Tiger Wins the Masters
I got a little misty-eyed when Tiger won the Master’s yesterday. I think I needed to see that as much as he needed to win it.
The moment represented redemption of a boyhood hero. Twenty-two years ago when he won the Masters for the first time, I was 15 years old and just learning to play the game. Tiger-mania was real. It was everywhere. It was so much fun. He was a young and different hero for an old and stale game. He represented hope in a world that was starving for a hero.
And then he fell from grace.
Not just a little bump in the road, but a complete nose dive. Personal struggles and injuries; the world had lost a star. A hero was tarnished and haters pundits came out to declare he was never as good as we had originally thought. People moved on.
Except Tiger and a few of us fans. We rooted for him to get healthy. To make amends. To dare to be great once more. When he delivered on Sunday, I was so happy for him.
I wish for the guts to come back from my mistakes. I wish to give the grace that is needed for others to make their own come back. I wish to define each other by what is next, not what is last.
And on Sunday, I saw that grace and it was special.