But the thing he did best is the hardest thing to do in golf. Stop the bleeding in mid-round. Most guys who go out in 40 come home in 42, for goodness' sake, not 30.
"I found something in my swing on the ninth tee," he said. "On the back nine, I corrected what was wrong." Right. The arithmetic.
Well, that too. But in fact he sensed, he felt, he had a suspicion, that his backswing had grown too long. He was taking it back to hori- zontal—long for him—which had caused him to lose the kind of control he needed, the result being a few tee shots that explored the pines at the first, second, eighth and ninth holes.
A 21-year-old figured this out, mind you, while Faldo and all the rest of the millionaire grown-ups were glaring at their putters and other clubs, as if to say, "Let me down one more time, by god, and I'll change agents and gurus again."
After the kid righted things, it goes without saying, the tournament was over. All over except for letting drop the news that he wears a 42 long in a green jacket, that next year's champi- ons' dinner will feature Big Macs, and that the name of the G-5 he'll soon buy will be The Flying Tiger. The nearest thing to him on the leader board with 18 to play was Costantino Rocca, which is not a forbidden dance, as many people be- lieve, it's a veal dish with pasta, light on the red sauce.
Next closest was Paul Stankowski, who had put aside composing his symphony long enough to be only 10 back.
What, one of those guys was gonna throw a little 55 at Tiger? Tiger Woods on Sunday at the '97 Masters was the biggest lock in sports since Secretariat at the Belmont.
It didn't matter that he played like dogmeat, for him. He still slopped it around in three-under 69—two shots off the day's best round—and left all of his so-called pursuers looking like the member-guest partners that let you down. He played Amen Corner like he owned it, birdie-par-birdie. He hit nothing but brilliant shots in that crunch of the 11th, 12th and 13th, where so many Masters tournaments have been won and lost. Fact is, he played Amen Corner in seven under for four rounds.
"You envision dueling it out with Faldo or Nicklaus or Watson, someone who's awfully tough to beat down the stretch," he said. "You dream of doing that or getting into a playoff, weird things like that, but never to do it in the fashion that I did it."
What he did, indeed, was remind everyone of Montgomerie's dramatic statement on Saturday evening. "I have a brief comment," he said. "We're all human beings here, but there is no chance humanly possible that Tiger Woods is going to lose this golf tournament. No way. . . . Faldo's not lying second, for a start, and Ti- ger Woods is not Greg Norman."
One more thing can be added now, of course. Nobody else is Tiger Woods. Not on this planet.
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