Two

The 61st Masters

Augusta National Golf Club

Augusta, Georgia

April 13, 1997

The dream begins in a Southern California living room.

In April of 1986, Earl Woods has the television tuned to CBS Sports coverage of the Masters. His son, ten-year-old Tiger, roots for his golf idol, Jack Nicklaus.

The forty-six-year-old “Golden Bear” faces long odds. Nicklaus’s goal for his final round: 65. He posts 35 on the front nine, leaving him thirty strokes after the turn.

On 17, Nicklaus sinks a long birdie putt. He shoots 65 for the round and edges out Greg Norman and Tom Kite by a single stroke for his sixth Masters title.

Tiger’s already got the itch. I want to be where he is, doing what he is doing.

Ten years later, he’s at Augusta National, playing a practice round with Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer, but twenty-year-old Tiger misses the cut.

The next year, Tiger qualifies.

His father is there, too—against the advice of the doctors who’ve been monitoring Earl’s complicated recovery from recent heart surgery.

Nick Faldo, defending 1996 champion and Tiger’s first-round playing partner, senses the significance of the moment. “It’s the beginning of Tigermania, right?”

Tiger bogeys four of the first nine holes, then rallies and builds a nine-stroke lead after three rounds.

In the wee hours of Sunday morning, Earl and Tiger share a bowl of ice cream.

“It’s going to be the most important round of your life, but you can handle it,” Earl tells his son. “Just go out there and do what you do.”

The CBS Sports broadcast draws forty-four million viewers.

“Tiger’s the man, period. He’s your man; he’s my man,” says Augusta National headwaiter, Henry Ashley, who joins twenty or so of his Black colleagues under the Big Oak to watch Tiger play.

Nearby, Earl is also watching and waiting.

Tiger sinks his final putt, besting the second-place finisher, Tom Kite—who’d also finished second to Nicklaus in 1986.

At age twenty-one, Tiger becomes the tournament’s youngest-ever champion. His seventy-two-hole score of 270, 18 under par, is the lowest ever at the Masters, and his twelve-shot margin is the largest ever.

“We made it,” Earl says, face streaming with tears. “We made it. We made it.” Tiger holds on tight as Earl whispers into his ear, “I love you, son, and I’m so proud of you.”

Inside Butler Cabin that evening, Nick Faldo passes the mantle—and the Green Jacket—over to Tiger.

Later, Tiger vanishes from his own victory celebration. “I ended up falling asleep, holding the jacket, cuddling it like it was a little bear,” he says. “I woke up in the morning, still holding it, and said, ‘Huh, I did win it.’”