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Tiger tamed

Two Novembers ago, halfway across the world, Tiger Woods, was securing the 118th victory of his illustrious career at the PGA Tour of Australasia. One car crash, numerous famous BlackBerry messages, one full season, and almost one-and-a-half years later, Woods is still stuck at victory number 118. Sunday marked Woods' most recent disappointment as he collapsed at the Dubai Desert Classic to finish seven strokes behind the winner.

I promise you this is not going to be a column about any of Tiger's off-course behavior. That subject has been written on ad nauseam, and quite frankly it's none of my business. Instead, I want to focus on those two numbers: 118 and 118. At first, there might not seem like much between them - well, nothing between them if you want to be technical - but if you dig a little deeper, they are as far apart as any two numbers of the same value can be.

When I was growing up, Rick Reilly wrote a column for Sports Illustrated detailing the two types of golf fans in America. On one side, you had the Phil Guys: the fans who rooted for Phil Mickelson. These fans loved Mickelson's underdog, average-Joe story, and wanted to see the always-bridesmaid-never-bride golfer break through for the elusive first major win. On the other side, you had the Tiger Guys. These fans loved watching the surgeon-like precision that Woods used to cut apart the field and leave a trail of would-be challengers in his wake. They loved oohing and aahing as Tiger did things with a golf ball that no other human being could do, and giggling with glee as Tiger and his signature Sunday red shirts sent competitors to psychiatrists. While Reilly's comments were meant to draw a laugh, they actually serve as a looking glass to the old world of golf. A few years ago, the PGA Tour was a Tiger vs. Phil show, with occasional appearances by Vijay Singh and Sergio Garc

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