By John Hawkins
Photo By J.D. Cuban
June 20, 2008
He broke out another new monster-putt celebration last Sunday night, a far cry and 2,500 miles from Bay Hill, where he tore off his cap and hurled it at the ground, then turned to a jam-packed grandstand and hollered until the veins popped from his neck. Happiness with a splash of rage, perhaps, although the requisite high-fives with caddie Steve Williams always have been a bit sloppy. How can anyone hole a 25-footer to win a golf tournament, then whiff on an open hand from four inches?
Joy wore a different outfit to Torrey Pines GC, scene of the superhero's latest good deed, a place where dress is casual and success is not. Another 18th green, only this time, there was a much bigger title on the line, and if he misses, everybody goes home. "Well, does he make it?" Rocco Mediate asked a cart barn full of nervous accomplices. "Anyone want to bet?" Talk about sucker pins -- who in their right mind accepts either side of such a wager from a 45-year-old man who stands one lipout away from his first major championship? So there were no takers. Just a million short breaths and the usual hush, a white ball tumbling inside the right edge and an emotional avalanche from the Dude in the Red Shirt. He arched his back like a powerlifter and looked up at the sky, then uncorked a series of rapid-fire baby fist pumps, none of which packed the punch of those Joe Frazier uppercuts of heroic moments past.
"How'd I look?" Tiger Woods wanted to know before the smoke had begun to clear. Honestly? He looked relieved. Maybe a little thankful the putt wasn't moving any faster, lest it spin around the hole and roll away, which would have strapped an agonizing end to a week already full of pain. Most of all, Woods' 72nd-hole histrionics seemed to contain traces of unfinished business. Although this reaction wasn't exactly dipped in restraint, his pursuit of a 14th major title would require 19 additional holes against an unburdened veteran with no business being there and much less to lose.
It's a U.S. Open thing: Mickelson's course strategy came into question. Photo: Dom Furore
Lose he did, although Mediate's finest Bob May impersonation was nothing short of oversized, lasting long into overtime, as he forced Woods not only to make that 12-foot birdie putt Sunday evening, but at least a couple more the next day. "He's just so hard to beat," Rocco announced, taking ownership of the week's most relevant understatement. "It's like I told Matt [Achatz, his caddie], 'This guy is impossible.' He is who he is. There's nothing else to say."
A tap-in par on the first hole of sudden-death was all it took for Tiger to claim his third U.S. Open championship, his first since Bethpage in 2002, and move to within four big trophies from reaching the summit of Mount Nicklaus. To say the best player won this tournament, however, would be to view it exclusively through a wide-angle lens. Mediate, the world-class journeyman with five career victories and $13.7 million in PGA Tour-issued credit, rallied from three strokes down with eight holes to play Monday afternoon. If not for a small truckload of four-footers planted like landmines across the final two days, Rocco would have won this bout going away.
He traded blows with Eldrick Almighty in a 4½-hour encore far better than anyone could have expected, certainly the best in this particular format since Hale Irwin submerged Mike Donald in 1990. Woods and Mediate both finished the tiebreaker at even-par 71, necessitating an extra hole after the extra holes and validating the notion that nobody really lost this U.S. Open, although someone had to win it.
It might as well be You Know Who, and since he is who he is, we need not wonder why because he will. "This week had a lot of doubt to it," Tiger admitted, referring to the mid-April knee surgery that sent him to Torrey Pines with a lot less cartilage and a fresh coat of rust. "All things considered, I don't know how I ended up in this position."
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