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AUGUSTA, Ga. -- The fans still come to point and contemplate, remember and dream. A steady stream arrived across Monday afternoon's practice round at the Masters, to take note of an otherwise humble patch of Augusta National turf behind the 16th green.
Twenty-one years ago, Tiger Woods made it famous by skipping a final round chip into the slope of the green, before watching his Nike-swoosh-emblazoned ball roll slowly, slowly and then even more slowly into "in your life" sporting lore. A few holes later, in a playoff, Woods won his fourth (of five) green jackets and ninth (of 15) major championships.
It's one of the greatest shots in the history of Tiger, of the Masters, of golf itself.
"You see it on television, but until you get here and see the [slope] of the green, you can't appreciate it," said Mike Schuessler of Bowling Green, Ohio, here with his wife, Donna. "What a life experience it must have been for the fans who saw it live."
"To just attempt the shot, to just see it is incredible [by Woods]," marveled Jim Unger of Milan, Ohio, taking in the day with his wife, Kelly. "You're hitting it away from the hole."
Tiger Woods isn't here this week, yet Tiger Woods is everywhere this week.
Such is the juxtaposition of Woods, apparently in rehab somewhere, seeking answers for his latest personal troubles and legal problems stemming from again flipping a speeding SUV while, police contend, driving hopped up on something.
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Perhaps some part of everything comes back to this spot in 2005. Not an excuse, because there is no excuse for Tiger Woods, particularly his insistence on driving. No one is underplaying that.
But a partial explanation for how Tiger's self-destructive ways continue -- how no amount of fame and fortune has satisfied him. Yet despite his antics, his fans remain loyal and still seek the ghosts of miracle shots gone by.
There is no unwinding Augusta National and Tiger Woods. The course provided an annual canvas for Woods to paint historic masterpieces. Woods, in turn, provided a then stuck-in-its-ways club a burst of cool that forced it to modernize everything from its membership to its business practices.
The marriage was clumsy at times; Augusta once openly admitted to trying to "Tiger-proof" the course, lest he win too often. Eventually, though, they came to depend on each other. The Masters, like all of golf, grew bigger and bigger with Tiger as its magnetic star, while Woods set the tournament up as a pinnacle achievement in good times, and a goal to return from bad ones. All could be cleansed here.
In 2019, he even won the event again, at age 43, 14 years after that chip, full of scars visible and hidden, most of them self-induced. It set off a delirious celebration amid these Georgia pines; the rebirth of the legend.
For Tiger, when it was about golf and only golf, life was never better, especially here.
That 2005 chip was the perfect mix of Tiger's micro-muscle skill set, relentless work ethic and otherworldly ability to use place and pace to solve geology and gravity.
It offered a shot of adrenaline for a sport often mocked for for inspiring naps, brought in a new generation of players and a continued rush of corporate investment (seeking to replicate that hanging Nike logo) that made everyone in golf rich.
Yet moments after the ball finally fell, Tiger was back interacting with a human, in this case, his caddie, Stevie Williams. The two suffered through a couple clumsy, ungainly celebratory high fives that belied the athletic feat that had just transpired.
Tiger is an introvert who lives a life in a spotlight of attention and expectation where even an extrovert would struggle.
A child star and product of a massive marketing machine, he has tried to keep his personal life hidden. He has lived in oversize mansions in gated communities. He bought yachts and named them "Privacy" and "Solitude."
At times, you can't blame him. He has been burned by so many confidants and coaches and tell-all books, but the double life just made every misstep bigger.
This latest car wreck begged a familiar question: Why doesn't Tiger have a full-time driver, especially with his substance abuse struggles? The answer, reportedly, is he wants privacy (even though a nondisclosure agreement could solve most of that) and independence.
It's selfish and reckless and dangerous, but it goes back to a simple idea: While he excels at golf, everything else is a struggle.
He basks in the roars from afar but has never looked comfortable just being Tiger Woods. Masters champions have lifetime entry into this tournament, so it's common for aging greats to still play, feted by the cheers of yesterday despite being long past competitive.
Woods seems to bristle at such a ceremonial existence. He keeps thinking he can win it, that he needs to win it, that he must win it. He's 50 now, seven years, two major car wrecks and untold surgeries since his last improbable victory, yet he trains and talks like he's still in his prime.
He needs everything -- always -- fueling the competitiveness that both built and toppled his empire.
More practice. More surgeries. More painkillers.
More splintered relationships, car flips and mug shots.
He can't seem to just be himself, even if few expect or want anything more from him.
"I could care less about Tiger's golf," Bubba Watson said Monday. "I told [Tiger] from day one ... that I'm pulling for him as a human being. Hopefully he can come back stronger."
Until then, fans who crave another chance to see their hero are left to pull up grainy YouTube clips or gather around plots of turf to relive wondrous shots of yesteryear.
"He's such a part of the history of Augusta National," Mike Schuessler said from behind that 16th green. "But fans want to see him get his life in order. Golf is secondary."
Tiger Woods isn't here at Augusta. Tiger Woods is always here at Augusta.
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