Tigers Woods finally did it.
After five years of turmoil and setbacks, either on the course or off it, he won a golf tournament. It wasn’t necessarily a real tournament, of course. The Tour Championship features 30 of the best golfers in the world, but its field size pales in comparison to normal PGA events, which often consist of 100-plus golfers. In fairness, while Woods got to dodge Jordan Spieth and other potential upsetters, he did face off against the likes of Justin Rose, Rory McIlroy, Brooks Koepka, Justin Thomas, and a host of others.
Potential asterisks aside, Woods’ win was viewed almost universally as a great Sports Moment—even for a contrarian curmudgeon like me, watching him walk up 18 in front of a mob of fans brought back some feels. I’ve always had a touch-and-go relationship with Tiger, never fully buying into the frenzy. My hesitance has generally had less to do with him—though he’s done his part—than the people who root most ardently for him. Cryogenically frozen since the late ‘90s and released back into the wild this year, they all seem to wear a Titleist hat, talk incessantly about the comparative advantages of different golf balls, and be exactly 40 years old.