Jeeziz. (We’re up to, what, 8 now? 15? 63? I honestly don’t even remember when I lost count.)
There are unassailable megastars who shoot the moon from day one and continue until they’ve passed Alpha Centauri. Wayne Grezky, Alexander Karelin, Usain Bolt, Michael Phelps, Hakuho. They are living gods, treasured by all who have the privilege of seeing them in their prime. But it is all to rare for them to retain that form, and most often one of two things happen: a gradual reversion to really-good-but-not-best-of-the-best status, like what happened to Mike Tyson, or a precipitous fall that cuts down the living god forever, something Jeremy Lin could tell you about.
What does not happen is the fallen king returning to full invincible destroyer form, and certainly not as many freaking times as Tiger Woods has.
Seriously, how many times have we heard that he’s finished? That he’s peaked, lost his edge, lost his drive, hurt himself too badly to win again, lost the magic, been figured out, been surpassed? And the thing is, that absolutely SHOULD have been the case. No human being casually springs back from all the hells he’s been through. We’ve seen a million jocks who’ve gone through those kind of injuries, bad decisions, suffocating drama, loss of confidence, loss of direction etc. etc. be utterly destroyed (the name Ryan Leaf ring a bell?). At best he works very hard to get back in it but can never quite reach the peak again. Bo Jackson was a famous case, and Terunofuji seems to be headed down that same path. Not Tiger. Incredibly bitter and costly divorce that throws his entire identity into a tailspin? Eh, sleep in a couple days, play some video games, cut out a few coupons, and I’ll be fine. Disabling back injury? Eh, I’ll just walk it off. Extremely messy split with a coach? Eh, plenty of fish, I’ll put an ad in the pap…oh, that’s right, nobody reads newspapers anymore. Okay, a want ad in the local laundromat should do. Routinely gets clobbered in team events? Eh, whatever, it’s not like anyone watches those things anyway, I’ll be back. And he does, and he does, and he does, no matter what, no matter anything.
Aside: How would you like to be Jordan Speith or Dustin Johnson or Bubba Watson or Rory McIlroy (poor guy…) right now? This was supposed to be your time in the sun, your era. We were supposed to be done with Tiger. Oh, sure, he’d be up there, he’d get his top 10’s and make a little noise, but he was done as the #1 alpha male megastar who got everything all the time. You were having tremendous success, not only winning, but winning the ones that counted, while his best days were gradually slipping further and further behind. The tide was turning, the winds of change were in the air, and the time would soon come when you took your rightful place as The Man. And then he wins The Masters. And just like that, everything you’ve accomplished in your career gets flushed down the toilet and you’re just Bag of Tiger Chow #8,963. Sorry boys, back to square one! Don’t be too sad, though; imagine what the next crop of doomed hopefuls are going to feel when he’s wiping the floor with them at age 45. And the one after that at age 47. And 50, and 54, and 58, and 63, and…
How do I feel about this? Honestly, I don’t have the slightest idea what I should be feeling. It’s like I’m eating Thai-British-Nigerian fusion. During an acid trip. On the surface of Mars. While watching Republican senators dance the Macarena to a cover of Number of the Beast done by the Powerpuff Girls. This is completely new territory for me…hell, for golf, hell, for sports, hell, for the history of the world. Will there be #19? How much does he have left? When does the ride end? What even is the ride? If you think you have any answers, you’re either a fool or a liar.
So my advice: Enjoy it. We’re seeing something truly unique in this universe, a rarest of rarities which never happened before and can never happen again…not unlike, say, Mick Foley. (Seriously, when a human body gets injured that much, the long-term consequence is either “chronic pain” or “death”. Not “shake it off and write a #1 bestseller”). There’s not going to be another Tiger or anything in the same galaxy. The next black star to go the PGA Tour…assuming it ever happens…is going to suffer endless unfavorable comparisons from beginning to end, struggle to even keep his card, then crash and burn after three seasons tops, get completely disgusted with the game and the hype, and eventually sign up with the Dallas Cowboys like he should have in the first place. Once Tiger finally steps down, sports is going to lose something grand and precious forever, and in time all future generations will remembers is the hype, the drama, the noise. They’ll never know why he was the best of the best…because he refused to have it any other way.
Well, that’s my piece. I’m going back to the NHL and NBA playoffs now. 