If Tiger Woods's victory on Sunday at the Accenture Match Play Championship seemed preordained, that's because it was a quarter century in the making. Ruminating on his unparalleled ability to come through in the clutch, Woods traced this particular strand of his genius to putting competitions he enjoyed as a kid versus his father, Earl. "Ever since I can remember, my dad was always a better putter than I was," Woods said at the Gallery at Dove Mountain in Marana, Ariz. "I always wanted to kick his butt. I had to bear down. I've always loved competing, ever since very early in my life against my dad."
These battles royal were only some of the many little successes that Woods used to construct, brick by brick, the most formidable psyche in sports. That mental toughness was the key to his dominating performance at the Match Play, during which he broke hearts and records in equal numbers. Having trumpeted even before the season began his intention to chase the Grand Slam, Woods now has two overpowering victories in two starts on the PGA Tour, and the drumbeat is growing louder that 2008 may eclipse his 2000, which is widely regarded as the greatest season in golf history. But for Woods the touchstone remains 1987. "I've had one perfect season," he said last week, "when I was 11. I won 36 tournaments that year."
Woods has known nothing but success for so long that he simply
can no longer conceive of failing. For all his otherworldly physical gifts, it is this unbendable belief in self that truly separates him from his competition, and the distinction was striking during the Match Play's five-day parade of frailties. Sergio Garcia, who long ago was a presumptive challenger to Woods, ditched his three-iron in favor of two putters during the first round, using both the belly and the standard-length wands with little success in an ugly loss to Boo Weekley. Ernie Els's career has become increasingly defined by heartbreak inflicted by Woods, the latest disappointment having come when Easy coughed up a four-stroke advantage during the final round in Dubai last month. Els still seems shaken; he had a disconcerting faraway look in his eyes during his 6-and-5 drubbing by Jonathan Byrd in the first round.
Even those who advanced through the brackets carried plenty of scar tissue. Henrik Stenson, the winner of the consolation match, was in such an eviscerating slump in 2001 that at the European Open he needed three tee shots on his first hole before he could put one in play, and he eventually walked off the course midway through his round. The man Stenson relegated to fourth place, Justin Leonard, is less than a year removed from the worst funk of his career; he started '07 with six straight missed cuts while failing to break 70 in 19 consecutive rounds. Leonard's renaissance began when he reunited with his boyhood instructor, Randy Smith, and returned to a more natural, freewheeling style of play. What compelled Leonard to reinvent himself at 35? "Justin hates embarrassment more than any player I've ever been around," says Smith. "Playing the way he was playing was embarrassing to him."
Leonard is but one member of a large, fretting fraternity. You'd never know it watching the indomitable Woods strut around like a toreador, but pro golfers operate in a state of near-constant anxiety. Stewart Cink, whom Woods vanquished by a record score of 8 and 7 in Sunday's final, says, powerfully, "Shame is a part of golf." After being afflicted by the yips in 2002, Cink eschewed the platitudes of sports psychology for a deeper understanding of himself through psychotherapy. "The other players don't talk about these feelings because they are afraid of appearing vulnerable," he says. "Last time I checked, I'm still a human being."
He's not so sure about Woods. After the anticlimactic final, during which Tiger birdied eight of the final 13 holes, Cink said, "We ought to slice him open and see what's inside. Maybe nuts and bolts."
Woods's mastery of the metaphysical can be traced to the yin and yang of his upbringing as he absorbed the Zen teachings of his Buddhist mother, Tida, and the tough love of his father, a former Green Beret, though his parents often traded roles, with Tida imploring her son to "take the heart" of an opponent and Earl instilling confidence by whispering sweet nothings in his son's ear. One of the key concepts Cink works on with his analyst, Preston Waddington, is what they call self-regulation. "It's all about controlling your emotions," says Waddington, "not letting yourself feel devalued or incompetent because of a golf shot. Not tying your self-worth to an artificial goal like winning a tournament." Waddington has instructed Cink — and his other clients, including Tim Clark, Ben Crane, Jason Gore and Frank Lickliter — to study Woods's on-course demeanor, because Tiger is a model of not letting one shot affect the next. After Sunday's final Cink offered these observations: "He has such a strong sense of belief in himself that he's simply never out of it. He's always in control. He gets mad; that's not what I'm referring to. He never loses his composure. He always stays very poised."
