A couple of weeks ago, Colin Montgomerie firmly planted his large foot in his large mouth.
He said he couldn’t wait to get a piece of Tiger Woods at September’s Ryder Cup because that Valderrama Golf Club in Spain is a whole lot tougher than those dinky “resort” courses the kid was eating up back in the United States.
Well, the frumpy Scotsman had an early chance for a stare fight Saturday at Augusta National, not exactly a tanning spa, and did he ever wind up with a belly full of acid indigestion. Woods did everything but rake traps with Montgomerie, whose only salve is that he is among several sideswiped stage props stuck in sand, vying for the consolation prize of $291,600.
With a staggering nine-shot lead, Tiger Woods could win this 61st Masters Sunday by matching his card against the best-ball score from the closest dozen contenders, such as they are. This tournament, or what’s left of it, begs for a slaughter rule. And it won’t do much good to steal clubs from Tiger’s bag. He only uses half of them, anyway.
“Have you ever thought about taking a load off your shoulders by just carrying the driver, wedge and putter in your apron pocket?” we asked.
“That would be just my luck,” said Woods’ caddie, Mike “Fluff” Cowan. “I leave the 5-iron in the car trunk, and that’s the day he needs it.”
Not Saturday he didn’t. Augusta National was softened by rain and complicated by wind. Still, the 21-year-old prodigy compressed these 6,925 yards into his personal playpen. The heaviest artillery he chose for his second shot to any par 4 was an 8-iron at No. 10, which stretches 485 yards.
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At No. 2, a par 5 of 555 yards, he ripped a 9-iron to get home in two. At No. 8, an uphill par 5 of 535 yards, he dusted the cobwebs off a 2-iron and killed it from 256 yards away. Otherwise, Woods wore out his sand wedge, pitching wedge and the field, not necessarily in that order.
“But his best shot today, and the best shot I’ve ever seen, was a little 40-foot chip at No. 13,” said Cowan, who has been doing this for two decades. “Unbelievable imagination, and yeah, he putted like a madman too. He can do it all.”
Years ago, Masters founder Bobby Jones took a gander at a much-heralded youngster out of Ohio State and mused, “Jack Nicklaus plays a game with which I am not familiar.”
Saturday, Woods completed his front nine in 32 and was crossing over to finish his 65. There, behind the 18th green, was the greatest golfer who ever lived. Nicklaus glanced at Woods and all but passed the torch right there.
“With his length, he has the same advantage over other guys as I did 20 years ago,” Nicklaus said. “I mean, when you’ve always got a grip on a wedge going to these greens, you can make it look pretty easy. And he is. My records? They’re there to be broken.”
Normally, Augusta National oozes sound, a cacophony of gallery bursts from hither and yon. But Saturday was a single track, for only Tiger was happening. With every hole, he attracted more spectators. It was as though he played alone, albeit before a captivated audience that swelled to 50,000.
“They’re going to have to put more bunkers in here, to toughen the course for Tiger,” Nick Price suggested.
“Leave it alone,” countered Tom Watson. “Let’s see how good this kid is. He’s a winner. We already know that. He could make history before he’s done. I suspect he will.”
Down the road in Atlanta, a black man, Hank Aaron, broke Babe Ruth’s home run mark. Sunday, Deep South again, Tiger Woods will achieve another cosmic triumph for the ages.