M
y friend, the wise
old American
sportswriter Tom
Callahan, once had this to
say about Earl Woods and his
youngest son: “When Earl was
building the young Tiger in his
garage, he left out some of the
human parts.”
As ever, Callahan’s
observational skills and use of
language was spot on.
Throughout his career, Tiger
displayed an almost complete
lack of empathy in his public
dealings with fellow players, the
media and the public at large.
Routinely forbidding and
taciturn, the 14-time major
champion avoided what might
be defined as normal
interaction with, well, almost
everyone. His cold and
unflinching stare was certainly
more than familiar to any
journalist bold enough to stepoutside the rigidly defined
boundaries of what was – to
Tiger at least – acceptable
questioning.
He couldn’t ever be like
everyone else, of course. By
definition, the special individual
who becomes the best in the
world at just about anything
can never be a truly rounded
person. And Tiger was no
different in that respect. Having
devoted virtually every waking
hour to the outwardly inane
business of batting a small ball
around a big field with
seemingly inadequate sticks,
how could he be anything other
than socially one-dimensional?
Standing alone at the end of
that field with only a pile of balls
for company is no way to learn
how to play well with others.
Intensity of that sort is nothing
new in golf. The “wee ice man,”
Ben Hogan, comes to mind. So
does that other notorious loner,
Nick Faldo. Indeed, it can be
argued that such single-
mindedness is an absolute
prerequisite for anyone aspiring
to the number-one spot in these
increasingly competitive times.
But Tiger, at the peak of his
powers, took all of that to new
heights – or lows, depending
on your point of view. As any
psychologist will tell you,
perseverance on an extreme
scale is not necessarily thehealthiest approach to mental
well-being over the long-term.
There has to be something else
going on, a distraction to ease
the inevitable stresses and
strains that come with intense
competition.
My mind goes back to
November 2009 and the
Australian Masters at Kingston
Heath in Melbourne. One week
before the implosion of his
carefully constructed world,
Tiger was – as usual – winning.
But during the final round
something strange happened.
Irritated by an errant tee-shot,
the world’s best golfer angrily
slammed his driver into the turf,
causing it to bounce narrowly
over the heads of nearby
spectators. The result could
have been disastrous, maybe
even life-threatening. But with
the benefit of hindsight, it was
also telling. Subconsciously or
not, Tiger’s mind was not
where it should have been.
Since then, with the
exception of 2013 when he
won five times, Tiger has been
diminished, both as a man and
a golfer. Another icon of
American sportswriting, Dan
Jenkins, once opined that only
two things – “injury or a
bad marriage” – could de-rail
the Woods quest to overhaul
Jack Nicklaus’ record of 18
major victories. So true.
Subsequently, the combination
of shame, a
bad back and a dodgy knee
has been devastating to Tiger’s
ambition.
Here’s the thing, though. All
of the above can be attributed
to the level of intensity Woods
brought to his life and game. As
became clear post-fire hydrant,
Tiger needed an outlet from
golf, one that provided – at‘When Earl was building the
young Tiger in his garage,
he left out some of the
human parts’
A FLAWED AND
TORMENTED GENIUS
Tiger Woods was a cold, ruthless winning machine, but he
paid a heavy personal price for his domination of the sportJohn Huggan
Tiger Woods with
his father and
mentor, Earl.GOLF ASIAGOLF ASIA 5151