Anthony Sharwood

“Before Tiger Woods, golf had been the Three Tenors. Now it was Run DMC.”

Tiger Woods’ late father Earl was barred from leaving his team bus by hostile locals on a baseball trip to Mississippi in the early 1950s. America’s southern states were intimidating places for black athletes in any sport back then. And black golfers were virtually unheard of, in the south or anywhere else.
Golf in the ’50s was a sport played by wealthy people at snooty country clubs. It was a game of the white suburbs, not the black inner cities. It was a sport played with precision, not aggression. Can you imagine the Fonz saying “Aaayyy” with one thumb up and a golf club in the other hand? Of course not, because golf was never cool. It was as near to a “pastime” as a sport can be, and stayed that way for much of the 20th century.
But Earl Woods, the Green Beret soldier and talented athlete, had a son. The son was named Eldrick – the sort of name you’d give comic strip nerd Dilbert’s best mate. Young Eldrick, however, was no nerd. For starters, he earned the decidedly un-nerdy nickname “Tiger” from a Vietnamese soldier friend of his father. And he was a golf prodigy, who stunned Americans with his prowess on national television at the tender age of two. Young Bill Clinton had the grainy footage of his meeting with John F Kennedy as a kid. Tiger Woods had that televised drive (pictured) and putt with comedian Bob Hope, and his destiny unfurled from there.

After becoming the first (and still only) golfer to win three consecutive US Amateur titles, Woods turned pro in 1996 at the age of 20. He hit the fairways running, with deals worth $23 million with golf ball manufacturer Titleist and an unprecedented $45 million deal with Nike. The footwear giant had never touched golf. But Woods changed that. And Nike was not alone. Before long, previously golf-shy brands like Adidas and Puma would be cashing in on the rush, too.

Within nine months of turning pro, Woods showed the hype was justified. In 1997 at the age of 21, he became the youngest ever winner of the Masters, claiming the title by a record 12 strokes. Legendary US golfer Bobby Jones, on seeing Jack Nicklaus smash the field at the Masters 32 years earlier, famously said: “He plays a game with which I am not familiar.” The entire world was just as awestruck when they saw Woods clear out at Augusta. Michael Jordan was still at his peak, but world sport had a new king.
Woods seized the game of golf and rebuilt it in his muscular image. He turned fairways into runways with his long, brutal drives, and in the process made redundant the revered handiwork of the world’s great golf course designers. Before Woods, golf had been a reason to snooze in front of the telly on Sunday afternoons. Now it was a reason to set the VCR to record. Golf had been the Three Tenors. Now it was Run DMC. With the excitement came money. When Woods turned pro in 1996, Australian Golf Digest boldly called him the $43 million man on its cover. That line now seems almost as ludicrous as Dr Evil from the Austin Powers movies holding the world to ransom for “one million dollars”, especially since Forbes magazine recently reported Woods as sport’s first billionaire.
As Woods grew richer, others benefited. Rarely has the trickle-down effect favoured by economists been illustrated so clearly. On America’s PGA Tour this year, about 100 players will earn $1 million or more. Prize money for an average PGA tournament was about $1 million in 1996. In 2009, it’s almost $7 million.
Finances aside, golf began to spread its wings in other ways. People from less privileged backgrounds took up the game as affordable public access courses flourished. According to an American university study, the percentage of African American golfers has doubled since Woods came onto the scene, while the number of new golfers continues to increase. The American golf-playing population used to rise by one per cent a year before Woods. Now it increases by five per cent each year.
Golf is also going crazy in other countries, with new courses popping up in the unlikeliest places. In China, where there are incredibly strict limitations on “luxury projects” in order to protect the environment, at least 100 golf courses are somehow being constructed each year. And there are the lush courses of Dubai and other Gulf states, constructed out of the sand with turf made fertile by desalinated water, and regular appearances by Woods.
But imagine if Tiger Woods had never taken up golf. Where would the game be? Would it be struggling for sponsors and fan interest like Australian golf since the decline of Greg Norman as a major playing drawcard in his own right? Or might the scenario be even worse? We live in an era of the short attention span. Test cricket is under threat from Twenty20. A golf tournament takes four days. What chance is there that anyone would bother watching the big tourneys here or anywhere else if Woods was not playing?
We know the answer to this, and it isn’t pretty. On Kerry Packer’s revival after being announced clinically dead from a heart attack, he said: “I’ve been to the other side and let me tell you, son, there’s f—king nothing there.” Well, the world had a look at “the other side” of public interest in golf, when Woods took eight months out to repair his injured knee after his sensational 2008 US Open play-off win. And there wasn’t much there.
Nielsen TV ratings in the USA showed viewer numbers halved in tournaments Woods had played the previous year. The figures were even worse in tournaments Woods had won. In 2008, 4.36 million Americans tuned in on the Sunday to watch Woods win the BMW Championship in Illinois. In 2009, with Woods absent, just 1.68 million tuned in – a drop of 62 per cent.
Internet traffic was impacted just as dramatically. Nielsen reports that pgatour.com had 24 per cent more traffic in the three months leading up to Woods’ US Open win than in the three months afterwards. Again, think of this in terms of cricket and ask yourself if there’s a single cricketer who could massively slash unique visitors to cricinfo.com if he disappeared from the competitive landscape. Sachin Tendulkar is the player whose profile is searched most frequently on cricinfo. Bet traffic to the website wouldn’t drop by a quarter if he retired.
You could argue that if Woods had never existed, the game wouldn’t seem so flat in his absence. But who would’ve dominated like he has? Who in world golf has the presence of Woods? Who has the charisma, the will to win, the incredible shot-making ability? Who would wear the trademark red shirt on the final day, a shirt that seems to symbolise the blood of the defeated? The answer is nobody. Not Phil Mickelson, not Ernie Els, not Padraig Harrington and definitely not Vijay Singh, even though they are all multiple Major winners. And the reason is that they are all bland, portly characters who look and dress more like accountants than athletes. Plus, they’re quite simply nowhere near as good. As Aussie golfer James Nitties tells Alpha, “The gap between one and two in the rankings is greater than the gap between two and 1000.”

Without Woods, courses across the world would not have been “Tiger-proofed” – golf speak for lengthened. Yes, improved technology is partially responsible for a generation of longer hitters. There were other fairway monsters, but Woods set the tone. No lesser courses than Augusta National and Royal Melbourne have had to lengthen their layouts.
Without Woods, the words “fitness” and “golf” would still be mutually exclusive, and slobs like John Daly might still be winning Majors. Have you seen Tiger’s guns? Colombian Camilo Villegas, a top-10 player, is not far behind.
Without Woods, golf would not be in the Olympics in 2016, returning after a 112-year absence. The IOC wants all the big names in sport – plus Woods moved the committee with his plea for golf to appear on sport’s “grandest of stages”.
Without Woods, New Zealand’s wealthiest sportsman might be someone who actually plays something, rather than Woods’ caddie Steve Williams (left).
And without Woods, this year’s Australian Masters at Kingston Heath would not have sold out almost as soon as tickets went on sale. Woods’ management group IMG is responsible for organising the Australian Masters. Its director of golf in Australia David Rollo is stunned at the response.
“Traditionally, the golf audience in Australia is a walk-up audience,” Rollo says. “We sold out six weeks before the event. We’re allowing 20,000 visitors per day, which includes free entry for one child under 14 with a paying adult, but we could have allowed more.
“Woods is a once-in-a-generation athlete who has done a massive amount for their sport. If you’d said 10 or 15 years ago that the most recognised athlete on the planet would be a golfer, you’d be struggling for that to resonate. His contribution is immeasurable. He transcends his sport like Jordan.”
Jordan soured his legacy recently, suffering a public backlash after what seemed an ungrateful, self-centred speech upon induction to the Basketball Hall of Fame. One of Woods’ greatest assets is that he has never suffered the faintest whiff of controversy or scandal, give or take an expletive or two on the fairway that have really only enhanced his image as a man who hates losing like kids hate broccoli.
He has also earned respect as a keen student of the game. Woods’ son Charlie, born this year, was named after Charlie Sifford, the first black PGA Tour member. On the course, Woods is one of the few Americans who rises to the challenge of British links courses as much as the manicured courses in his homeland. He also understands the allure of Melbourne’s iconic sandbelt. Woods has twice played the sandbelt, and has long been keen to return. It’s that desire that lured him to the Masters. That and the fact he’s playing in China the week before. Well, those two things and the small matter of an appearance fee said to be about $4 million.
“Money well invested,” says Rollo. “Of all the tickets we sold, 35 per cent are to interstate or international guests. That’s driving a strong economic impact into the state of Victoria estimated at $19 million, and that excludes the non-tangible benefits of the city of Melbourne being seen around the world.”

Ultimately, the greatest impact of the career of Woods is that golf itself has found countless new audiences around the globe. And because of that reach, a greater generation of golfers will surely emerge. This theory is open to debate, of course. The Shane Warne effect has not yet spawned the star spinner from the millions of kids who were bowling leggies in the nets when he was in his prime. But just as Greg Norman inspired a generation of Australian golfers, Woods has surely inspired a million names we don’t know yet.
He’s even inspired his contemporaries. Veteran South Korean YE Yang said he would never have won this year’s PGA Championship had it not been for the added challenge of beating the man alongside him.
Other golfers have gone head-to-head with Woods and never quite recovered from the impact. US golfer Chris DiMarco played the round of his life on the final day of the 2005 Masters, yet was defeated by Woods in a play-off. Earlier in the day, Woods played what is widely regarded as his greatest ever shot, on the 16th hole, an impossible chip that bit the turf, then dribbled back several metres towards the hole as the commentator panted, “Oh, my goodness.” For a second – maybe more – the ball with that unmissable Nike swoosh teetered on the edge of the cup. And then it dropped, as the commentator said, “Wow! In your life have you seen anything like that?”
The collective answer is no, we haven’t. And it’s not just the miracle shots like that chip at 16, or his famous 18m putt on the island green at TPC Sawgrass in the 2000 Players Championship. Even a hacker will play one or two of those in his life. But Woods seems to play one or two of those miracle shots every tournament. He also makes the simple, clutch shots when he has to, and there’s no better example than the 4m putt that forced a play-off at the 2008 US Open (above).
Golf is a percentages game, and Woods plays the percentages better than anyone. Yet he has gears that others simply don’t have. He is steady and brilliant all at once. To use one last cricketing analogy, he has the bat-for-your-life grit of Steve Waugh with the audacious shot-making of Adam Gilchrist.
Where would golf be without him? Ask yourself where basketball would be without Jordan, or sprinting without Usain Bolt, or computing without Bill Gates and you might have your answer.