When Tiger Woods fell ill during the Genesis Invitational’s second round just ten days ago, the world watched as he was driven from the seventh tee to the clubhouse. Speculations ran wild among commentators, but it turned out Woods was simply sick – suffering from dizziness and fever, his dehydration treated with an IV bag.
Reporters waited anxiously for updates, while players emerged from the locker room seeking information. Emergency vehicles arrived, highlighting the contrast between Woods’ fever and more significant crises in the world. Yet, even a fever sparks concern when it’s Tiger Woods.
Consider a hypothetical scenario: a 48-year-old golfer withdraws due to flu-like symptoms. It sounds preposterous until you realize it’s Woods, a figure whose every move commands attention.
It’s been a decade since Woods ruled golf, his body battered by injuries, his once-dominant game sporadic at best. Yet, his presence still electrifies tournaments, boosting viewership even when his performance disappoints.
In his prime, Woods evoked strong emotions – admiration, resentment, or something in between. Now, as golf lacks a dominant figure, it’s lost some of its edge. The world rankings have shuffled among several players, but none with Woods’ magnetic pull. Even the current world number one, Scottie Scheffler, lacks the aura of inevitability that surrounded Woods.
The PGA Tour feels sanitized, missing the colorful personalities like Koepka’s cockiness or Hatton’s tantrums. LIV golf seems to have diluted the spectacle, blending diverse ingredients into a homogenized smoothie.
Once, watching Woods made you feel something. Now? I never thought I’d miss him.