Head Shakers

Transcendent athletic talent crosses Darwinian competitiveness in extremely rare cases. These athletes are as scarce as they are brilliant. Their abilities are nothing short of god-given and yet, instead of relying on talent alone, they spend their lives attempting to raise their work ethic to that same divine plane. Their compulsive drive is how they show appreciation to everyone that witnesses their accomplishments. They know you can't do what they can do. They don’t just want to win; they want to demoralize their opponent. To break their will. They are ruthless assassins and if you're a real sports fan, you have to appreciate every minute they are a part of your life. If you're lucky, one of these athletes will come along in your lifetime. We are both fortunate and unfortunate in this regard. Fortunately, we have already seen two. Unfortunately, we almost lost one . . . and we’re losing the other as we speak.

The first was Michael Jeffrey Jordan. When Michael unexpectedly announced his retirement from the game of basketball in October of 1993, the shock that swept across America was grounded in the palpable feeling that we really may never see this guy play again. Disappointment was not reserved just for Chicago Bulls fans. Jordan was a transcendent talent that made sports fans around the world feel the loss. Even when you were cheering against him, you couldn't help but shake your head and appreciate what you were watching as he dropped 52 on your team while locking down your franchise player on the defensive end. You didn’t need to wait for historical perspective with Jordan. You knew you were watching history every time he took the floor. With three championships in hand and Jordan at the absolute top of his game, it was a foregone conclusion that he had at least five more left in him. Bulls fan or not, this was going to be incredible to watch.

And just like that, he was gone - creating a giant vacuum in his wake. We weren’t just afraid that we may never see Jordan again; we were afraid we would never see anyone like him again. Watching him whiff at curveballs in his silly minor league baseball uniform made us realize we were being cheated. His lack of baseball prowess confirmed what we already suspected. God had reached down and placed Michael here to stick jumpers over double teams and win games single-handedly while battling the flu. Luckily for us, someone eventually got that through his head and he returned, triumphantly, to his throne atop the world of sports. Coming so close to witnessing an unthinkable waste of ability, a nation of sports fans could go back to enjoying a once-in-a-lifetime talent while assuring themselves something like this would not and could not ever happen again.

Only problem is its 2011 and here we are with number two. Slowly and painfully over the last 18 months, another giant vacuum has appeared in the world of sports. Another transcendent athlete, under unprecedented circumstances, has left us. It wasn’t as abrupt and shocking as Jordan’s departure, but it was painful nonetheless. We watched his seemingly perfect life unravel in front of our eyes. His mistakes, and there were many, were highlighted at every opportunity and capitalized on by every conceivable entity. He took such a beating we wondered if he would ever play again.

I’m not here to defend what he did. I am here to simply point out that people like him walk the earth once or twice in a lifetime, and I don’t want to miss out on any more than I already have. I want to get back to the place where I can one day talk to my kids about him the way my father talks about Jack. The way my grandfather talked about Ben Hogan. We need you back, Tiger.

We have doubted Tiger Woods before. There have been swing, knee, and life reconstructions. After each, we wondered if he was done. If he had lost the physical ability. Lost the drive. Lost the capacity to love golf the way he always had. Every time we wondered, he came back and proved us wrong. I watched him win the US Open in an 18-hole playoff on one of the toughest courses in the world playing on one leg. He was Jordan with the flu that day. I promised myself I would never doubt him again.

But here we are, 18 months since his last victory on tour, and for the first time, I am feeling the way I remember feeling when Jordan walked away. Maybe the weight of the world really did crush Tiger's once-impenetrable confidence and the man that made you shake your head as he was drilling 32-footers in his Sunday red is lost and gone forever. If you haven't been watching, I wouldn't recommend it. It truly is gut-wrenching to witness. This past weekend I watched Tiger chunk two balls into the water and was overcome with the distinct feeling that I was watching Michael Jordan flailing at curve balls again. Only now it feels worse because this man is out there playing his own game and the evidence that we might have lost him forever is right in front of us. It feels like you’re watching Monet finger paint or Mozart play chopsticks.

Like Jordan, what makes Tiger great also drives the vices that could very well lead to his downfall. With Jordan it’s gambling. With Tiger it’s sex. Both seemingly unfortunate by-products of the Darwinian personalities that make them so great at what they do. You can curse the heavens and swear you’ll never support him for these reasons but keep in mind that when Tiger leaves us, there won’t be another to take his place. Like Jordan, he is a generational talent and we will never see his equal. You don’t have to support Tiger, but I do urge you to think logically before you cheer feverishly to rid us of quite possibly the greatest golfer that will ever walk the earth.

A week from today the greatest golf tournament in the world begins in Augusta, Georgia. Every year, a friend of mine runs a Master’s Pool in which you pick five golfers, only two of whom can reside in the top-ten world rankings, and the lowest aggregate score wins. Last year, with the help of Tiger, I came in first place and netted a cool $638. This year, for the first time ever, Tiger won’t be on my roster. Honestly, I hope he makes me look like an idiot. I hope when he pulls on his red shirt Sunday morning he is in contention for that green jacket. I hope he makes me watch $638 spiral down the drain with a couple impossible birdies at Amen Corner. I hope he stops worrying about the uptight golf purists and gets the fist pumps going again. We need you back, Tiger. We’re ready to start shaking our heads again.