Those plans may be of the «just in case» variety, since Tiger — despite hitting
buckets of golf balls of late, slamming drives, shaping shots, and accepting accolades from spectators at various venues — may not be quite ready for a return next week at TPC Sawgrass.
He has a way
of getting the
ball in the hole better than anyone else, or as my colleague Kyle Porter wrote recently, he's the
golf version
of a guy who just «gets
buckets» in every conceivable way and leaves you in the dust dumbfounded.
It is not so much a skull anymore as it is a large
bucket in which names, places and random
golf thoughts have been jumbled like so many range
balls: yips, chips, birdies, eagles, Eales (Paul), Els (Ernie), Jeff Gove, Davis Love, Rocky Thompson, Rocco Mediate, rye grass, Sawgrass, flagsticks, flat sticks, fairway woods, Tiger Woods, what I would not give to be out
of this god - forsaken room; Aoki, Azinger, and my ordeal had barely begun.