Tiger at Play

What we are forever confronted with on the golf course is a never-ending battle between the id and the ego, between being aggressively carefree and being strategically cautious and rational. We find ourselves in a tug of war: Do we play conservatively and be good, predictably? Or do we smile at temptation, let go and gamble and, at least possibly, be great? What makes this complex game even more intriguing is that it is always played on an innocent-looking field of green hills and valleys, among ponds and streams, pines or palms. Or among pretty flowers, such as those bright-pink azaleas that line the fairways of Augusta National, the heavenly Georgia course where Tiger Woods returns this spring to defend his Masters crown. Woods, unquestionably the strongest and most mentally intense player in the game, experiences the toughest battle between id and ego, between carefree aggression and calm focus.

In this selection of paintings, LeRoy Neiman captures Tiger's persona, his split personality, of sorts. On one side we see an aggressive man, swinging powerfully through the ball as no other golfer--not even John Daly--can, sometimes physically letting go of the club to tell the world he doesn't give a damn about staying in control. Sheer power is his priority. This is the Tiger who intimidates his competitors with a superfast swing of perfect rhythm and a killer instinct passed on to him by his father, Earl, a former Green Beret. This is Tiger the terminator, the 22-year-old who, on the way to victory in the 1997 Masters, made mincemeat of Augusta National, hitting 350-yard drives over 100-foot trees guarding doglegs, followed by towering irons stiff to the hole.

The other side of Tiger is focused. This is the Tiger who chooses from his closet, on every competitive day but Sunday, a green or yellow shirt, rather than his favorite, angry red. This is the cool Tiger with the big, brown altar-boy eyes, the charmer disguising the big, bad wolf. This is the Tiger who takes in everything during chipping practice, his eyes watching the ball in the air and on the ground. This is the Tiger who can truly see shots come to life in his mind's eye, before playing them. This is the Tiger who stands steadily over a pressure putt, calming his heartbeat as easily as Gandhi did when standing before the British army. This is the focused thinker who hates to make strategic errors, the proud pro who isn't afraid to listen to the advice of others. This is Eldrick Woods, with the meditative eyes of a tiger passed on to him through his Thai mother, Kutilda, who makes sure her only son practices the Buddhist ways she taught him.

During amateur match-play events, Tiger let his aggressive side run wild. He played with his amateur partners the way a cat plays with a mouse. In 1991, at the age of 15, Tiger became the youngest winner of the U.S. Junior, an event he also won in 1992 and 1993, becoming the only player to win three times in a (text concluded on page 153) tiger at play (continued from page 80) row. In 1994 he started his run as an amateur, winning the U.S. Amateur a record three years straight.

Since turning pro in 1996 at the age of 20, Tiger has won six times on the PGA Tour. Most impressive was his Masters victory, which he won in record form by 12 shots, making him the youngest winner ever. Tiger's aggressive style worked perfectly at Augusta National. He unleashed his driver off the tee, hitting the ball so far that fairway bunkers, such as the one down the right side of hole number one and the one down the left of number 18, never came into play. Tiger's drives were so long he was able to hit soft, short irons to the flags. His competitors were forced to play longer shots onto the slick greens. Water and sand guarding par-five holes posed no threat to Tiger. He didn't need to be focused. Aggression off the tee and genius on the green paved the way to victory. These advantages are what prompted Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer to predict that Tiger will win more green jackets than their total of ten combined.

After Tiger's 1997 Augusta win, the golfing public and press looked to him to win the remaining three majors: the U.S. Open, British Open and PGA championship. Tigermania had swallowed the golf world, but the more he played on more penal courses, the harder things got. Courses such as Congressional, Royal Troon and Winged Foot, where the other majors were played in 1997, ate him for lunch. They demand accuracy off the tee. It doesn't matter if you hit the ball 350 yards. If the ball comes to rest in six-inch-long rough, the chance of making par is slim.

Finishing no better than 19th in any of the remaining majors, Tiger admitted that he "got beat up" and realized for the first time that pure aggression--playing the driver off nearly every tee and firing at the flagsticks from the woods and rough--is not the formula for winning the other major championships. Looking in the mirror, Tiger soon realized that the coveted majors are much different from the match-play competitions he was nurtured by while an amateur. When you score two double bogies in a row during a major stroke-play championship, you have to score four birdies just to get back to even par. And par won't cut it. In fact, shooting even par in a regular PGA Tour event doesn't earn you enough money to pay for lunch.

Tiger finished at the top of the money list in 1997, becoming the first player to win $2 million. But, still, during the second half of the year he played mediocre golf. Like all of us who play this crazy game, Tiger faced one fact: To shoot the lowest possible score and play winning golf, you must sometimes keep the id at bay and let the ego enter the game. You must be disciplined enough to play an iron or fairway wood off the tee on a narrow hole, disciplined enough to lay up in front of a water hazard if you know it will take your best shot to carry it, disciplined enough to play for the fat of the green when aiming at a sucker pin is foolhardy. You must know when to go and when to go slow.

All of us can relate to Tiger's inner struggles on and off the course. Every golfer has experienced the frustration of hitting the ball great on the practice tee, then poorly out on the course. That's no different from having a speech down cold, then choking at the podium. The only difference between life and golf is that on the course there's no dog to kick. But as Tiger is finding out, what matters most is getting through the day, knowing you have given the game your best--and best thought-out--shot.

Chances are, when the 1998 Masters is over, Tiger will wear another green jacket. However, Tiger's new maturity will allow him to win some or all of the other three majors. Then the question will be whether or not Tiger can remain totally focused on the game that he has changed from its swing to its soul.