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One writer's plea to Tiger: Don't try to play golf anymore
Every time I think about Tiger Woods telling a police officer he cannot bend over and tie his shoes, there is a voice in the back of my head that I simply can't shake. It's something I never thought I'd think, much less say out loud:
I don't want this man to try to play golf anymore.
Tiger's body is broken. This has been apparent for a long time, but the golf universe seems so emotionally (and financially) invested in his return, we keep holding out hope that he can be rebuilt, like The Six Million Dollar Man. We're deluding ourselves. It's clear he has been in physical pain for much of his adult life, and no miracle back surgery is likely to change that narrative. Throughout his prime, Tiger swung a club with so much torque and ferocity, the damage it did was gradual, but once it reached a certain point, the fallout was sudden. He aged like an NFL running back, not a golfer, and now the idea that he might emerge from rehab and play without the help of opioids seems ludicrous. Wanting him to return at this point is wanting to see him suffer in real time. I'm not sure I want to be a party to that torture any longer.
But I also don't want Tiger to leave the world of golf entirely, climb aboard his boat, Privacy, and disappear. I don't think he wants that either. I think Tiger Woods is still yearning for connection, and giving fellow Tour pros grief on the driving range is one of the few places left in the world where he seems at peace, entirely himself. I suspect one of the things that stings the most about being in rehab this week is missing his own tournament, the Quicken Loans National, even if all he planned to do was gingerly walk around and joke with fellow pros. He has admitted in recent years that he misses the camaraderie of the guys on Tour, the buzz around the putting green.
There is an anecdote in Hank Haney's book, "The Big Miss," about working with Tiger that has always struck me as one of the most revealing windows into Tiger's world. Near the end of the narrative, after various ups and downs in their relationship, Haney tells Tiger's agent, Mark Steinberg, that he wants to quit as Tiger's coach, that he's weary of Tiger's stubbornness and annoyed that Tiger keeps taking subtle shots at him in the media when he doesn't play well. They had a good run, but it's time to part ways. Steinberg is livid in response and desperately tries to convince Haney to stay. Don't do this to him. Steinberg says. You're one of his best friends.
Every time I think about Tiger Woods telling a police officer he cannot bend over and tie his shoes, there is a voice in the back of my head that I simply can't shake. It's something I never thought I'd think, much less say out loud:
I don't want this man to try to play golf anymore.
Tiger's body is broken. This has been apparent for a long time, but the golf universe seems so emotionally (and financially) invested in his return, we keep holding out hope that he can be rebuilt, like The Six Million Dollar Man. We're deluding ourselves. It's clear he has been in physical pain for much of his adult life, and no miracle back surgery is likely to change that narrative. Throughout his prime, Tiger swung a club with so much torque and ferocity, the damage it did was gradual, but once it reached a certain point, the fallout was sudden. He aged like an NFL running back, not a golfer, and now the idea that he might emerge from rehab and play without the help of opioids seems ludicrous. Wanting him to return at this point is wanting to see him suffer in real time. I'm not sure I want to be a party to that torture any longer.
But I also don't want Tiger to leave the world of golf entirely, climb aboard his boat, Privacy, and disappear. I don't think he wants that either. I think Tiger Woods is still yearning for connection, and giving fellow Tour pros grief on the driving range is one of the few places left in the world where he seems at peace, entirely himself. I suspect one of the things that stings the most about being in rehab this week is missing his own tournament, the Quicken Loans National, even if all he planned to do was gingerly walk around and joke with fellow pros. He has admitted in recent years that he misses the camaraderie of the guys on Tour, the buzz around the putting green.
There is an anecdote in Hank Haney's book, "The Big Miss," about working with Tiger that has always struck me as one of the most revealing windows into Tiger's world. Near the end of the narrative, after various ups and downs in their relationship, Haney tells Tiger's agent, Mark Steinberg, that he wants to quit as Tiger's coach, that he's weary of Tiger's stubbornness and annoyed that Tiger keeps taking subtle shots at him in the media when he doesn't play well. They had a good run, but it's time to part ways. Steinberg is livid in response and desperately tries to convince Haney to stay. Don't do this to him. Steinberg says. You're one of his best friends.
