Over the bunker and through the Woods

It just doesn’t get old.

Not for us. Not for me. And especially not for him.

Just when we thought we’d seen it all, he takes his game to new levels.

An eagle on 13. A chip-in on 17. And another eagle on 18.

“It’s like he has a GPS system in his head,” my grandmother put it this morning.

(I do wish they had mid-fairway interviews, like they do in baseball and basketball with managers and coaches. It’s cool to hear what Doc Rivers says during timeouts and in the locker room. Imagine being in Tiger’s mind as he walks down 18.)

It truly is amazing, though, even for him. He could do nothing but laugh after he scorched the flop on 17 that should have skidded 20 feet past the cup. Instead, it hit the stick, slid down, and disappeared from sight.

When that happened, I literally jumped out of my seat, by myself in my apartment. I was uprooted about 15 minutes later on 18. I kid you not.

No cliché even does justice to what we have been so privileged to witness from The Chosen One. No words can describe it. He sprayed his drives from rough to rough, winced at every contact, walked to his ball using his driver as a cane, and somehow shot a 1-under 70.

The man is possessed.

Typically, unbiased fans root for underdogs. The Celtics got old. The Yankees got old. The Patriots are getting old. It’s what makes March Madness so great.

But for some reason golf is different. We watch for one reason.

Maybe it’s because of his focus. Maybe it’s because of his boyish enthusiasm even after claiming 13 major titles. Maybe it’s because you never know what to expect next. I’m not sure. But whatever the reason, everyone roots for Tiger. Look at the replays; when he celebrates, people in the stands high-five each other, as if they made the putt themselves.

It just never gets old.

Michael was Michael. But dominance like this has never existed before in sports. Six NBA Championships doesn’t compare to 13 (and counting) major trophies. I wonder how it feels to be divine among mere mortals.

Someone should ask him that.

ESPN’s Rick Reilly put it best. He never saw Sinatra sing or Koufax pitch. But the coolest part about his journalistic career, he said, is being able to cover Tiger Woods.

It’s true. We may never see anything like this again in our lives. He never ceases to amaze us; that’s why we watch. One day I’ll be sitting on my couch, telling my grandson, “Growing up, I got to watch Tiger Woods play golf. You’ve never seen anything like it.”

Don’t take these moments for granted, because I was only kidding, Tiger is not immortal; he can’t do this forever.

I think?

Thanks for the show, Tiger.

I just can’t wait to watch him again tonight.