Chances are you’ll never know what it’s like to set foot on the grounds of Augusta National. It’s damn certain you’ll never know it’s like to be Tiger Woods. Put the two together and you have a recipe for reverence (and Major championships) but not necessarily relatability.
Don’t get us wrong, nothing is better than watching Big Cat run free at Augusta National, but it’s not always easy to put his dominance – the decades-long competitive synergy between man and golf course – in a context that mortals can understand. That’s what makes what we’re about to show you so darn precious. Check it out:
Five green jackets is not easy to fathom. It’s a number and we understand that it’s a big one, but it’s only a decimal point when compared to the hours, days, weeks, and years that Woods has poured into Masters preparation and performance over the years.
Hitting the range picker, whether advertently or inadvertently, however, is something we can all wrap our heads around. From the day we first picked up a golf club, the range picker has called to us like a Siren in the mist. One day we are all doomed to dash our ship upon its rocks. Tuesday was that day for Woods.
Now there’s no shortage of Tiger-centric chatter buzzing around ANGC this week, almost all of it more consequential than him plunking a range picker. But in terms of pure fun – pure relatability, pure virality – it’s tough to beat Woods clanging a Bridgestone off this bad boy.
Like we said, you’ll never be Tiger Woods, but for one brief second on Tuesday, Tiger Woods was all of us.