The Big Miss: My Years Coaching Tiger Woods (6 page)

Late 2002 is when Tiger entered a shadowy period. He basically started working on his own, in part with Mark as his eyes. There was speculation that I was working with him, but that’s simply not true. I wasn’t even seeing him as often. Mark himself had stopped playing and practicing with as much intensity, and my trips to Isleworth were becoming fewer. Sometimes I’d ask Mark how Tiger was doing, and Mark would give me a summary of what he was working on. I knew that Tiger had a lot of knowledge about the golf swing, and so did Mark, but neither had ever demonstrated much success working on his own. Very simply, they were players, not teachers. That’s usually not a problem when a player is “maintaining,” but making real swing changes is another matter.

Tiger won a couple more times in 2002, but he’d dropped off slightly from his high level. His left knee started to really bother him, requiring painkillers, and that undoubtedly led to a worsening of certain bad swing habits, such as dropping his head to the right on the downswing. In December, he had arthroscopic surgery on his left knee to remove some benign cysts and drain fluid. During the procedure, it was determined that his anterior cruciate ligament was fraying. The surgery took place in Park City, Utah, where Mark and I both owned condos that we’d try to get to every year for a ski trip. Tiger’s surgery coincided with our trip, and Mark was present when Tiger was taken into surgery and when he came out. I met them later, and Tiger told me that because of the condition of the ACL, which he estimated was only about 20 percent intact, “I’m going to have to change my swing.”

The recovery required Tiger to miss the first five tournaments of 2003. Then he won three of the first four he played, including an 11-stroke victory at Bay Hill. But Tiger would later say he did it mostly with superb putting, and that year he didn’t win a major for the first time since 1998. Worse, he didn’t really come close, his tie for fourth at the British Open being his only top ten. It would later come out that the last time Tiger worked with Butch was during a visit to Las Vegas a week before the 2003 U.S. Open at Olympia Fields, where he finished tied for 20th.

I’d occasionally hear rumors that I’d be Tiger’s next coach, or that in fact I was already secretly working with Tiger, but I never paid much attention to them. I honestly believed that Tiger was determined to work things out on his own, that he liked the notion of not having a coach, and felt that he was at a point in his career where he could essentially fix himself. Even if he was looking for a new coach, there were several bigger names than mine. My approach was to keep working hard on the tasks at hand, which included coaching Mark and running my golf schools. I didn’t drop any hints to Mark, and he never talked about what he thought Tiger might do in the future. I’m sure Mark would have liked me to become Tiger’s coach, but the subject was such a touchy one with Tiger that Mark never even talked about it to me away from Tiger. I definitely didn’t make any comments about Tiger in the press or respond to any of the rumors, because that would have only been perceived, by everyone from Tiger on down, as angling for the job. As 2003 ended, I had no more reason to think I’d ever work with Tiger than I had when the year began.

But things changed when Tiger accepted that, despite his best efforts, he wasn’t getting better on his own. He won the WGC Match Play in early 2004 but wasn’t happy with the way he hit the ball. A week later he traveled to the Dubai Desert Classic. There Mark won for the first time since 1998. He’d been fighting a case of the yips, and he finally switched over to an unconventional “saw” putting grip that I’d encouraged him to try at the end of 2003. He putted like his old self and held on to win by one over Paul McGinley. Tiger, who finished five strokes back, waited for Mark off the eighteenth green to congratulate him, something I never saw him do for another player. According to Mark, Tiger told him, “I’m as happy for you as I’d be if I’d won myself.”

Everyone was in a good mood when they boarded Tiger’s leased Gulfstream 550 (nicknamed TWA, for Tiger Woods Airlines) for the ride back to the States. Mark later told me that when the subject of Tiger’s game came up, he was feeling so good about his victory and his friendship with Tiger that he just decided to stop holding back. First Mark said, “Tiger, you’ve got to get someone to help you with your game.” Tiger answered, “OK, who should I get?” Mark said that Tiger mentioned Butch’s younger brother, Billy, who was Jay Haas’s coach and whom Tiger liked, but then dismissed the idea because the sibling connection would probably cause complications. A couple of other names came up before Mark finally said, “Tiger, I know Hank’s my friend and I’ve been with him for years, but Hank’s the best teacher in the world. Besides that, he’s the one who suggested you make the big change in your swing in the first place.”

Tiger paused for a moment and said, “Yeah, I know. I’m going to call him tomorrow.”

When the plane landed in Orlando, I got a call from Mark’s agent, Peter Malik. “Hey, Hank,” Peter said. “Stay loose. You’re going to be getting a phone call.”

The next day, March 8, 2004, I’m having dinner at Bob’s Steak & Chop House in Plano, Texas, with my father, Jim, who’s in town for the day. It’s the kind of traditional Chicago-style steak place from my dad’s expense-account days, all mahogany and white linen. I rarely eat steak, but I order a New York strip, medium rare. The waiter has just brought us our food when my cell phone rings.

I’ve told my father I might be getting a call from Tiger sometime in the next few days but that I’m not really holding my breath. I don’t have Tiger’s number, but when I look down and see the 407 area code on my screen in front of a number I don’t recognize, my stomach jumps. “Excuse me,” I tell my dad, “I gotta take this call.”

I walk quickly toward the entrance, and answer. “Hey, Hank,” I hear on my cell, “this is Tiger.” I give my normal “Hey, bud” greeting, but there’s no small talk. Barely pausing, Tiger says, “Hank, I want to know if you’ll help me with my golf game.”

My mind flashes on that winter day at Exmoor with Jim Hardy, and as I stand on the sidewalk watching the valet-parking guys running around and people going in and out of the adjoining shops, I feel disoriented. Everything around me is normal, but I know my life has just changed forever. I’m talking to Tiger Woods, the greatest golfer who’s ever lived, and he’s asking me to be his coach.

Because of Tiger’s tone, I try to hide any excitement from my voice. “Sure, Tiger. Of course,” I say, adding, “Thank you for the opportunity.” Tiger stays all business, asking, “What do you think of my game?”

I kind of surprise myself with how easily I snap into professional mode. I don’t say, “Tiger, I think you have the best game of all time,” which is what I believe. I realize he is a tour pro asking a tour teacher to measure him purely against his own abilities. I say very straight, but aware of how odd it sounds, “I think your game is pretty good.”

The next question isn’t a surprise. “What do you think I need to do better?”

I’m in my wheelhouse now, and I tell him exactly what I’ve observed in him for over a year. “Looking from the outside, and not knowing everything, it looks like you’re working on a lot of great things,” I say. “It looks like you know a lot about the swing. But it’s hard for me to tell what your plan is. It doesn’t look like you have a real step-by-step plan. I think when you’re trying to improve, the most important thing is to always have a plan.”

I leave it there, without going into specifics, and Tiger doesn’t ask for any. I feel confident I’ve hit on the central issue. Certainly Tiger followed a plan with Butch early on, just as he followed a plan as an adolescent with John Anselmo. Indeed, I know that one of Earl’s stock responses whenever he’s asked about Tiger’s progress has long been “It’s all part of the plan.” But it looks to me that since the end of Tiger’s time with Butch—who said his emphasis was maintaining the swing changes Tiger had made—the plan has become less clear.

I know Tiger has a lot of knowledge about the golf swing, but a lot of players do. Sometimes that can make it even easier to become aimless, because an active and especially an impatient mind can lurch from idea to idea and go off on experimental tangents. Left to their own devices when practicing, talented players tend to go back to swing thoughts or feels or drills that have brought success in the past, and when one doesn’t seem to work, they try another. The upshot is that whether or not the player hits on something successful, he or she is likely going in a circle, rather than working toward something. With this haphazard approach, it’s very difficult for players to say at the end of a day of practice or play that they got better. With the right plan, even if things didn’t go well, there is the confidence that improvement is taking place. That’s what I believe Tiger needs, and I think—recognizing that he’s been in relative limbo for many months—he’s called me mainly to deal with this issue.

Tiger had tried it on his own, with Mark O’Meara sometimes watching him or suggesting things. But players, even great ones, aren’t trained teachers. They tend to impart the things that
they’re
working on, which an experienced teacher might conclude are exactly the wrong things. Mark certainly knows my ideas, but he doesn’t know the best way to impart them, and he probably doesn’t know which parts are best for Tiger.

Because I’ve done it so often, I’m very confident in my ability to make the right diagnoses and then give the cure in the right sequence, in the right portions, and at the right pace. As much as having knowledge, doing all that involves knowing the student. And even in my excitement, I know the thing I’m looking forward to most is getting the opportunity to intimately understand Tiger Woods.

Our phone call lasts no more than three minutes. It ends with Tiger saying he wants me to come work with him at Isleworth the following Monday. He doesn’t follow with any small talk or pleasantries, so after a last quick thanks from me, we say good-byes.

After hanging up, I stand on the sidewalk, stunned. Besides sheer amazement, my mind is filled with all sorts of thoughts. As a golf instructor, I feel as though I’ve won the lottery. I’m going to gain in stature. I’m going to be famous. I’m going to get to try out all my ideas on the ultimate student, and he’s going to prove them so right. And then I think, I won’t even have to tell him anything. This guy is going to win no matter what I tell him. He’s done it all his life, he’s so good. I’ve just landed the easiest job in golf.

After a long few minutes, I walk back into the restaurant. I tell my father I’m now Tiger’s coach. It feels kind of funny, because my dad’s the biggest Jack Nicklaus fan who ever lived, and I know he isn’t going to want Tiger to break Jack’s record. He chuckles at that, and I can tell he’s proud. But he also has a sense of the pressures ahead, and he says, “You know, that’s going to be a hard job. Are you sure you want to do it?”

I appreciate the question. But yes, I’m sure. To be able to teach the best player—that’s always been my dream. I’m going to give Tiger as much as I’ve got for as long as I can. And somehow I already know he’s going to be the last touring pro I teach.

The next Monday, as I would about fifty times over the next six years, I took the six a.m. American Airlines flight from Dallas to Orlando. It was the week of the Bay Hill Invitational, played at a course about three miles from Isleworth. Tiger was attempting to win the tournament for the fifth straight time, which would be a PGA Tour record for consecutive victories at one event.

My early euphoria had been followed by a reality check. I knew that Tiger craved improvement, but I wondered if he could improve on what he’d accomplished with Butch Harmon. From the Tiger Slam, to being number one in the world by the widest margin ever, to his streak for consecutive cuts made, to his incredible record of holding final-round leads—all of it. I felt I had a good conception of Tiger’s swing from observing him, and I thought I could help him make it better. But I also worried that there was a decent possibility Tiger had already reached his peak, from which the only place to go was down. If that was true, I’d be associated with his decline, probably even be blamed for it. From that shifting perspective, the greatest job ever could become a no-win.

I was also aware that Tiger hadn’t played that well in 2003, even though he’d won five times. His performances in the majors had, for him, been poor. Three weeks before, he’d won the World Golf Championships–Accenture Match Play Championship, but he hadn’t won a stroke-play event in 2004.

I wondered how Tiger and I would get along. Sure, we always had, but I knew things would be different now. I’d be accountable based on his performance. Tiger had sounded almost corporate on the phone. I knew that over the years Tiger had replaced a lot of people on his team. I could be entering a very cold and unforgiving world.

After landing, I got a rental car, which would also become the regular routine. I drove the 15 miles west toward the Lake Butler area of Orlando, went through the gate at Isleworth, and made the slow drive along the winding entranceway lined with ponds and tropical flora. I was keyed up, but as I made the three turns required to get to Tiger’s house, I felt myself go calm. I thought,
Whatever happens, enjoy the opportunity
.