Tiger Rules Augusta
Raise your hand if you stopped watching the Masters golf tournament at about 5 pm Easter Sunday. That would coincide with Tiger Woods’ finishing his round, teamed with Phil Mickelson. The fact that Woods finished bogey, bogey hardly diminished the roar that followed him on the back nine. When he pulled to within one shot of the lead after a birdie at 16, did you have chills? I did.
I actually believed, just like Jesus did many years earlier, Tiger had risen from the dead. He had begun his round seven shots off the lead, as did Mickelson. Despite Phil owning the front nine, legends are made coming down the stretch at Augusta on Sunday. And Tiger nearly created a new one. Even though Mickelson was right there with him, just one shot behind, no one considered him a threat. The throng that followed the pair was awaiting another Tiger miracle.
What wonderful odds you could have gotten in Vegas as Tiger teed off on 17! Would he finish birdie birdie or birdie par? No one even considered bogey bogey. I certainly didn’t. As is the case with Tiger far too often at Augusta, his driver was his nemesis. An errant tee shot off 17 and an even worse drive on 18 finished the dream comeback. But I ask you this. Wherever you were watching, was everyone glued to the screen when Tiger was within one? You bet they were. And I’ll bet no one even knew who he was trailing. They just knew Tiger was one from the lead and another green jacket.
That he didn’t pull it off was almost secondary. CBS had their ratings and Kenny Perry choked in the playoff. But this tournament ended at about 5 pm local time. That’s when Tiger Woods finished his round and everyone enjoyed their Easter dinner. As the days turn into weeks and the weeks turn into months, the talk of Augusta will be how Tiger nearly did it, not how Angel Cabrera won in a playoff.
No, folks, Tiger really does own Augusta, even when he chokes. There’s a special relationship between him and the ten-deep that were thrilled by his every shot. And, especially at Augusta where tradition rules, it will always be that way. Maybe it was his winning in so dominant a fashion as a young buck. Maybe it was the miraculous chip that made Nike a fortune as the logo on the ball sat still for the cameras before dropping in the cup to win his last green jacket. Maybe it’s just the ghosts of champions past that walk the fairways and greens of this most hallowed venue. Does it really matter? The dude owns the place. Sorry Phil.
This entry was posted on Friday, April 17th, 2009 at 9:44 am and is filed under Blog Rants. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
