The Big Miss: My Years Coaching Tiger Woods (28 page)

No golfer had ever played in a bubble of fame like Tiger’s, so when his scandal occurred, my first reaction was sympathy. I began to think of Tiger as belonging to a group that included such figures as Michael Jackson and Britney Spears—public superstars whose ways of escaping pressure became self-destructive. I began to understand that Tiger’s burden had been even heavier than I’d thought.

Once the news was out, I tried to contact Tiger by text but didn’t hear back. On December 23, I sent him a longer message that offered support:

Tiger,

I just wanted you to know that I will always be your friend, bud. I am sure you feel bad about everything that has happened. The fact is that everyone makes mistakes and you can’t undo something that has already been done. All you can ever do is live in the present and then plan for the future. Like I always say, the great thing about yesterday is that it is never going to happen again. A great man once said this: “The lessons I learn today I will apply tomorrow, and I will be better.” That great man is you. It is obvious that you have a long road, but short road or long road you handle it the same way, one step at a time. If I can ever help in any way I am always available. I just wanted to let you know that I am thinking of you. Hang in there.

Hank

He didn’t e-mail back, but right after Christmas, he called. His first words were, “Well, I finally got my phone working,” which was a line he’d used before when he hadn’t returned a call for a while. He had a lot of problems with his phone, in part because he changed his number so often. His voice was flat, as if nothing had happened since the last time we spoke, which had been about six weeks before, just after he won the Australian Masters. But when I ventured to ask how he was doing, his answer—“About as good as I can”—was somber.

He didn’t volunteer anything else. The only reference he made to his situation was, “God, the media is pounding me. They’re such vultures.” At the end of the conversation he said, “I’m going to be gone for a while.” He didn’t say where he was going, and I didn’t ask. But I figured it was somewhere to disappear from view, and maybe to get some help.

During the month he spent at a Mississippi clinic, I didn’t hear from him. I received texted updates and reports from Mark and Tiger’s longtime friend Bryon Bell, but they had their hands full with the aftermath of the scandal, and there were no details. I heard only that Tiger was OK, but that he wasn’t taking any calls as he underwent treatment.

After Tiger got out of inpatient treatment in early February, he called me at home in Dallas. He sounded better and was more forthcoming. He described his therapy as “horrible, the worst experience I’ve ever been through” and “the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” but he didn’t offer any details. When I asked about Elin, who’d participated in some couples therapy with him, he said, “We’re trying. But I don’t know if she is buying all this stuff.” He added, “She wants me to not play golf for two years. Right now, I don’t know.” The call lasted about ten minutes.

On February 19, I watched Tiger give his televised apology from the PGA Tour’s headquarters in Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida. I didn’t attend because I was in Cabo San Lucas, where I’d picked up a bad case of bronchitis. Mark Steinberg had called me two days before to ask me if I could get to Florida right away. Because it was such short notice and because my bronchitis made me apprehensive about getting on a long flight, I declined, and Mark didn’t pressure me to change my mind.

Watching Tiger deliver his apology in front of that blue curtain was depressing. He looked more wrung out than I’d ever seen him. I was disappointed that he chose to read from a prepared statement. I found myself wanting to hear him speak more naturally, more from the heart, and even take some questions. I’d hoped that he’d come out of treatment trying to be more open.

To be supportive, I sent him a text message telling him he did a good job. To my surprise, he got right back, texting, “Thanks. Appreciate it.” A few minutes later, he called.

It seemed as if giving the speech had lightened his load, because he sounded upbeat. He was almost talkative, and at one point actually dropped his guard. “I learned one thing for sure,” he said with conviction. “When I play golf again, I’m going to play for myself. I’m not going to play for my dad, or my mom, or Mark Steinberg, or Steve Williams, or Nike, or my foundation, or you, or the fans. Only for myself.”

It was the most intimate and revealing thing he’d ever said to me. It was the first time he’d suggested that he was actually conflicted about his upbringing. I’d never heard him publicly or privately question the way he’d been raised. Both his parents had consistently maintained that Tiger was never pushed to play golf—that he’d loved the game as a toddler and constantly wanted to go to the golf course. As Tiger became a prolific winner in junior golf, both he and his parents publicly held to the line that the game was never put before his education or a normal life. I’d never heard Tiger mention his father’s oft-quoted statements that his son would be more influential than Gandhi or that he was a better person than he was a golfer. I’d never heard him question a public image that carried the dual expectation of superstar-level golf playing and flawless public behavior, or express resentment about his responsibilities as an employer or head of a foundation. But it was clear from the forcefulness of Tiger’s tone that he’d learned that the obligations imposed on him had exacted a considerable toll.

I thought,
This is a good start. He’s really looking at himself
. It gave me hope that Tiger was on his way to becoming a more self-aware and contented person. In his public apology, he’d vowed to go back to the Buddhist values that his mother had taught him in childhood. “Buddhism teaches that a craving of things outside ourselves causes an unhappy and pointless search for security,” Tiger said. “It teaches me to stop following every impulse and to learn restraint. Obviously, I lost track of what I was taught.”

I’d never seen Tiger meditate or talk about Buddhism, but the ideals made sense. Tiger seemed to be talking about a radical change, which made me wonder about how altering the Package would affect his golf. Tiger’s intense sense of mission when he played gave him his fire, his focus, and his incredible ability to find something extra at the most urgent moments. For all the success this had given him, what if that mission had helped mess up his life? If Tiger was asking himself that question, was he going to be reluctant to keep putting his whole identity on the line when he played? If golf didn’t mean as much to him anymore, then he’d probably win less often. If that happened, I thought it might make him more enjoyable to coach and be around. Going forward, that was a trade-off I would take.

After going uncharacteristically deep, Tiger backed off and changed the subject. “Anyway,” he said, “I have a lot of work to do.” But he continued the personal tone when he told me that the night before, he had walked out onto the practice range across from his house and, in the pitch dark, had hit five full shots with a sand wedge. “First swings since all this shit happened,” he said. I asked, maybe a little too earnestly, “So, how did you hit them?” He probably heard in my voice a slight worry that his ordeal might have completely erased his aptitude for the game, because he kind of chuckled and said, “Oh, they were solid.” Then before hanging up he said, “I’m getting ready to start back up. Once I get going, I want you to come down here, and we’ll start working.”

From my perspective, there was an obvious question: When was Tiger coming back to competition? In his apology, he’d said, “I do plan to return to golf one day. I just don’t know when that day will be. I don’t rule out that it will be this year.” The choice of words suggested later rather than sooner. But I didn’t want to press Tiger in a delicate moment, so I refrained from asking if he had a date in mind.

A week later, he called and said he was ready for me to come to Isleworth to begin rebuilding his game. “You can stay in the house as long as you want,” he said, adding that Elin and the two children had moved to a rented home nearby. “It’s just me.” On March 8, the same date I began as his coach six years before, I flew from Dallas to Orlando and again rented a car. On the drive to Isleworth, I decided I would stay as low-key as I could. I figured Tiger would be in a pretty fragile state, and I didn’t want to appear to be forcing anything. But as I drove up to the country club’s guardhouse, gave my name, and was allowed through the gates, I couldn’t help being a little nervous.

As I pulled into Tiger’s driveway, I saw that he was already on the practice range hitting balls. When I walked across the street onto the long hitting area, I was taken aback by the sight of Elin standing nearby with the two kids. As I got closer, Tiger stepped toward me and gave me a man-hug that was quick and a little awkward. “How you doin’, bud?” I said, and he answered, “Good to see you.” He seemed determined to keep things as normal as possible.

I then approached Elin. It was a difficult moment, but at the same time I didn’t feel any dread. I was at peace because, after everything happened, I’d texted her with some messages of concern, and made it clear that I hadn’t known about Tiger’s activities. And Tiger had told me in our last phone call, “Elin knows that you and Stevie weren’t involved or knew anything.” The look on her face was sad, and she hugged me a little longer than usual.

I sensed a force field up between Tiger and Elin, who didn’t speak directly to each other. After a bit of small talk about how the kids were growing, she gave a wave and said she was taking them to a playground. After she left, Tiger was visibly relieved. When our eyes met, I said, “That seemed a little icy. How’s it going?” In a resigned voice, he said, “Yeah, pretty slow. We’re trying.”

Tiger was definitely subdued. Our usual topics of conversation on the practice range might be the latest tour gossip or some development involving another player, but there was none of that. He seemed to be carrying himself gingerly, like a person who’s been beaten up. It hit me that for six weeks he’d been in a confined, highly controlled place with expert counselors who know how to break a person down. He might have been the toughest patient they ever faced, but there’d been an effect. I wondered about a loss of self-confidence and what all that therapy would do to his killer instinct. I actually flashed on the sensation I got as a kid the first time I watched
The Wizard of Oz
and saw the curtain being pulled back.

As Tiger hit balls and we talked a bit about how his swing felt, I didn’t sense that he was highly excited about golf. He didn’t say he’d missed it or that he was more motivated than ever or how he couldn’t wait to prove his critics wrong. It seemed instead that he was easing himself back into something familiar, something he knew he could do well, something that allowed him to feel a little better about himself.

His swing was bad but not terrible. His ball control was poor, with a lot of curve to his shots. He’d told me on the phone that he was hitting the ball farther, and that was always a red flag to me. It meant his club was flattening out too much on the downswing, creating a slinging motion with his hands that is not a reliable way for him to hit straight, controlled shots. As was usually the case when he took a break from the game, he’d thought up a new swing idea that had to do with creating more power by increasing the wrist cock in his downswing, and he was trying it out. He knew I wouldn’t be thrilled with him going off plan. I never approved of that move, but he didn’t say anything about it, and I didn’t either.

Even as I watched the erratic ball flight, I offered only encouragement. It felt too early to impose much structure or a plan. He said he’d watched some tournaments on television, and he commented on how much he liked the backswing of Justin Rose, who’d just switched to instructor Sean Foley.

After about an hour of full shots, followed by some short-game and putting practice, we walked back to the house. Inside, it was less furnished than I remembered it and strangely dark for daytime. That’s when I noticed that all the outside windows were covered with butcher paper to prevent photographers from taking pictures of anyone inside the house—a real possibility because it was hard for security to keep paparazzi from taking boats on the lake behind the property. I also noticed a few self-help books on the kitchen counter. Tiger told me he hadn’t been outside the gates of Isleworth since coming back from rehab a month earlier. In the four days I stayed, either we ordered meals from the club, or I went out and picked up food at a nearby Boston Market. Tiger always had the turkey dinner with sides of steamed vegetables and mashed potatoes.

One night he said, “We’re going to eat in the clubhouse. It’s family night. Elin and the kids are going.” Inwardly, I cringed. I told him I felt as if I’d be imposing, but he insisted. I knew it was going to be awkward, and it was. We sat at a big table, and the conversation was either forced or nonexistent. It was a buffet, and though other members were pleasant and polite to Tiger and Elin as they got their food, when they sat down, I could feel the stares. I guess Tiger wanted me there as a buffer, but after I made a couple of attempts to start conversation with little success, I felt kind of helpless and just waited out the ordeal.

When Tiger began to play practice rounds, it was in a threesome with me and Corey Carroll. At the hardest time of his life, it appeared to me that he was closer to Corey than anyone else.

Mark O’Meara had once held a similar place. But since the scandal, Mark had been hurt that Tiger had not returned his calls. “I’ve tried to contact him a few times to let him know I’m thinking about him and his family,” Mark told writers in February. “My phone is always on.” Shortly after, Tiger referred to the quote and commented, “I guess Mark is pretty disappointed in me.” I thought it was a sign of Tiger becoming more empathetic, but only to a point, because when I spoke to Mark weeks later, he said Tiger had still not gotten back to him.