ST. LOUIS _ We set alarms to wake up and sit on the couch. We concealed cellphones in church pews, sharing leaderboard updates between hymns. We slid anticipation for the hometown hockey team's first postseason home game to the back-burner, because it was Sunday at The Masters, and Jim Nantz was whispering a redemption story unlike any other, and a very important chapter in this American epic happened right here, in our own backyard.
"How about Tiger?" were the first words heard in the elevator ride to the Enterprise Center press box before Sunday night's Blues game.
When hockey Hall of Famer Brett Hull addressed a surging crowd of blue before the puck dropped, he had Woods on the brain. Who didn't? If a man can claw back from a crashed Escalade and tabloid escapades, why can't the Blues crack their curse and quench their thirst for the Stanley Cup?
That's what Tiger Woods is now. He is the most mesmerizing kaleidoscope of a man in modern sports. Look at him this way, and he is an inspiration, the winner of 15 majors and counting, now that we are counting again after a decade-plus pause. Look at him this way, and he is an abomination, a prime example of athletic ability overshadowing all. Medical marvel. Historic golfer. Transcendent star. Lousy husband. Loving father. At 43, the man has more angles than his golf ball has dimples. He rolls around and around in our conscience.
Maybe that is why St. Louis fell so hard for him in August, when this city descended upon Bellerive Country Club and propelled a fallen superstar with a questionable knee, fused back and divisive public image to a second-place finish in the PGA Championship. If there is a place that knows a thing or two about not wanting its worst day to define its legacy, it's St. Louis. If there is a place that likes to think the greatness of the past is not as sepia-toned as others insist, it's St. Louis. Woods and this city fit together, and the PGA Championship proved that theory true.
"It was part of his comeback," baseball Hall of Famer Ozzie Smith, who helped bring the PGA Championship to Bellerive, said this week. "We just happened to be at the right place at the right time to be able to experience a little bit of it. It was neat, to be a part of history. His play here displayed to everybody, hey, he's not down. And he wasn't that far off. He wasn't that far off. He has a chance to win again. I always thought he would."
When Woods drove down Magnolia Lane last week, the world knew he might win his fifth green jacket. The same could be said entering his PGA Tour Championship in September. Why? Because of what happened at Bellerive, more than anything.
The notion of him winning another major was far-fetched when the PGA Championship started. Yet we flooded through the gates to watch, just in case, even after his rocky start. Was it because a look at fading greatness is still better than never witnessing it? Or did we flock to Bellerive on crowded buses to watch because we believed Woods might have magic left in him? It was both, right?
Woods did deliver magic. He gave us his best 72-hole score in a major. He gave us his lowest final round in a major. He started poorly, then became more perfect every single time he swung. He didn't run out of time. He turned time back. He just ran out of holes. That cheer _ the one you will tell your kids about when you tell them about Tiger _ was not the ending. It was a new beginning. Brooks Koepka won the tournament. Woods won St. Louis.
"The people here were so positive," he said that day. "The energy was incredible. There were no negative comments. No one was jeering. No one was making snide remarks. Everyone was just very positive. They're excited, yeah. They sometimes pick sides, yes. But they were respectful. And that's, I wish we could play in front of crowds like this every single week because this is a true pleasure."
What we saw at the PGA Championship made us feel like we were in on Sunday's secret. We knew what this scene at the Masters felt like. It was familiar in the best way possible, like a redo that is always longed for but never granted _ except this time it actually happened. There was Woods stalking in his championship red, again. There was the best swimmer ever, Michael Phelps, trailing his friend, again. There was an overzealous security guard nearly running Woods over, again.
People forget this happened here in St. Louis. At Augusta, it was an accidental slide into his ankle. Here, it was an accidental clothes-lining during an attempt to keep fans from swarming Woods while he sized up a shot in the trees. Woods corrected the mistake with a crushed shot to the fairway; it's his best skill, really, rebounding from seemingly impossible situations. Before Woods moved on, he made sure the volunteer who accidentally hit him knew he was fine. That moment, the compassion showed in seconds, is what used to be so clearly missing from Woods' demeanor.
It showed when he wore his hat backward at Bellerive, smiling like a father of two who was trying to look cool while also being in on the joke. It showed again when he waited outside the clubhouse to congratulate Koepka on his championship. This version of Woods had a gravitational pull that forced you to fall in behind him. This version of Woods was the one you teared up watching as he hugged his 10-year-old son, Charlie, at the Masters on Sunday, bear-hugging the boy in the same spot a 21-year-old Masters champion named Tiger hugged his father in 1997.
What a moment, felt in a million different ways in a million different places, and in an entirely unique way here.
Tiger's win at Augusta was for everyone.
His big step toward it happened right here, and that will always be ours.
