Is this rabbi's curse why Tiger went winless in 10 straight majors during his prime?
MORTAL MISTAKES After dominating, Woods began a curious slump at age 26. Photograph by
Roberto Schmidt
I may be a good Catholic boy, but the closest religious figure in my life has been a retired rabbi from Long Island named Marc Gellman. He co-starred for many years on a cable TV show called “The God Squad” with the late Monsignor Tom Hartman. The rabbi plays golf. As he says, there are better rabbis and there are better golfers, but there are no better golfing rabbis than him. He’s a very funny man.
His historical significance is that he was the catalyst in bringing the U.S. Open to Bethpage Black in 2002. This classic golf course open to the public had never hosted a national championship before. He brought it to the attention of the USGA, but more important, he was politically connected in New York State to get it done—a giant task when it takes 10 years from agreement to holding the event. A lot of people were involved, but the rabbi got it done.
As a reward, the USGA makes Gellman the honorary scorekeeper in the final round of the U.S. Open. He gets to walk the last 18 holes in the last group, inside the ropes, privy to everything. On the first tee, the rabbi asks the leader by four strokes, “Hey, Tiger. I’ve got these flags and hats and scorecards I need you to sign, so I can auction them off for charity,” and Woods agrees. They go 18 holes, and Tiger wins heroically.
After the round, the rabbi patiently waits outside the scoring trailer with his flags and scorecards and Magic Marker, but Tiger comes out and, boom, rushes right past him without signing anything. The rabbi goes to the parking lot and waits by Tiger’s car while he finishes his interviews with the press and television, and, boom, again, Tiger goes right by him. The rabbi is not easily deterred; he’s pissed but unbowed. He goes to Tiger’s hotel and waits in the lobby. When Tiger finally comes back, he says, “Tiger, I have these flags you agreed to sign for charity, for the little people.” Once again Tiger snubs him, walks right to the elevators and the doors close. Well, this time, my rabbi has had enough. He drops the flags and hats and scorecards and the Sharpies, and he looks up to the heavens and lays on Tiger what we’ve come to call The Curse of the Rabbi: “Never again, Tiger, will you win another major championship in your life,” and that is that.
Remember, this was 2002. Tiger, in his prime, had won six majors in the previous 25 months.
The rabbi had put the curse on him in June. Woods doesn’t win a major the rest of that year. He doesn’t win a major the next year. He doesn’t win a major the following year. He’s gone the next 33 months, 0-for-10, no majors.
Tiger Woods during the opening round of the 2002 Masters
Simon M Bruty
I call the rabbi, and I say to him, “Would you write this story for Golf Digest?”
Between giggles, he says, “Of course,” and he does.
A couple of weeks later, right before we go to press, I get a phone call from the rabbi saying, “Is it too late? I changed my mind. I want to pull the story.”
I ask why. He says, “It would not be good for my people,” so I pull the story.
The next day I get a call from Mark Steinberg, Tiger’s manager, and he says, “Are you running the rabbi’s story?”
I say, ”Why?”
He says, “I need to know.”
I say, “OK, no.”
“Oh, good,” he says. “Tell him to send me everything he’s got; I’ll get Tiger to sign it all.”
The rabbi sends the flags, the scorecards, the golf balls, the hats, the posters, and Tiger signs them all.
The rabbi lifts the curse. It’s April 2005. Look it up. Tiger wins the next major, the Masters.
When you see that pitch shot from behind the 16th green on the last day at Augusta National, the most famous in Tiger’s storied career, when the ball makes its last turn and the Nike logo drops into the cup, you now know the miracle belonged not to Tiger but to my rabbi.
