(July 24, 2019)
PORTRUSH, Northern Ireland – For a man who protects his health like a state secret, Tiger Woods was refreshingly forthright last week at the Open Championship.
There was his early-week concession that he wasn’t as sharp as he wanted. (He opened with 78.) Then there was his admission that he was sore and couldn’t move freely. (“Just the way it is, and just the way it’s going to be.”) And finally, there was his acknowledgment that, well, some weeks he’s just not going to have it, and that’s OK.
The game’s most ruthless competitor, now realistic about his limitations.
“One of the reasons why I’m playing less tournaments this year,” he said, “is so I can hopefully prolong my career and be out here a little bit longer.”
A little bit longer?
That doesn’t sound like the guy whose last-ditch fusion surgery supposedly allowed him to compete again, pain-free.
Or the 43-year-old who was poised for a late-career resurgence.
Or the Masters champion who would not only soon eclipse Sam Snead’s record of 82 PGA Tour titles, but then also set his sights – again – on Big Jack’s 18 majors.
No, this Tiger Woods was far more clear-eyed about his golfing mortality.
Tiger Woods missed the cut at The Open, bringing an end to a major decade that was defined by injury and uncertainty.
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Perhaps there was little use concealing the truth this time, because it was plainly obvious that Woods wasn’t right at Royal Portrush. When he arrived last Sunday, his swing was loose and his mind clouded from jetlag. Cool, damp conditions midweek never allowed his surgically repaired back to loosen up. Then came his disastrous opening round, when he grimaced after tee shots, tied his shoes sitting down, and stretched and contorted like a senior citizen preparing for a pickup game at the Y.
Those expecting Woods to build off his game-changing Masters victory likely have felt underwhelmed by the past few months. He showed up ill-prepared at Bethpage Black and was soundly trounced by the world’s No. 1 player, Brooks Koepka. Months later Woods would admit that the Masters exacted a greater toll than expected, but his reaction at the time to his missed cut at the PGA (“I’m the Masters champion and 43 years old, and that’s a pretty good accomplishment”) also hinted, for perhaps the first time in his career, that he was satisfied. His summer slumber continued by never factoring at Pebble Beach, in a much-anticipated return to the site of his greatest performance, and then he decided against a tuneup start in between the summer opens, leading to the first time in his career that he missed two cuts the same year he won a major.
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