Most analysts and commentators have likened Tiger Woods to Jack Nicklaus and Phil Mickelson to Arnold Palmer, and it's obvious why. Like Jack in his prime, Tiger has the best set of golf brains on the planet. Everybody on tour can bomb it, everybody can hit this shot or that shot, but nobody can out-think or out-will Tiger on a golf course, particularly in a major, and especially when he has a lead in a major.

And like Arnie in his prime, Phil has played the role of everyman. He wears a giant scarlet letter F on his shirt; he's the consummately fallible guy who makes the same kinds of mistakes weekend duffers like me make—missed 3-footers, going for the low-percentage shot, hitting the "big dog" when a safe 3-wood is the smarter shot, etc. Arnie had built himself a reputation for giving (some) tournaments away, too.

But like Phil, Arnie was loved. Nicklaus was too, but it wasn't quite the same, and it wasn't as universal. To many, Nicklaus was merely respected. I think that's mostly a product of being the best in the world at anything. Getting to that pinnacle means that you haven't revealed as much human fallibility as the next guy, or the next guy, or the next guy, etc. To be loved, you had better show some vulnerability. Jack was the best, but he wouldn't let you in quite like Arnie did, or like Phil does. Jack was just like Tiger.

Tiger is the best golfer in the world, and probably the best of all time, but that's an appellation we can't officially give him until he's bested Nicklaus' record 18 major wins. But Tiger has always kept us at arm's length. He doesn't reveal much in interviews, keeps his private life tight as a drum, and shies away from revealing opinions of any kind. He's a victory machine. A victory machine with a hot wife.

But today, after his last putt dropped to win the British Open for the 3rd time, he did something that I believe will propel him past respect toward admiration and love—he broke down in front of millions of viewers. Those were deep sobs into Elin's shoulders, not just glassy victory eyes.

Sure, he cried a bit in his father's arms at the 1997 Masters, but he was a kid then. He's a man now—a man in real pain despite his superhero stature. If you know what it's like to lose a parent, then you know that losing a parent makes no sense. The bewilderment of their absence can last a long time, and you never quite get it. For me, Tiger just took on a whole new persona. You just have to love the guy.

Labels: commentary