The Second Life of Tiger Woods, by Michael Bamberger ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

When one of the finest golf writers working today has a new book out, it pays to take notice. Michael Bamberger, formerly of Sports Illustrated and lately writing for Golf.com is, without a doubt, one of the best to carry a GWAA card in recent years, and his new book, The Second Life of Tiger Woods, certainly lives up to expectations.

Tiger Woods has lived in the spotlight (and under a microscope) nearly all of his life, and certainly since exploding onto the professional golf scene in 1997 after a dominating amateur career. There have been times when his life didn’t hold up to close scrutiny, in particular the several years beginning Thanksgiving evening 2009, when the news of his long-rumored infidelities came to light in blockbuster fashion. Through it all, however, his fans and much of the sports media world have clung to every bit of Tiger news that came to light, good and bad.

That being the case, The Second Life of Tiger Woods is going to be flying off of bookstore shelves, both real and virtual, and Michael Bamberger will be richly rewarded for the countless hours he must have put into researching and writing this book. The book’s release was timed to coincide with the opening of play at the 2020 Masters Tournament, when Tiger would be defending his 2019 win—a tournament that wasn’t played due to the nationwide lockdown that resulted from the coronavirus pandemic. The cancellation of Tiger’s defense of his fifth Masters title did nothing to damp the fervor of his fans, or the golf media, however; indeed, it raised it to a fever pitch, and Bamberger’s publishers may well find themselves thanking their lucky stars for the lockdown.

At this point I need to come straight out and say that I am no fan of Tiger Woods. While there is no denying his skill, and his dominance when he was both healthy (physically and mentally) and playing well, I have never cared for his attitude, and his demeanor either on or off the course. I bring this up for two reasons: 1) despite my dislike for the man who is the subject of this book, his position in the game combined with my admiration for the work of the author compelled me to read it, and 2) the author’s attitude toward the subject plays an important role in the book.

The tone of the book ranges from near-fanboyish admiration (when recounting Woods’ 2019 Master win) to tut-tutting admonishment (when listing the several instances of rule-bending and breaking which featured in the period of his “comeback”), but one constant factor is the thorough, in-depth investigative reporting that backs up the narrative.

Bamberger spent time with and interviewed a wide range of people who have or had some involvement in the events covered in the book—from the Jupiter, Florida law-enforcement personnel who were involved in Woods’ Memorial Day 2017 arrest for DUI, to the assorted cast of sordid low-lifes who fed his PED habit over the years.

The topics covered include a look back at Woods’ upbringing, at his parents (both pretty hard cases in their own ways) and the manner in which his early-life experiences manifested themselves in his golf career and personal life. The things he learned, and reports, and the conclusions he draws may not suit Tiger’s fawning fans, but there is no contesting the professionalism of his approach.

Woods has always been known for a dismissive attitude toward other people in his life, even those who are close to him, as manifested by the diminutive nicknames he assigns to other—“Steiny”, for his agent, Mark Steinberg; “Stevie”, for former caddie Steve Williams (a tough Kiwi who was probably never called “Stevie” by anyone but Woods, even as a child); “Joey” for current caddie Joe LaCava—and even “Bernie” for veteran pro and former Masters Champion Bernhard Langer.

He is also known for having a low tolerance for those, even members of his inner circle, who try to draw some part of the spotlight to themselves—just ask his former swing gurus Butch Harmon, Hank Haney, and Sean Foley; caddies Steve Williams and Mike “Fluff” Cowan; or former girlfriend Lindsey Vonn. Even his father, Earl, was cold-shouldered at times, early in Woods’ career when he pushed his face and words too close the forefront.

Woods has always had a famously contentious relationship with the golf media. When he was only fourteen he asked the sportswriter Jaime Diaz, “Why do they have to know everything?”,  and early in his rise through the professional ranks an interview request from Dan Jenkins—the dean of American golf writers, and a man who got into the Golf Hall of Fame on the strength of his writing before Woods got there by dint of his playing record—was dismissed, through Woods’ agent, with a terse, “There’s nothing in it for us.”

In the wake of several years of scandals and headlines that probably caused the intensely private Woods a lot of mental anguish that he wouldn’t admit to (and which, if I may say so, he brought on himself), he has thawed slightly in his attitude toward the media. Woods may have finally, as Bamberger put it, “…started to see sportswriters for what we are; representatives of the fans who pay for [his] jet fuel and everything else…”. That being said, you will not find a direct quote from Woods, given for this book, in the text.

Whatever your feelings about Woods are, the book is an interesting read. Michael Bamberger is a keen and well-connected observer of the world of golf, and he brings a depth of knowledge and understanding to the subject that is virtually unparalleled. As a chronicle of a significant (in its way) period of time in the career of one of the most recognizable professional athletes of the 20th century, The Second Life of Tiger Woods is a noteworthy addition to the history of the game of golf, and will find an audience across a wide range of the fans of the game.

Greatest comeback in golf? Don’t even talk to me about Tiger Woods…

When the final putt dropped at East Lake in the 2018 PGA Tour finale, cementing Tiger Woods’ 80th career PGA Tour victory–in the Tour Championship, no less–the expected chorus started up: “What an achievement! Greatest comeback in golf!” It was a comeback, and it was pretty good—but great, let alone greatest ever? Excuse me while I scoff…

Now, I’m not going to diminish Tiger’s achievement in winning the Tour Championship tournament. He returned from potentially career-ending back issues, after four surgeries; after developing cringe-worthy glitches in his short game; and after a general downturn in his game as a whole, to cap a 19-event season with a win in the final tournament of the year, against a field which consisted of the 30 survivors from the Top 125 of the 2016-2017 season.

Tiger started this season in December 2017, in his own event, the Hero Challenge (for which he didn’t qualify on the numbers, but, you know—he knew a guy…); he played a total of 18 official tournaments, made 14 cuts (the WGC-Bridgestone, and the Tour Championship were no-cut events, and he missed the cut in the Genesis Open and the U. S. Open), with a win, a second, seven top 10 and 12 top 25 finishes. Not bad for a guy whom many people had written off just a few months before.

But… does this constitute the “greatest comeback in golf history” as many folks, fans and media alike, are calling it? Does it really compare to Hogan’s recovery from life-threatening injuries sustained in a head-on collision with a Greyhound bus? Many of those who put Tiger’s return on a par with, or above, Hogan’s comeback are adding into the account his personal (marital) problems as well, with the resultant bad publicity, and his relegation to counseling for a “sex addiction” (AKA the inability to not be a horndog like his imminently unlikable father.)

Me, I don’t think it counts if you threw yourself in front of the metaphorical bus that hit you…

Ben Hogan’s crash occurred on the morning of February 2nd, 1949,  on Highway 80 just outside of Van Horn, Texas. The poor visibility due to foggy conditions had Hogan moving along cautiously at no more than 30 miles per hour. Despite the conditions, a Greyhound bus with an inexperienced 27-year-old driver at the wheel was passing a truck on a narrow bridge. Hemmed in by the concrete bridge abutments, Hogan had nowhere to go. At the last moment, he flung himself to the right to shield his wife—and in the process, saved his own life, as the steering column speared the space where he had just been.

Let’s look at what Hogan endured in the wake of that horrific collision: a broken pelvis (in two places), a fractured collar bone, a broken left ankle, extensive damage to his left leg, and a broken rib.

This is what the Cadillac that Ben Hogan and his wife,Valerie, were driving looked like after a head-on collision with a Greyhound bus.

He was in the hospital for 59 days. Doctors detected potentially fatal blood clots in his legs, and in the absence of the modern anti-clotting medicines that we now have, an eminent thoracic surgeon was flown in from New Orleans to perform a radical procedure—tying off Hogan’s vena cava (the major vein which returns blood to the heart from the legs.) The resultant poor circulation would plague Hogan for the rest of his life, requiring him to wrap his legs in elastic bandages from calf to thigh every day that he played golf.

In a recent weekly round table on the subject of Tiger’s return to form, golf writer Josh Sens, of Golf.com, wrote, “Hogan got badly injured and then recovered to dominate on much, much less competitive terrain. Tiger fell much farther and rose much higher in return.”

This is an interesting take, given that there are those who credit Tiger’s dominating years to competing in an era of weak players (for the record—I don’t agree with that assessment.); it also gives short shrift to Hogan and the level of skill of the players on the Tour at the time. Regardless, it is a futile exercise to make absolute comparisons of performance across eras. The competition was what it was, and each player’s record must be evaluated within the appropriate context.

As far as falling farther, whether you take that in the context of physical injury or level of dominance in the game pre-injury, it just doesn’t wash.

Tiger’s dominating years were put in the rearview mirror in 2009 when his marriage hit the rocks and his Escalade hit a fire hydrant. He had racked up 31 wins in the five seasons preceding those events, including six majors.

Hogan’s solo-win total for a similar time period preceding his accident was 41, including 11 wins in 1944, with three majors.

And what about rising “much higher in return.”?

Post-hydrant, Tiger had two winless seasons in 2010 and 2011, then a mini-comeback with three and five wins, respectively, in 2012 and 2013, before another round of back injuries and personal complications brought on the longest winless stretch of his career, from 2014 to 2017. In his much lauded return to the U.S. Ryder Cup squad, in the week following his Tour Championship victory, he went winless in four matches, bumping his overall losing record of 13-17-3 to 13-21-3.

By contrast, Hogan, returning from a level of physical injury that far surpassed Tiger’s, and contending with continuing physical problems that limited his participation to a select list of events that included the majors and the Colonial Invitation (in his home town of Fort Worth, Texas), won the U.S. Open in the year following his car crash. He had 11 wins in the six years following his accident, of which six were majors—three U.S. Opens (two of them back to back), two Masters, and a British Open. Oh, and three of those majors, his “Triple Crown”, came in 1953, when he won the Masters, the U.S. Open, and the British Open, the first such string of major victories since Bobby Jones won the U.S. and British Amateurs and Opens in 1930. Hogan was named non-playing captain of the 1949 U.S. Ryder Cup squad, which defeated the British team 7 and 5; two years later he played on the again-victorious U.S. squad, winning both of his matches in the 9-1/2 – 2-1/2 victory over the British team.

So, Tiger comes back from essentially self-inflicted back injuries (a result of the violent action of his swing), a bad marriage, and the yips to win again—and OK, against a pretty stiff field—once, at the end of a 19-event season. Hogan came back from life-threatening injuries, and after doctors predicted that he would never walk again, let alone play golf, let alone play championship golf—went on to win 11 times in the next five years, including six majors.

So, you tell me—who made the better comeback?

Book review: “The Prodigy”, by John Feinstein ⭐⭐⭐-1/2

I have been aware of John Feinstein’s writing, especially his golf writing, for many years; in fact, his 1996 chronicle of a season on the PGA Tour, A Good Walk Spoiled, was my introduction to non-fiction reading about professional golf. Though I have concentrated on his golf writing, Feinstein has written several well-regarded books on basketball, baseball, and football—and I have only recently learned that he has also authored a series of sports-related YA (young adult) novels, including the recent release, The Prodigy, the first of his books for younger readers on the subject of golf.

The Prodigy is the new YA sports novel from John Feinstein—his first that is set in the world of golf.

The Prodigy is the somewhat fanciful tale of a 17-year-old golf phenom named Frank Baker, a nice kid from a small town in Connecticut who has amazing golf skills. The book is set in the recent past—2017 and early 2018, to be exact—and we pick up the story when Frank is preparing to play in the 2017 U.S. Amateur at Riviera Country Club, in the upscale Los Angeles-area city of Pacific Palisades.

Frank is being raised by his father, Tom, a divorced single parent who is a freelance stock trader—and a full-time golf dad. Frank is looking forward to playing college golf, and given his record, which includes making it to the semifinals of the U.S. Amateur the previous year at the age of 16, he is assured of a multitude of offers, from the best programs in the country. His father, on the other hand, has his eyes on a different prize.

Frank’s prowess on the golf course has attracted attention from more than just college coaches; agents and equipment company reps have shown interest, and the book’s story arc is built around the conflict that arises when Frank’s dad gets too cozy with an agent from a big sports-representation firm. Frank is under pressure from his dad and the agent to forgo a college career and turn pro. The pressure gets more intense when the youngster earns a spot in the field at the 2018 Masters, heating up even more when Frank shows that he can keep up with the big boys on one of the biggest stages in the game of golf.

There are two people in Frank’s corner in all of the drama surrounding his college / pro dilemma: his swing coach, Slugger Johnson—the head pro at Frank’s home course; and Slugger’s longtime friend and college golf teammate, Keith Forman, a former low-level pro golfer turned golf writer. Forman’s involvement raises journalistic dilemmas for him as he finds himself becoming part of Frank’s story—even coming into conflict with Frank’s father and the ever-present agent—and not just a dispassionate observer who is reporting the story.

Feinstein creates an air of conflict that the Keith Forman character has to work through, describing a number of rather hostile encounters between Forman and tournament volunteers and security personnel, even citing a USGA training session for marshals in which media-badge holders are singled out as untrustworthy (based on a real experience of Feinstein’s—I guess I had better watch my P’s and Q’s the next time I’m at a USGA event on a media credential!)

The conflict between Frank (with Slugger and Keith in his corner), and his dad and the agent, along with his extraordinary play at one of the most high-profile golf tournaments in the world, are the main factors that combine to bring the action to a dramatic conclusion at the 2018 Masters.

One thing you can be sure of in a John Feinstein book is the insider’s touch. Feinstein knows everybody in the game, from players to agents, equipment reps, media folks, and officials and functionaries from the USGA and the PGA Tour. This knowledge is on full display in The Prodigy, to the extent that it starts to feel like rather gratuitous name-dropping. Players, including big names like Phil Mickelson, Jason Day, Rory McIlroy, Jordan Spieth, and Justin Thomas, not only have cameos, they play significant roles in the story, interacting with Frank and the other characters.

And it’s not just players, though they are the most recognizable names. Some of the other real-life names that are dropped include golf media personalities from TV, print journalists, and behind-the-scenes folks from the USGA and the technical side of broadcasting. As for the agents and equipment reps, they get the same short shrift that Florida real-estate developers get in a Carl Hiaasen novel—and I wonder how many of them are still going to be speaking to Feinstein after reading this book.

For the golf-knowledgeable teen audience at which this book is aimed, the big-name golfers who are mentioned will be well-known figures, and those readers might get a kick out of reading a story in which these stars of the PGA Tour interact with a teenaged golfer, even if the conversations and situations feel awkward and contrived—which they do.

The inclusion of real people from golf broadcasting, such as Joe Buck, Paul Azinger, Brandel Chamblee, and Holly Sonders, will pique the interest of young readers who watch golf on TV, but the use of the real names of people from the behind-the-scenes operations, and from the print-media world, will go right over the heads of the young reading audience (and many older readers, too…). On the other hand, readers and reviewers who actually know these people (and I know, or at least have met, a few of them) will find it odd to see in print a fictionalized version of a known person. This aspect of the book rings false with me, and seems rather pointless, all things considered.

Other aspects of the story are also rather uneven. While the overall “voice” of the book has a decided YA tenor, it wanders back and forth between over-explaining simple aspects of the game, as if catering to non-golfers, and using shorthand references that only a reader who is well-versed in the game will understand.

There are curious (and admittedly, mostly minor) lapses that will bother the knowledgeable golfer (or maybe just golf writers who are also editors…). For instance, when setting the scene for the section of the book in which Frank is playing in the 2017 U.S. Amateur, at Riviera Country Club, Feinstein describes the club’s location as being “…a few miles east of the Pacific Ocean…”, but Riviera’s westernmost border lies a scant mile or so from the beach. (Yeah, it’s a nit, but it caught my eye because I specifically checked it for a column I did a few years ago about Ben Hogan’s history at Riviera.) 

Another little faux pas that caught my attention was a misquote of the tagline from the USGA’s pace-of-play campaign of a couple of years back (a line borrowed from a scene in Caddyshack), which is cited as “While we’re still young”, rather than the correct line, which is just “While we’re young.” There are a few other instances like that scattered throughout the book—small things, but noticeable to the knowledgeable, and attentive, reader.

One thread that runs through the latter part of the story, and one which I relished, is a series of subtle, and not-so-subtle, digs at Augusta National Golf Club and the Masters—and their fussy rules and regulations, which are capriciously enacted and vigorously enforced, such as their insistence on referring to spectators on the grounds of the club as “patrons”, a ban on cellphones on the grounds (which Frank is gently but firmly admonished for joking about in an interview), and the use of the terms “first nine” and “second nine” instead of “front nine” and “back nine”. The Keith Forman character is characterized as “…(knowing) he was privileged to cover the Masters and (that) he was in a place any golf fan would kill to be, but the atmosphere of the place—the entitlement of it all—made him feel a bit squeamish.” I’m with Keith on that one.

All in all, while The Prodigy is an engaging read, especially for young golf fans, the overall scenario—which I cannot fully describe without introducing spoilers—is a little over-the-top, and the scenes which involve real-life people from the golf world feel forced and unrealistic. These things might not matter to, or be noticed by, the intended teenage audience, but adult readers, especially those with a bit of familiarity with the personalities involved, will squirm a little over some of those passages.