We used to watch Tiger Woods and admire, respect and marvel, and we couldn’t take our eyes off him. But did we like him? We’ve written here more than once that Woods is not a nice guy, and I for one have been okay with that. The aura was the man, the man was the aura.
It wasn’t like I would ever sit down with him and shoot the shit over a beverage. It was hard to imagine him doing that with anyone, and it always surprised me when I’d hear who he played his practice rounds with — I thought they’d have to be wide-eyed, sycophantic, not likely to challenge him or piss him off. Oh my god, don’t piss off Tiger Woods.
He had his fall from grace that “grace” had nothing to do with. Then he got hurt, and hurt again, and we saw the perp shots, and maybe we thought he deserved it all because maybe a guy shouldn’t walk through life like his stuff don’t stink.
I guess we like him now. The new Tiger looks pretty human — a hugging machine, in fact. He talked of crying. The congratulations of his fellow players waiting yesterday at 18 were real and heartfelt, we suppose.
It’s like he’s one of the boys. This week, this most unusual week in golf that happens every other year, maybe we want that. The Ryder Cup is a team sport.
Come April, forget that shit. Augusta National is no place for some nice guy. I want Tiger the cold-eyed bastard. I want the aura.