Friday, July 6, 2001
Tiger isn't laughing now
By JIM LITKE
AP Sports Writer
LEMONT, Ill. (AP) — A day before he
walked off the course in a funk, before he sneaked out a side
door of the locker room and skulked away from the Western Open
without saying a word, Tiger Woods told a funny story.
Last week, he ran into a bear. It's not
what you think, because Woods has been spraying so many tee shots
into the rough recently. It turns out he was fishing in the Alaskan
wilderness when a couple of bears wandered toward Woods and his
companions.
“They were no more than 30, 40 yards
away,” he said.
Pause.
“They were hitting it funny, too.”
Woods was only kidding about the last part,
reminding the rest of us that while hitting it crooked can be
hazardous to a pro's health, it really isn't contagious. On the
other hand, Woods' opening round of 1-over-73 on Thursday, coupled
with less-than-stirring results in his last two tournaments, apparently
has cheered up a few of the pros who will face him this week and
at the British Open in two weeks.
On the eve of the tournament, Phil Mickelson
faced the obligatory question about the chance of a rival to Woods
emerging. He gave the obligatory answer — “Certainly
it would be good for the game.” — and then went out
and held up his end of the bargain.
Mickelson, coming off a win last week at
Hartford, started on the back nine at Cog Hill and birdied three
of the first six holes en route to a 66 that left him one stroke
behind little-known Mark Wiebe.
Woods fought his swing early and frowned
all the way through the round. He gave himself only a handful
of birdie opportunities and didn't cash one in until he rolled
home a 10-footer at No. 14. And his final hole, a double-bogey
6 after dumping an iron into the pond left of the 18th, said more
about the state of his game than any post-round comments he might
have made.
As Woods came out of the scoring trailer,
a PGA Tour official approached him about going to the interview
area. Woods said, “Not unless you want me to lose it.”
He may be close to doing that, given his
continuing struggles and the specter of the season's third major
looming on the horizon.
After a week off to shake the memories of
his worst stretch of golf this year — a tie for 12th at the
U.S. Open, a tie for 16th at the Buick Classic — Woods figured
to be rested and ready to get his game back on track. Instead,
his round was peppered with the usual annoyances that accompany
a day that fails to meet his unrealistically high expectations.
Woods flung clubs toward his bag after bad
shots, hurled the occasional curse under his breath and failed
to acknowledge even the sporadic applause. Every Woods round contains
at least one shot worth the price of admission, but even that
one didn't lift his gloom.
After an errant drive at the 568-yard, par-5
ninth, his ball sat in the right rough some 20 feet in front of
a small stand of trees. The opening he settled on was no more
than 6 feet wide and overhanging branches prevented him from launching
anything higher than 20 feet.
After backing off once, Woods settled over
the shot with a long iron and took a fierce rip. Leaving behind
a divot the size of a toupee, the ball took off low and like a
two-stage rocket, climbed steadily until it plopped into a greenside
bunker. With his gallery electrified for the first time all afternoon,
Woods simply ignored the whooping and hollering and headed, stony-faced,
up the fairway.
Maybe he knew what was coming next. After
exploding a bunker shot to within 4 feet, he missed the birdie
putt to the right.
Meanwhile, Mickelson was playing some very
Tiger-like golf 10 minutes behind him. He was at 4-under after
his first nine, then wrested two more birdies from the back. He
averted disaster at his final hole of the day, at No. 9, with
an explosion from the front bunker to 6 inches. After tapping
in for par, he seemed more grateful than stoked.
“To have a low round under my belt
after the first day,” he said, “is nice.”
Maybe it's better that Woods held his tongue.
He stopped briefly on his way to the locker room to sign autographs,
but a more telling souvenir was crammed somewhere deep into his
golf bag. It was the iron he used at 18 to dump his approach into
the pond.
“I saw him hit the shot,” said
a volunteer worker who walked with Woods' group. “I looked
up and the club was in two pieces.”
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