Monday, August 28, 2000
Woods' victory a shot in the dark
By Michael Weinreb
Knight Ridder Newspapers
(KRT)
AKRON, Ohio — From the twilight and fog a Nike golf ball
emerged, on a trajectory all to itself, oblivious to the artificial
light of camera flashes and cigarette lighters and the raucous
cheers of a crowd that had receded from morning into evening.
The ball landed, and there it stood, two feet from the 18th hole,
a blind play by a golfer who could not really see his target,
who lined up this shot as if feeling his way for a light switch
in a darkened room.
Of course, the shot meant nothing. Long ago, days earlier, in
late mornings and early afternoons, Tiger Woods already had won
the NEC Invitational at Firestone Country Club. He'd already beaten
the tournament record, already latched his hands around the million-dollar
first prize, already won his eighth tournament of this PGA Tour
season.
But this is what greatness does. It never relents. Not even when
it can't see its hand in front of its face. Not even when the
broadcast has switched from network to cable and most of the gallery,
after a nearly three-hour afternoon rain delay, has gone home.
Not even when it's too dark to take a walk, let alone play golf.
And why? Because Tiger Woods wanted a number. Because his caddie,
Steve Williams, has a fetish for the number 21, and Tiger Woods
was 20 under par to that point and a birdie would make Stevie
happy.
“He was grinding hard on that number,” Woods said. “I've
won major championships and he hasn't been that excited.”
So they stood in the fairway and thoughtfully surveyed the distance.
One hundred sixty-eight yards to the flag. Woods had been hitting
these approach shots all through the back nine, and all of them
had landed at right around the same distance, about 170 yards,
so he pulled out an 8-iron and he gave it the same swing he'd
been giving all afternoon.
He'd done this before. Played by feel. As a kid, sneaking onto
the golf course in the twilight. And sometimes with his father,
Earl, as another of his tests of the young prodigy. They'd stand
there in the dark and they'd choose their shots, call out what
they were going to hit, where it was going to land. Willing their
muscles. Training their minds.
“I think it's great,” Woods said. “I was telling
Stevie that this is how I grew up playing.”
They probably shouldn't have been playing at all, but there were
schedules to keep, planes to catch, and the players agreed to
keep moving on as Firestone sank into darkness like a movie theater.
It wasn't as if there was a doubt about the winner. Only the details.
But this is what greatness does. It never relents. In the end,
there were only the flashing cameras and the lighters of helpful
fans, like something out of a Peter Frampton concert. And Woods
still stuck that shot. For his caddie. For the moment.
“I could see it in the air,” Woods said. “But as
it was falling, you couldn't see anything.”
They only knew where it had landed because of the crowd. They
approached the green to thunderous cheers from half-empty skyboxes,
and the only images after that were lighted by cameras, like strobe
light, Woods holding his putter aloft, Hal Sutton almost holing
a chip from off the green, Woods sinking that last 2-foot putt
and raking a fist through the air.
These are indelible images. This is what happens when the floodlights
dim, when all the hype and television commercials and magazine
covers fall away, and Tiger Woods presents himself in his purest
form, as an extraordinary golfer capable of sublime things. This
is a moment that Akron can frame and hang on its wall.
The question came up afterward: Where does this fit in Woods'
growing pantheon of unforgettable shots?
“I don't know,” he said. “I couldn't see it.”
(c) 2000, 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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