Fore!

First, it’s important to understand that I don’t enjoy golf. My father has long tried to get me hooked, and I mean that in the most addictive sense, as I’m convinced he needs a 12-step program. But the needle never took. I enjoy walking around on a beautiful course, but the game seems too slow to me, and guarantees one thing: frustration. What’s the point of spending all that money just so I end up breaking clubs on trees?

Secondly, I’ve never been a fan of Tiger Woods. I’ve been awed by his accomplishments, that by their nature I really could care less about. Great, he dominated golf, it was still golf. Yet, somehow I was always aware and appreciated just how much he dominated his sport. As a sport fan, I had to notice it, just as I have noticed what Jimmy Johnson has done to NASCAR. Although, I’m not sure either is a sport. But if ESPN covers it, I’ll end up being pretty aware. So thanks for that Entertainment and Sports Programming Network.


I’ve also long thought that Tiger was a first class jerk. My father and I argued years ago about the possibility, or as I put it, probability, that Tiger used steroids or HGH. It’s long been my stance that the majority of athletes are taking something to help, and we want them to. Then when Tiger treated his family with less respect than I’ve ever treated anything that I hated, I was pretty sure he’d be easy to hate for the rest of time.


Something happened though, and I can’t say I cheer for him, but his losing as made me realize something. Had he done all those horrible things to his family, and that’s the only victim, not his fans and not the game of golf. But if he had wrecked his family and gone on winning like he always had, it would have been completely disgusting, and I believe, proof that he was a psychopath and not a sociopath. He would have been the Dexter of golf. But Tiger lost, he lost his game and he seemingly fell apart. The guy, who always found a way to win, was finding new ways to lose. The machine that never missed a cut was no longer a guarantee to make the cut. The immortal, didn’t look mortal, he looked completely flawed. Tiger’s fall of grace was actual evidence that he felt regret, and that made him human.


So when I checked my phone Sunday, and he was making his move, I began to hope that Tiger would win. Not because I care about golf, or even about Tiger, but because it would have been a great story. At this point in my life, the story interests me as much as anything else in sports. Especially when my team isn’t involved, winning and losing is secondary to me. I want the best story, and I prefer that the story be legit and not scripted.


When I got home from taking the Kyd to a movie yesterday afternoon, I actually flipped on the Masters. I wanted to see Tiger win, so I could witness the emotion that was sure to follow. To hear the roar of the crowd, and that’s one thing golf fans do well, they roar like Mufasa. When Tiger practically fell into the arms of his caddie, after winning the British Open in 2006 following the death of his father, he sobbed like… well like a guy who lost his father. Tiger has spent the better part of 20 years now crafting an image and protecting a brand, then he took a driver to both and smashed them to bits on Thanksgiving night in 2009. Had he won, or when he wins, we’ll see some real emotion. And it’s going to be great.

I’m not cheering for Tiger, I just want to get caught up in a great story.