|
He is not difficult to read. It is all there, written on his face. Good, bad or ugly, Tiger Woods rarely hides what is boiling inside. And it doesn't have to spill over in verbage, either, although he is quite adept at that, as well. Think over the years, you can recollect your own set of emotional images. As the last putt fell at Medinah in '99, the eyes closed, the cheeks puffed slightly, the weary warrior looked for all the world as though he had lost by ten instead of winning the PGA by one. He had pushed himself to the limit and perhaps beyond, and it had all caught up with him in that final moment. Think about it. In the dusky stages of Bethpage's last act in 2002, flashbulbs caught an almost angry, teeth-clenched, forced smile after he had conquered the beast and all its attendants. At Hoylake, the piercing, heart-wrenching tears. At Augusta, the wide-eyed joy.  Tiger Woods pauses in pain on the 4th fairway. But when the agonizing winces came, the entire golf world silently shuddered. When he released his hips after another wayward tee shot on Saturday at Torrey Pines, and then crumbled nearly to the turf in pain, you had the sense that perhaps we were witnessing the beginning of the end. The surgically-repaired left knee, this particular super man's kryptonite, was still not right. Perhaps it never will be. If he had called in sick from home on Sunday morning, would we have been at all surprised? Well, knowing the man and his motivation and determination, sure we would have. But would we have understood? Undoubtedly. Here is a man in the prime of his adulthood, with everything locked up and put away. A beautiful wife, a wonderful baby girl, the world at his beck and call. To continue to do damage to that knee, if indeed it worsens with every rock and roll, would invite a cane or a wheel chair and a beach somewhere. All in the name of immortality. He says it's just pain, nothing more. He says it comes after impact, not before or during, and that he can live with it. But for how long and why? We expect our heroes to be ironclad and impervious. We listen to him say "aw, it's just pain" and we smile and say "attaboy, you're a tough guy, just do it." But for whom? For him or for us? For history or for our own little vicariosity? Needless to say, he showed up Sunday, though the pain was obvious on nearly every driver he hit most of the day. It became like the Battle of Wounded Knee, an inner fight just between him and his pain. He would grimace and then swallow hard, forcing it back deep within. And then, suddenly, the adrenaline won. He retook the lead with a birdie at 11 and hit his driver on the next tee—and not a single wince, grimace or snarl. He lost that lead but only the snarl returned, the knee seemingly forgotten in the heat of the race. And when he sank the 12-footer for birdie to tie Rocco Mediate and send the whole thing to a Monday playoff, do you think the knee was on his mind? Doesn't take much torque to do the triple fist-pump. Our questions thus remain unanswered. About his knee, that is. There has never been a question about his heart. Author, producer and writer Jim Huber spent 16 award-winning years at CNN. His accolades include an Emmy for his writing during the 1996 Olympic Park bombing in Atlanta and the Edward R. Murrow award for excellence in writing. |
Newswire 
