As suspected ever since we all saw Tiger wince repeatedly after his approach shot from the 18th fairway on the 72nd hole of the Masters, Tiger has again injured his left knee and left Achilles' tendon.
Of the various articles posted so far today, this has the most detail from the greatest number of sources:
Golf Digest on Tiger's Injuries
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Tiger Talks Improvement
A nice article with nice quotations from Tiger, including his quest for continual improvement and his childhood lisp.
Tiger on Tiger
Tiger on Tiger
Monday, April 11, 2011
Bill Simmons on Tiger
A nice piece from a good-hearted, creative, smart writer. Bill Simmons on Tiger
Yesterday would have been historic--that's why the loss hurts so much, not because it was realistic to expect him to win. Tiger makes history, and the circumstances set up better incredibly well for history yesterday--hard to imagine circumstance ever being the same again. Not to say he won't win again, but the history-making potential of such a win cannot trump what yesterday would have been if he had won.
Yesterday would have been historic--that's why the loss hurts so much, not because it was realistic to expect him to win. Tiger makes history, and the circumstances set up better incredibly well for history yesterday--hard to imagine circumstance ever being the same again. Not to say he won't win again, but the history-making potential of such a win cannot trump what yesterday would have been if he had won.
Tiger in China
For the people who are criticizing Tiger for his post-round interview with Bill Macatee, enough. He answered idiotic questions as well as he could. Somehow, what Tiger said was interpreted as rude.
How rude is jumping on a plane that same evening to head to China to teach kids in multiple clinics?
Here is the first report of him in China--looks happy:
Tiger in China Post-Masters
How rude is jumping on a plane that same evening to head to China to teach kids in multiple clinics?
Here is the first report of him in China--looks happy:
Tiger in China Post-Masters
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Articles on Tiger's 2011 Masters
I've read just about every single Tiger article over the last 15 years, so for other fans who share my passion for the man, I'll use this blog as an opportunity to compile current articles into one place. Here are some of the best from this weekend:
Gary Van Sickle on Tiger's final round
Michael Bamberger on Tiger's third round
Gene Wojciechowski on Tiger's third round
Jeff Rude on Tiger's third round
Gary Van Sickle on Tiger's final round
Michael Bamberger on Tiger's third round
Gene Wojciechowski on Tiger's third round
Jeff Rude on Tiger's third round
Tiger's 2011 Masters
For me, a three-day emotional rollercoaster unlike any other. After a ho-hum Thursday, I left work at 1pm on Friday to get home in time for the beginning of Tiger's second round. Masters.com, for all its glory (unquestionably the best Web site in all of sports, if not the best Web site period), failed me. The "Featured Group 1" feature was a total tease. I knew that Tiger was one of the featured groups, but the Web site didn't explain that there were three different groups in "Featured Group 1" and that Tiger's group, as the third of the three, wouldn't be shown until the second of the three groups had finished play for the day. That meant an excruciating hour-and-twenty-minute wait until the ESPN coverage came on. From there, of course, everything was fun. Tiger was hitting golf shots again--golf shots that only he can hit--and making a few putts. (Except for the par putt at 7, which he overread badly.) Eighteen holes later, as the sun broke through and illuminated the man and his putter, a birdie--and a 66--left me salivating for the weekend ahead.
Just as quickly, the rollercoaster went downhill on Saturday. Missed putt after missed putt--33 in all, seven more than on Friday. The swing was still there--and looking better and more repeatable than it has in a long, long time--but the flatstick was not. Actually, it was a new flatstick that had never been exposed to this stage before. It showed. I was gutted by the end of the round, another former gimme sliding by on the right. Bogey. 74. Seven back. I had so anticipated this Masters, and so anticipated the weekend after Friday's closing flourish, that the thought of Tiger being out of contention again--and not playing again till four weeks from now at Quail Hollow--left me heart broken.
I tried to sleep it off, but awoke far too early on Sunday. The wait till TV coverage--a good five hours--was interminable. But unlike Saturday--when, to make the wait easier, I had played nine holes at a nearby course--I waited it out, my stomach churning. I also returned to the outfit I had worn on Friday after returning home from work and settling in. It worked. The start was spectacular. Shots were executed to perfection. Putts were hit with perfect speed--and went in. And Tiger, after a gutty par on 9, was tied for the lead.
He played 10 and 11 (the latter, finally) immaculately, and after he hit his tee shot on 12--the last dangerous shot he would face--I was salivating at the thought that today might mark not only the greatest final round in major-championship history (I had visions of 63 or 62), but perhaps the greatest single comeback story (the microscript following the metascript of Tiger's life) in the history of sports. Then he three putted. Again. For the sixth time in four rounds. I let out a few yells, but then saw Tiger's composed look and remembered that his favorite hole--13--was next.
There, he hit his best drive of the week on the hole, a hard, low, long three-wood that got to the flattest (easiest-to-hit-from) part of the fairway all the way on the left. He had made birdie in the first three rounds from much worse spots--he surely would make birdie now, if not eagle. But the blown three-footer on 12 seemed to stick in his head, and he pulled his seven iron to an impossible location. All he had to do was play the slope--as he had last year with his third shot--and he would have been guaranteed a birdie. But now he had a delicate chip--and did not play it delicately. Par. Two crushing mental lapses in two consecutive holes. Almost inexcusable, almost fatal. But he still had 14 and 15. And he still was Tiger.
He played his approach to 14 (again from the fairway, which he hit 12 of 14 times in the final round) a bit short--if he had been longer, he would have seen his ball spin ball closer to hole. He hit a beautiful putt, but it stayed out. Then, on 15, he piped his driver, and I recalled how easily in the past he seemed to make the second shot look--including on Saturday, when he hit a miraculous five-iron around the trees. But I also recalled that he had three-putted on Saturday, negating--if not reversing--the momentum of that five-iron. Today was no different. The shot was clearer, and the shot was better--to four feet. But the putt, like the second putt on Saturday, was just as bad. I even saw him make a move after it with his body as Doug Sanders did when he gagged (right) a two-footer on the final hole at St. Andrews to hand Jack Nicklaus his first Open Championship on that course. Not a good putt, worse body language. The curses--which I had let out instantaneously--then flowed from him. A putt to take the lead--to put pressure on those looking up to him--blown.
From there, victory seemed elusive. Three closing pars reminded of what could have been--and a seemingly tweaked knee on his second shot on 18 (eliciting winces reminiscent of the 2008 U.S. Open at Torrey Pines)--and what now is. A weaker putter (he took 120 putts over four days (64 on the weekend alone) to 107 for champion Schwartzel), an injured golfer. A longer, harder climb to 19.
Just as quickly, the rollercoaster went downhill on Saturday. Missed putt after missed putt--33 in all, seven more than on Friday. The swing was still there--and looking better and more repeatable than it has in a long, long time--but the flatstick was not. Actually, it was a new flatstick that had never been exposed to this stage before. It showed. I was gutted by the end of the round, another former gimme sliding by on the right. Bogey. 74. Seven back. I had so anticipated this Masters, and so anticipated the weekend after Friday's closing flourish, that the thought of Tiger being out of contention again--and not playing again till four weeks from now at Quail Hollow--left me heart broken.
I tried to sleep it off, but awoke far too early on Sunday. The wait till TV coverage--a good five hours--was interminable. But unlike Saturday--when, to make the wait easier, I had played nine holes at a nearby course--I waited it out, my stomach churning. I also returned to the outfit I had worn on Friday after returning home from work and settling in. It worked. The start was spectacular. Shots were executed to perfection. Putts were hit with perfect speed--and went in. And Tiger, after a gutty par on 9, was tied for the lead.
He played 10 and 11 (the latter, finally) immaculately, and after he hit his tee shot on 12--the last dangerous shot he would face--I was salivating at the thought that today might mark not only the greatest final round in major-championship history (I had visions of 63 or 62), but perhaps the greatest single comeback story (the microscript following the metascript of Tiger's life) in the history of sports. Then he three putted. Again. For the sixth time in four rounds. I let out a few yells, but then saw Tiger's composed look and remembered that his favorite hole--13--was next.
There, he hit his best drive of the week on the hole, a hard, low, long three-wood that got to the flattest (easiest-to-hit-from) part of the fairway all the way on the left. He had made birdie in the first three rounds from much worse spots--he surely would make birdie now, if not eagle. But the blown three-footer on 12 seemed to stick in his head, and he pulled his seven iron to an impossible location. All he had to do was play the slope--as he had last year with his third shot--and he would have been guaranteed a birdie. But now he had a delicate chip--and did not play it delicately. Par. Two crushing mental lapses in two consecutive holes. Almost inexcusable, almost fatal. But he still had 14 and 15. And he still was Tiger.
He played his approach to 14 (again from the fairway, which he hit 12 of 14 times in the final round) a bit short--if he had been longer, he would have seen his ball spin ball closer to hole. He hit a beautiful putt, but it stayed out. Then, on 15, he piped his driver, and I recalled how easily in the past he seemed to make the second shot look--including on Saturday, when he hit a miraculous five-iron around the trees. But I also recalled that he had three-putted on Saturday, negating--if not reversing--the momentum of that five-iron. Today was no different. The shot was clearer, and the shot was better--to four feet. But the putt, like the second putt on Saturday, was just as bad. I even saw him make a move after it with his body as Doug Sanders did when he gagged (right) a two-footer on the final hole at St. Andrews to hand Jack Nicklaus his first Open Championship on that course. Not a good putt, worse body language. The curses--which I had let out instantaneously--then flowed from him. A putt to take the lead--to put pressure on those looking up to him--blown.
From there, victory seemed elusive. Three closing pars reminded of what could have been--and a seemingly tweaked knee on his second shot on 18 (eliciting winces reminiscent of the 2008 U.S. Open at Torrey Pines)--and what now is. A weaker putter (he took 120 putts over four days (64 on the weekend alone) to 107 for champion Schwartzel), an injured golfer. A longer, harder climb to 19.
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