Tiger Woods is 39 and slipping, but still captivates a whole city

GREENSBORO, N.C. -- The Wyndham Championship is Greensboro’s second-biggest sporting event after the ACC Tournament. It has always lacked one thing: Tiger Woods. Yearly promise of his arrival became Greensboro’s longest running and least-funny joke. Each season gave hope that this could be the year he’d play, only to see it dashed by injury or indifference. The Wyndham always needed Tiger more than he needed it, until this year -- and that changed everything.

“You here to see Tiger?” A man exclaims to a stranger, “Hell yeah, I am,” he responded. “Got to see him today because he’s not making the cut.” They laughed in unison, unaware of how wrong they would be. It’s not that anyone should have expected Tiger to return to some kind of form in Greensboro, but through 10 holes on Thursday he’d made five birdies. Crowds screamed “Good shot, Tiger!” no matter how far the ball traveled, or off course it landed. This was Tiger’s tournament -- win or lose.

Tiger Woods playing The Wyndham Championship had become Greensboro’s white whale. Every year there was speculation he might arrive, hope that he would walk the fairways of Sedgefield Country Club -- then disappointment when he confirmed he wouldn’t play. This was a regular cycle for over a decade. Then came this summer, Tiger’s precipitous drop down the world rankings, and a need for reps at the PGA Tour’s regular season finale. Speculation about whether he would play transitioned to “Where is he staying?” It was real. It was tangible. Tiger Woods was coming.

I have a knowledge of golf so poor that calling it “casual” would be too generous. I understand how the game works mechanically, but little else. I had no idea that some golfers start on No. 10, which caused me to become hopelessly lost on the course just after Tiger’s tee time. I found my way to a small clearing where a handful of lost men are debating where they should try and catch him. “If we hang a left up here we can wait at 17. He’ll be there in about an hour,” a man said, a piece of Bojangles biscuit lodged in his straggly beard. “That’s dumb,” another chimed in, “we might only see him a few times today before he’s cut -- we need to find him:”

“Who’s got the weed?”

The group of friends and strangers began lighting up on the side in the rough, away from monitoring eyes and before the course was crowded. They smoke and talk, and smoke some more -- passing around a small, questionably rolled joint like a talking stick, granting them the right to analyze Tiger. They hope Tiger will do well at the Wyndham, but didn’t think he could. The group nods in approval when one man analyzes Tiger’s ailing short game and diagnoses his problems on the course.

“SHIT, IT’S THE SHERIFF!”

A somewhat portly officer arrived on a push bike and asked what they were up to. “Finding Tiger ... or trying to,” was the universal response. A pause hangs in the air for an eternity before the officer’s eyes narrow and he says, “He’s on 12 right now. Heard he chipped in a hell of a shot on 1. Head up the hill and make a right. Wait for him at 15, that’s my advice.”

Tiger’s arrival turned the entire event into a spectacle -- a place to be and be seen. It’s clear that nontraditional golf fans outweigh those who come every year, when Tiger is usually off in Florida relaxing and preparing for the FedExCup Playoffs. Distinguishing these different species of fan in the crowd isn’t about looking for a golf shirt or a graphic tee, but more about how they carry themselves. Some have chairs and are making pretentious practice swings with crooked umbrellas, the others are downing beers at 9 a.m. and screaming, “GET IN THE HOLE!” at every single shot, regardless of origin. Neither group is tolerant of each other, but one group is decidedly more fun.

Two small boys whined to their father, complaining they are being dragged to a golf course on one of their last remaining days of summer before school goes back. “I’m supposed to meet Jayden on Minecraft at 1,” one of the kids said. He’s met with a terse response: “We’ll be home when we’re home. You’re here to see a legend.”

Five people stand at the rope when Robert Allenby tees off on No. 16. His iron shot lands close to the par-3 target and is met with delicate golf claps. It was quiet, civilized -- stereotypical of everything I knew golf to be. In the distance there were roars rolling over Sedgefield’s undulating hills the same way thunder cascades over a city after a lightning strike. A woman to my left says two words: “He’s coming.”

Photo via Rob Kinnan-USA TODAY Sports

Tiger looked rough, and nothing like the player I remember seeing dominate a few years ago. He appears tired, haggard and motions to his caddie to provide him with a handful of Advil that he quickly gobbles. It’s unclear whether his teal and purplish-gray attire is an intentional nod to the Charlotte Hornets, but one man next to me thinks so, “Wonder if Jordan told him to wear that?” oblivious to how ludicrous this idea actually sounds.

The tranquility of the tee box was quickly taken over by hordes. Fans tried to squeeze through any gaps to get to the ropes, while a team of security and volunteers walk the rope line and repeat their mantra: “Turn off your cellphones. No photography. Quiet please.” When people don’t immediately relent they get aggressive. One woman screams “NO CELL PHONES!” at a man trying to get a few close shots of Tiger.

Tiger tees off and overshoots the par-3, landing 27 feet from the pin. It wasn’t a great tee shot -- it was the worst of his group, but refrains of “Great shot, Tiger!” ring through the crowd. At this point he could drive into the trees and have the ball land on someone’s foot like Happy Gilmore and people would still cheer. He has that effect on this crowd that he had not previously patronized in his almost 20-year PGA Tour career.

Tiger leaves. So does everyone else. They continue their pilgrimage.

The course was soaked from the heavy rain the night before. Those dumb enough to wear long pants (like me) immediately regretted their decision. It’s muggy, humid and the collective crush of people walking to see Tiger turned the air into a fetid brew of cologne, stale beer and lingering cigarette smoke. Makeshift walkways forged out of old blankets did their best to save pant cuffs, but there’s not much that can be done.

All around me people are chattering constantly. Every third word is “Tiger,” or at least it feels like it. Nobody is talking about the other golfers. Nobody cares. This is the Cult of Tiger -- and to hang with this group means knowing exactly why you’re here.

There’s legitimate and unironic excitement that Tiger is playing well. Sedgefield is buzzing. One tournament volunteer tells me he’s been working the Wyndham for eight years, and never seen it this busy on a Thursday. He quips that he’s never heard cheering like this for a first round either. Word got out that the arrival of Tiger has caused a crush of mammoth proportions. Some 49,000 new tickets were being printed to help accommodate the crowds, which would swell as the weekend approached.

Anyone with a press pass is smiling ear-to-ear. Tiger playing well is good for business and with each birdie more and more cameras are set up outside the clubhouse. “Tiger’s return to form” is on everyone’s mind, and the only people who look unhappy are the poor volunteers charged with trying to rope off pathways while golfers are putting. The crush from Tiger has made their jobs impossible.

Tiger’s round is done and the media building is teeming with reporters. There’s a flurry of activity as people file their reports and try to scarf down a quick salad. “You’re not writing about Tiger?” a local TV reporter asks a newspaper guy, “No, I’m here covering ‘everyone else,’” he responds, “I didn’t luck out on getting Tiger.”

Woods could have broken the course record on his opening round with a dramatic push on his final three holes. That’s one of many stories that will be told of Tiger’s Thursday at the Wyndham. There are people talking about this being his best round in years, others claiming he’s “back” and the fans still buzzing outside that he never left. The Tigers Woods they remember is the same player they saw chip in for birdie and show his iron-game accuracy.

Jordan Spieth and Rory McIlroy could have been at Sedgefield that day and it would not have mattered. This was Tiger’s tournament, and will continue to be until the final round is played.