What happened to Tiger Woods? Anyone? Well fine, if no one will step up, I guess I'll take a crack at it.
Now, this is no easy question. For years, Woods has been the sole reason I have ever tuned in to a golf tournament. I couldn't have cared less about how far he could whack a ball off a tee or how nimbly he could curve putts around seemingly measureless slopes. All of that looks the same to me. What I did enjoy as a diehard sports fan was watching an all-time athlete pull off all-time feats.
There was something remarkable about the whole scene, something celestial and indescribable. When Tiger came out with that red shirt on, the competition was done. He knew it, and after his first majestic fist-pump everybody else did too. You could actually watch as grown men - professional athletes, no less - came to the realization they were merely fighting for second place. They would stumble in his presence and then begin to falter. Then shrivel. Then simply disappear.
Don't get me wrong, I am by no means an expert on golf, and I would never profess to be. I've actually only swung a golf club twice in my life, and one of those times I somehow managed to loop a ball high enough in the air to watch helplessly as it got caught in the wind and traveled sideways to hit the guy next to me in the head. Apparently the "Happy Gilmore" running hop-step swing is more effective in movies.
You don't need to be proficient in wearing obnoxiously colorful clothing to know Tiger Woods has ceased being Tiger Woods. You don't even need to be an avid golf follower - a casual glance at Woods' final day meltdown at the Pebble Beach Pro-Am last weekend should be enough. So, I ask you again, what happened to him?
You can use whatever fancy golf jargon you want to describe why Woods no longer dominates Sundays. You can say Woods no longer hits as many fairways as he once did or his current backswing has too much - or not enough - torque. You can say his hooks are now slicing and his slices are now hooking, but I'll have no idea what you are talking about, so save your words.
In actuality, there's only one thing Woods has lost, and ironically it's the one thing which we've always maintained athletes can neither learn nor lose. He's lost "it."
If you've watched sports regularly in your lifetime, you know what that means even if you can't really explain it. Some athletes simply have "it," and others do not. You can call it being clutch or having the ability to rise to the occasion, but I prefer just saying "it."
Jordan had "it," and I'd bet he still does. Bryant has "it," but LeBron does not. Jeter most certainly has "it," but much to his continual chagrin, A-Rod most certainly does not. Eli Manning just proved to the world he has "it," while big brother Peyton may be forced to forever wonder whether he ever did.
Woods, well, he had "it" more than anyone. He was the poster child of "it." If you couldn't quite put a finger on exactly what "it" is, all you had to do was watch Woods in his prime and you'd understand. It was that simple, that clear.
And now it's gone, long gone. Watching him today, you can't even find any traces left to confirm that "it" was ever there. It's like the Brett Favre era in Green Bay: If you didn't witness it yourself, you'd have a hard time believing it actually ever happened.
But Woods did have "it." You know it, I know it, and Woods must know it most of all. This must not make sense to him either.
I woke up Sunday actually excited to watch men hit golf balls again. It was an emotion I hadn't felt in years, an anticipation which only comes when Tiger is on the hunt. We'd caught glimpses in the previous days of the Woods of old and the avid media was all set to worship the star again. I was fully expecting to sit on my couch all day and simply watch golf, to again be transfixed by that "it."
But that's not what we saw. That's not what Woods gave us. It was weird to watch him struggle so mightily on the day he used to own, to choke where he once flourished. Seeing him standing on the golf course with a look in his eyes which expressed uneasiness - diffidence even - was like receiving an organ from an unsuitable donor. My body rejected it. I couldn't even watch the whole thing.
I kept telling myself it's not possible for an athlete to lose "it," just like it's not possible for one to develop "it." You either have "it" or you don't. Woods had "it." Actually, once upon a time, he was "it." So where'd "it" go? Sure, you can take the easy road and say his high-profile sex scandal and subsequent divorce changed something inside of him, that they transformed him into a mere mortal. Sure, you can say an unfortunate slew of injuries came at the most inopportune time, ruined his confidence and derailed his career. You could even say those two factors combined to negate everything we once knew about Woods and that "it" is now gone and will never be seen again.
I'm just not buying it.
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