Nineteen months ago, Tiger Woods climbed the hill of the 18th hole at Augusta National to deafening roars. There were, perhaps, 10,000 fans there, many incapable of even seeing the green, but wanting to be there all the same.
Cops guarding the ropes clapped. So did the hand-run scoreboard operator. Members of the kitchen staff, and college kids working the gift shop, left their posts to take it all in. Charlie Woods, Tiger’s son, waited in the same patch of turf for a congratulatory hug behind the green where Earl Woods, Tiger’s father, did more than 20 years earlier.