Tiger Woods summoned all the might of his wearying body, drew on unfathomable desire and steel, unmatched experience and evoked bottomless nostalgia to win at Augusta for the first time in 14 years and seal a return to the pinnacle of sport on what, once the dust has settled, will live on as one of the great Sundays in Masters history.
After the squalid unravelling, the strife and spinal fusion surgeries, the 43-year-old beat away the rain and tides and capitalised on the mistakes of his peers until the very last were swept away. A two-under-par 70, a fifth Green Jacket, the elusive 15th major to end an 11-year wait and complete a Lazarus-like comeback that will forever live amongst the sporting Gods.
Starting early in the final group, the lead had initially been exchanged like an unwanted burden as the players started early to beat the incoming thunderstorms. At one stage, Woods, Francesco Molinari, Tony Finau, Dustin Johnson and Xander Shauffele batted it between themselves with the twists and sudden endings of a crime drama script as even Patrick Cantlay took a hauntingly brief charge of the leaderboard and threatened to leave the world drowned in anti-climax.
But it was Woods, who after starting in fits and spurts, fizzed into life on the back nine as those around him cratered. It had at first seemed as if fate had conspired to pull at the heartstring as his putts repeatedly trickled centimetres short and left the crowd in fits of sighs as they attempted to blow him over the line.
But after a turbulent 10 holes featuring three birdies and three bogeys, Woods awakened the devastating precision of old. A methodical birdie at the 13th to move into a share of the lead, a calmness to take a two-putt birdie on the 15th as Molinari’s hopes sank in the water.
On the par-3 16th, after moving into the outright lead, Woods pitched his tee-shot above the hole, let it run back with the slope and was only denied a hole-in-one by inches to go two clear with two to play. From there on, his iron-grip never showed a glimpse of letting go. The crowd no longer blowing him forward, but struck in breathless awe. It was vintage Tiger Woods, capitalising at the precise moment that his competitors showed weakness.
It was a tragic and cruel end for Molinari who had batted away the furore in such blasé fashion yesterday, before crumbling in the jaws of Amen Corner. So relentlessly metronomic has the Italian been all week, once the nerves finally coursed and cracked his statuesque expression, he could never recover.
They set in at 10, as he recovered from a wild hook to almost chip in from the pine-straw. But by the 12th – an at first glance innocuous par-3 by way of Augusta’s treachery – Molinari could no longer outrun the sense of his own mortality. A cautious swing and the ball tumbled into the bank and rolled into the water with slow-motion cruelty.
The Italian’s two-shot lead melted, his drives sliced right and even his putter began to betray him. A fatted approach from just 79 yards on the 15th left him swimming once again and condemned his flickering hopes to an end that deserved more dignity. The grimace he wore told of the world’s weight on his shoulders. At Carnoustie, he had bypassed Woods’ existence. This time, it was too great to ignore. For the coolest player on the golf course, it had suddenly all become too much.
Schauffele, Johnson and Koepka’s respective late charges took them to within touching distance. But they all baulked when trying to tackle that old aura of invincibility. Even as Woods narrowly missed his birdie putt on the 17th, with victory all but secure, he still flashed that cold, hollow Medusa-like glint in the eye.
But after sinking his final putt on the 18th green to add another smothering layer to his legacy, and dispel oh so many demons, Woods released an overwhelming swirl of raw joy and relief, so dizzy any other man might have fainted. He looked to the sky and beat his fists at it, unleashed a cathartic and deafening roar while making sure to hold back the tears as it started to sink in.
The sweetest victory of his career to complete of one of sport’s most romantic and iconic comebacks - 11 years after winning his last major, nine after his marriage ended in humiliation and less than two since his face was plastered across the world’s front pages after being arrested with a delirious concoction of prescription drugs in his system - ending where it all began 22 years ago; in the arms of a family member. Then it was his father, this time it was his son. An act on the stage of Augusta's 18th green which will forever be immortalised.
Tiger Woods has reclaimed his old world and, perhaps, the greatest testament was that today everyone was glad to simply have part in it.
