Isn’t it amazing how you can take someone who excels in a certain arena, almost to a super-human level, but when you shift them into another world, they sorta come back down to life, and join the rest of mankind?
But there was Eldrick, the Buzz Aldrin of modern-day golf – just hours before blasting past the rest of the field to scoop up the Memorial – admittedly yelling at the TV, like any “Joe on a Car-Phone” sports fan, while watching Federer capture the French Open crown, for his 14th Grand Slam.
But Tiger and Roger are buds.
Truthfully, though, it actually makes a lotta sense. Hey, in my high school, all the jocks sat at the same lunch table. The only difference is, Tiger and Roger’s table is likely made of marble, and serves much better food.
But if you boil it down, Roger and Tiger just sorta work. They’re likely two of the few people who can understand from where the other is coming. They’re both ultra-private superstars, who bare the glare of the spotlight, but don’t chase it. Always eloquent, but never outspoken, they answer all the questions, but rarely provide follow-up fodder. With matching, single-minded goals of capturing Majors, Woods and Federer go about their business with a hard-nosed, yeoman work ethic we can all relate to, but at a level of dominance few of us will ever even sniff.
Sure, Roger is softer, his emotions rarely worn on his Nike sleeve, while Tiger’s intensity oozes outta the glare that so symbolizes his snarling namesake. But beneath it all, they are cut from the same cloth, Dri-fit or otherwise. Each able to appreciate where the other is, through completely understanding what it took to get there.
So, while Tiger battles Phil, the field, and the now water-logged Bethpage Black in search of his 4th U.S. Open Championship, one can assume Roger will be watching.
But only Tiger will understand what he’s saying, when he talks to his TV.