You first came to my attention on the Sunday that you took that historic, meandering walk down the final 18 holes at Augusta to chalk up your first Masters win. I became a fan that day. I was caught up in the electricity of a young black man doing what no other black person had done before. But I am also a golfer (a very poor one, I might add) with enough knowledge of the sport to observe and appreciate your mastery of the craft.
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And so I became a dedicated fan: continuously monitoring leaderboard scores on pgatour.com; watching Golf Channel morning broadcasts if you were playing overseas; reserving Sunday afternoons on the weeks that you were playing so that I could experience the thrill of the famed "Tiger Charge"; and travelling to far-off golf venues to watch you play in person.
The memorable moments are myriad: the 6-iron over water at the Canadian Open while I am screaming "No, No," at the TV; the chip-in at The Masters that broke the heart of my fellow Heathrow clubmate Chris Dimarco; The Sunday morning charge after the weather delay of the previous day that brought you back into contention and make that Sunday afternoon chip-in meaningful; demolishing the field and the course with a 2-iron at Royal Liverpool in 2006; holding off Sergio in his first PGA Championship event; and winning your last US Open Title on bum legs.
And then it all came crashing down. I heard on the local news that you had been in an accident and was filled with dread. As time went by, and the details began to emerge, that dread became consternation and then disgust. I am not one to begrudge an individual an affair or two but I was thrown for a loop by the number and randomness of yours. I sat through your TV confession and felt for your mother. I also noted that, like Bill Cosby today, the black community did not rally around you (as they are wont to do almost reflexively) because, in their perception, you studiously avoided them and their issues.
You were away from the golf arena for a while as you sought rehabilitation. I was concerned about how the "accident" and layoff would affect your game. As I saw it, you were not the most accurate driver of the golf ball but your knack for getting out of trouble, an unmatched short game, and your magic on the greens placed you head and shoulders above your competitors (And I paid no attention to the detractors who sought to call into question the quality of your competition. There were a lot of extremely good golfers playing at that time. You were just simply better.). I was afraid that some aspect of this finely tuned machine would be "thrown off" by the event.
On your initial return you were not the Tiger of old. You were ragged, inconsistent, and no longer exhibited confidence in your putting stroke. You won a few matches but no more majors.
You ran through issues with injuries, caddies, coaches, and injuries again. I remember following you at the Jacksonville stop on the PGA Tour and you were spraying the ball around indiscriminately. Embarassingly. You withdrew from the tournament. As time wore on, and comeback after comeback ended under the surgeon's knife, I kept saying that you should do yourself and the golf world a favor by retiring. Don't make us see this. Let us remember the heyday rather than to have our final memories of you being clouded by a 675-ranked, punch-drunk golfer ricocheting around in the trees.
But through it all you persevered. You did not walk away from the game. You kept trying. You adopted a more open, helpful persona and worked as vice-Captain on Ryder and President Cup teams, providing support and advice to the young guns. And you kept appointments with surgeons in your single-minded quest to get back to a level of golf that your kids could be proud of. And through it all you kept practicing.
You have played three or so tournaments so far this season and the fruits of your labor are there for all to see. You had fallen long and hard but have risen to a level where you are once again on the first page of the leaderboard. You have more than borne the pain for your mistakes and have paid both financially and psychologically.
It has been great to see the electricity in the crowds once again. To see you relevant once again. To see your name on the leaderboard. To know that lesser men would not have persevered the way that you have. You may never win another major. Heck, you may never win another tournament. But, in the last few weeks you have reminded me of how it was living in the time of Tiger. Some folks will continue to cast aspersions your way but you have paid the price and deserve the rewards that accrue to those whose stories are associated with the Phoenix.
Welcome back Tiger.
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