts to seek relief from physical and mental torment. That was the only glory, though. Much of the rest was rather poignant.
Take his second round. As he walked to the 12th tee on Friday, the mass of spectators in front of the grandstand that looks out over Amen Corner rose to greet him.
As soon as Woods hit his tee shot, the crowd emitted a low groan of disappointment. Their communal breath of sadness followed the ball in its arc high into the air. They knew what was coming. They knew the ball was going to fall short. It landed on the bank in front of the green and fell back into Rae’s Creek.
Woods hung his head. He had done the same thing at the same hole the day before.
His third round did not bring the charge he was hoping for. He ended it as he began it, on four over par. The young guns, not him, fought out a ding-dong battle for the lead. And the gods sent him Ian Poulter, with whom he has not always seen eye to eye, as a playing partner.
Perhaps it is a measure of the different outlook Woods has now that Poulter said afterwards how much he had enjoyed the round. ‘Tiger’s a bit softer now,’ he said. ‘Fifteen years ago, it would have been hard playing with him. He would have had his serious game face on. But it was fun today. He’s getting there. He’s still feeling his way but he’s getting there. When we were walking up the 18th, I looked at him and said: “I’m glad you’re healthy again.” We should all be glad.’
Poulter is right. Just because Woods is not in the shake-up this weekend, it does not mean there were not moments of joy for him here yesterday. At the 12th, amid the stunning beauty of Amen Corner, Woods struck a majestic tee shot over Rae’s Creek and to within 10 feet of the hole.
The crowd roared, Poulter grinned and Woods, knowing that they knew what had happened here on the previous two days, thrust his arms in the air in ironic celebration. Then he turned to them and beaming like he did in the old days, he took a bow. ‘I just couldn’t put it in the water three days in a row,’ he said later, laughing. It might not have been quite the story we wanted but after everything Woods has been through, that moment of joy was its own little miracle.