Happy B-Day T-Cub

by Victor Williams

July 2017

Hello Young Friend,

I wanted to wait until the right time to write you, and just like that, your 10th birthday popped up. I had it circled on my calendar, but it almost blew past me like a tee shot off one of those new 600cc drivers. So here I am, showing up on your doorstep the old-fashioned way. I figured I’d spend $1.48 for a stamp to give me a better chance of actually getting through to you, since I’m sure your e-box is full all the time. Hopefully you’re allowed to read mail that’s got your name on it. You’re old enough for that now, right?

You don’t know me, but I know enough about you and your life (even though none of us sees much of you, I’m sure for security reasons) to feel qualified, and compelled, to give you some advice that I think will help it all make sense. I’ll get to that stuff in a minute, but first, let’s talk about your old man for a bit, shall we?

I’ve known your Pops for a long time. Sure, it’s mostly been through TV and following him around when he and I are in the same neighborhood, but since he was a kid, he and I have … well, we’ve shared a lot of amazing times together, the kind of times that make you feel lucky and blessed to be alive and part of history. And I’m not alone. As you’ve probably heard, he’s got zillions of friends, or at least admirers, and more than a few respectful rivals around the world. He started gathering them when he was half your age and he’s never really stopped. At one point, just about the time you were born, he was the most famous guy on the planet. Everywhere he touched down, he attracted the kind of attention usually reserved for presidents or rock stars. It was like having the energy and magnetism of all four Beatles — you know who they are, don’t you? — wrapped into one smiling, intense and sincere guy. And 10 years before that, people like me, who love the game he plays so well and we share with him, considered him golf’s Messiah. Your wise and wily gramps, God rest his soul, playfully planted that seed, and we poured the waters of adulation all over it. Yeah, we went overboard, but your Dad dealt with it with great focus and maturity and humor. Again, his character came straight from your grandpa and grandma, just as yours has from him. (Thank God grandma’s been around for you, by the way. I’m sure your dad has told you all about gramps, who he called “Pops,” too. Funny how that works.)

Actually, he’s pretty much kept to himself all these years, through the 25 majors and 100 worldwide wins and half-dozen swing changes. His friends are very few and very close. The rest of us think we deserve his friendship, just because he’s famous and immensely talented and has never failed to take us somewhere we didn’t expect to go whenever he shows up — magical places no other player can seem to reach. We all feel so close to him because he was right there, on our screens and in our dreams, all the time. And in person, whether we stood 20 deep behind the ropes or were lucky enough to share a room with him, the draw was even deeper.

The first time I met him, at Pebble Beach in February 1999, he seemed so shy, yet powerfully confident. We all know what happened the year after that — his first U.S. Open, which he won by 15 strokes and led to the first of his three Slams — so my instincts were right: The shyness was a mask for his desire to be the greatest player ever, and his confidence carried him there. And us with him.

But a lot of people still ask whether your Dad saved the game of golf. Most of the Baby Boomers who played it 10 years ago are all still playing it, we’re all still charmed and humbled and maddened by it, but I personally don’t think your Dad did what we all expected him to do. He was out there to win, and to “put something away for my family,” which he told another magazine the year you were born — I’ve still got a copy laying around somewhere. I’m still trying to figure out if he was serious or pulling our legs, because by then he’d made more money than any golfer in history, by a wide margin, and he would go on to become golf’s first billionaire. But money is beside the point, as you know. And he wasn’t out to save the world or even the game that’s set you and your family up forever. He just wanted to be the best.

Still, I can’t help but think he could have done more. Sure, he attracted millions of new players to the world’s fairways, but then the numbers flattened out, stayed the same even as the U.S. population passed 300 million. He spurred a golf course building boom that burned out in a blaze of greed and wishful thinking. He carried the banner of equality for golfers of color, kicked down the door that guys like Charlie Sifford and Lee Elder had managed to crack — but, in all honesty, didn’t do much to widen it. He could have, and still can. He has the power even now, with you and your little brother rightly taking more and more of his time. Maybe you can ask him about it someday.

And maybe you’ve already asked him this one: What keeps him going past 40, at the same ol’ dominant clip? Other guys did the same thing for a while, like your uncle Vijay, but your Pops is still showing up for the big ones and winning most of them. He got into a groove the summer you were born and just built on that, and now he’s still adding floors to the skyscraper. You’ve been there with him. You know.

The other guys? His contemporaries? Well, Phil, for one, lost interest a good five years ago, and now that he’s a couple years from the Champions Tour, maybe he’ll pick up the pace again, get in shape. He’s a family guy, too — do you guys get a Christmas card from him with his threesome of kids on the front? — so it’s understandable he’d back off after all those years of chasing your Dad. I expect Pops will think about doing the same thing eventually. Maybe when you enter college. Maybe when he’s finally won enough, tires of out-running, out-working and out-thinking the rest of the Tour, and wants to leave with his legacy of excellence intact. Maybe when your mom finally says enough is enough. Whatever it is, I know the time will be right, because your Dad makes few missteps. Am I getting above your head here? I doubt it. You’re a smart kid.
But you’ve also got a lot of history and expectations on your shoulders, which brings me to that advice I mentioned. Whether or not you decide to follow Pops and try to play golf for a living, you’ll forever be compared to him. That’s just the way it is. But you’ve got to forge your own way in life, and as a concerned observer I have some ideas how to make that happen. I’ll keep it brief.

The first thing you need to do is realize you’re not Pops, and never can be. Back when he was your age, he was already planning to chase a man named Jack, who had set the bar so high in major wins that no one thought it could be cleared. Except your Dad, and he did it by a mile. Jack has a great family, too, and his kids learned early on that they couldn’t measure up to what their father had done on the golf course, so they channeled his influence and greatness to excel in other ways. That’s the path you should take, too. Don’t neglect your heritage, but be your own person.

Then again, we all want to see you follow in his footsteps in certain ways …

We hope you’ve inherited his discipline and his very adult way of approaching life’s tasks both on and off the golf course, yet can retain some of that fun-loving good humor he’s always held onto. He’s given you a life of privilege, but you can still be down-to-earth. He is. Insulated, sure, but still connected to his roots. That’s important.

Demand and embrace your freedom. Your gramps never pushed Pops; he just put the tools for success out there, let him find his way and stood by him with a lot of love and a wealth of time. That takes trust. If your Dad truly loves you, and we all know he does, he’ll take a step back and gently guide you, no matter where your interests take you. It’s a cliché, but that’s the greatest gift any parent can give.

Be generous. It’s only money.

Be optimistic, not foolhardy.

Tell your Dad every once in a while to give the nanny a couple weeks off so you and the rest of your family can have him to yourselves. You deserve it. So does he.

And finally, remember it’s not all about trophies and titles. It’s about reaching, then surpassing, your potential. Ask your old man, the guy we all call Tiger. He’ll tell you. FG