Augusta: Turns out, he is what they say he is. He is what they shout. He is what they crave. He is what they believe. No matter how much his sleazy behaviour has betrayed everything he claimed to be, Tiger Wood is still The Man. That's how it happens in sports, remember?
That's how it happened at Augusta National on Thursday, in a roaring, revealing way that will ensure you never again forget.
On golf's grandest stage, Woods crawled out from beneath a five-month sex scandal into the arms of an adoring public and the strength of an astounding swing.
Playing with the desperation of one seeking forgiveness, Woods found it in his score, owning the crowd, controlling the course, finishing the Masters' first day only two strokes off the lead with a four-under-par 68.
"It's hard to believe," Woods said. "I've turned it around."
Of course he has. You knew he would. No matter how much any fool like me or Billy Payne or corporate America would scold, you knew he was always just one good tee shot from redemption.
We don't want our sports stars to enlighten or influence, we want them to entertain. We judge their morality with a stat sheet and their integrity with a scoreboard.
Woods' first round in 144 days was his best first round ever at Augusta. Now that's remorse.
Applause
Steve Rojas, a California native who now lives in Waycross, Georgia, was standing along the first fairway smoking a big cigar while pounding out the sort of big applause that would accompany Woods the entire afternoon.
"What you do in your private time is your own business," he said, echoing the feelings of seemingly everyone in the fawning crowd. "In America, we like our superstars."
In a club down the road in Atlanta, one of Woods' alleged mistresses was stripping. Throughout the internet, the confessions of a new alleged mistress — a 21-year-old neighbour — were flowing. On television, a crass commercial in which Woods exploits his father's memory while trying to profit from his own misdeeds was airing.
And, oh yes, high above the first tee, a banner attached to its tail, an aeroplane was buzzing.
The sign: "Tiger: Did You Mean Bootyism?"
It was later replaced with this sign: "Sex Addict? Yeah. Right. Sure. Me Too."
Ripper
Yet none of it mattered, because Woods was ripping it. He sank a putt for a birdie on the third hole. He made a 12-foot eagle putt on the eighth hole. He curled an approach shot 210 yards around a tree and landed it close enough for a birdie putt on the ninth hole.
On No 13, he missed an eagle putt and settled for birdie. On No 15, he made an eagle putt, giving him two eagles in one round for the first time in his career here. Only a missed five-footer on No 18 kept him from scoring even lower.
His round ended under rolling black clouds spitting rain. Woods stalked to the final green with his head tucked under a black cap. The crowd leaped from their folding chairs and enveloped him in a standing ovation that cut through the impending mist.
It was triumphant, it was cleansing. And, OK, it was also really creepy.
