If Earl Woods wouldn’t have died on May 3rd, 2006, everything may have been different. It could have given the image of Tiger turning 40 on December 30th a different angle. Imagine: a big cake, the kids around and a glass cabinet in the background with more than 20 pristine Grand Slam titles glistening on the shelves.
But cancer killed Earl and Woods was left without his main source of defense. It’s not a question of numbers. It doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that he won ten majors in his presence and thereafter, four. Earl would never have accepted his son’s downward spiral. He would have thrown himself out in front to break the fall. He wouldn’t have allowed that, all of sudden, Elin Nordegren became the most angry and spiteful sister on the planet and Tiger the outcast, condemned brother-in-law. A family matter, private, showed up at the Woods’s doorstep and we all just walked right into his house and made ourselves at home. That was the root of all his troubles. When analyzing any of the events after the fact, the first thing to note would be what happened on Thanksgiving. With Earl it would never have happened.
For Tiger all that’s left are the memories. Logic invites one to think that it doesn’t make sense for him to challenge Nicklaus’s record, when those who are actually fighting to take over the empire are golfers who haven’t even turned thirty. The Tiger Slam will forever be remembered – a privilege to have seen him live-, the multi-million dollar PGA Tour television contracts and the sublime golf legend. But his reign as the Best Player in History has fallen. And he wasn’t the Messiah his father thought he was either. Tiger continues to be an exception. Minorities have not been able to penetrate the impermeable barriers of the golf world as predicted. Oh, if old Earl had lived just a little longer…
