Monday, August 27, 2001
Seven holes of history at Firestone
By Terry Pluto
Knight Ridder Newspapers
(KRT)
AKRON, Ohio — I close my eyes and see Tiger Woods, his
dark red shirt, rain-sopped and sweat-soaked,
clinging to his body — his incredible smile brightening up
the gray, windswept sky.
I close my eyes and see Jim Furyk, sand flying everywhere,
his ball outrageously rolling into the hole from the
bunker.
I close my eyes and see Furyk ripping off his cap, his bald
head beaded with sweat, his lanky, bony body jolted
with an electric shot of adrenaline, his mouth screaming —
YES!
That’s the perfect word for what happened at Firestone
Country Club Sunday!
YES!
I close my eyes and I still see a golf tournament for the
ages, I see Tiger Woods — who else? — winning the
NEC Invitational at Firestone Country Club for the third consecutive
year.
I close my eyes and I see history.
A seven-hole playoff — that’s right, SEVEN holes
of nerve-rattling, knee-shaking, heart-pounding golf.
Sudden Death Golf.
To the winner, a million bucks.I see an unassuming fellow
named James Michael Furyk who is 32 years old with a
receding hairline and looks like the guy behind the counter at
your favorite hardware store.Furyk is one of those
wonderful golfers whose name conjures up no image in the minds
of most fans. He’s ranked 13th in the world. He’s
won $10 million in his career. This year, he finished sixth at
the Masters, seventh in the PGA. He’s won six
tournaments, three in Las Vegas but never a major.
Jim Furyk?
Good but not great.
Sunday, fate called Furyk’s name. He went into the final
round leading by 2 strokes, stalked by golf’s fiercest
hunter — Tiger Woods. And Furyk was trying to survive at
Firestone, which Tiger prowls as if it’s his back yard.
Close your eyes and imagine being challenged to play Michael
Jordan, one-on-one, and having to do it in
Michael’s driveway, where he knows every crack in the concrete,
every tilt of the funky rim on his garage.
That’s how Woods is on this course, where all he does
is win.
But this could have been Furyk’s day, a day when his
career was changed, when he became to see himself as an
elite golfer.
As he said, “It’s exciting to play against the No.
1 golfer in the world.”
All he had to do was beat Tiger Woods.
Beat him, head-to-head.
Beat him as they both walked the course, an estimated 10,000
following the golfers from hole-to-hole, most of
them politely supporting Furyk, wildly encouraging Woods.
Beat Tiger Woods?
Close your eyes and imagine trying to do that.Now, close your
eyes and imagine being Jim Furyk.
You’re playing well, but you just can’t shake Woods.
It’s like he’s waiting for you to tremble just a bit
on a putt,
to miss by just a fraction on your drive.
There’s Tiger, being Tiger. Knowing he is Tiger, and
in situations like this, Tiger often wins because the other guy
wilts under his hot breath, his relentless will to win.
Furyk buckled a bit, but still managed to shoot a 71, 1 above
par.
Woods carded a 69, forcing a playoff.
So they kept playing.One hole.
Two holes.
Three holes.
“There were about three times when I thought I had won
the tournament,” Furyk said. “And three times when I
thought I lost it.”
They played as the weather turned humid. They played as the
wind whipped, the skies became a blackish gray
and the threat of rain hung over the afternoon.
Four holes.
Five holes.
Six holes.
They played through the trees. They played through the sand.
They played and played, making some shots they
should have missed, and missing some they usually make. They played
as their legs grew heavy, their arms weary, their
minds a bit numb, their hearts dancing to a strange, ever-changing
beat.
They played when the heavens opened for a few minutes, when
both golfers were sure they’d be taken off the
course as a precaution against lightning.
Heat. Humidity. Sweat. Wind. Rain.
What next, an Old Testament attack of the frogs and locust?Seven
holes.
That’s what it took, seven extra holes. Twenty-five holes
for the day.
On that last hole, the 18th, the fifth time they played it
that day. Woods drove to the fairway, Furyk under a pine
tree.Furyk never recovered.
Woods barely had enough energy to give his trademark pump
of the fist in celebration.
“Drained,” Woods said. “That’s how I feel.
I was just able to hang in there a little longer than Jim (Furyk).”
Then he caught his breath.
“Fun,” he said. “To play in something like
this, where you are tested to the absolute utmost.”
I see a tournament that will not only be remembered in Akron,
but by any golf fan who watched it on CBS
Sunday.
I see something that I never thought I would: more drama than
Woods winning last year’s tournament by hitting
the ball to the 18th green nearly in the dark, fans illuminating
the final fairway for his victory walk with their cigarette
lighters.
That was a year ago, and it was grand theater. But he won
that tournament by 11 strokes.
But this time, the two golfers and the sparks from the competition
made Firestone glow.
This was six hours of great golf, not because every shot was
sensational, but because every shot mattered so
much, and both golfers seemed to almost conspire to put on a show
for the gobs of Akron golf fans who soaked up
every moment.
Or as Woods said, “This was a war today, neither one
of us would give an inch.”
And for that, we all should be grateful.
———
© 2001, Akron Beacon Journal (Akron, Ohio).
Visit Akron Beacon Journal Online at http://www.ohio.com/.
Distributed by Knight Ridder/Tribune Information Services.
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