AP
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Augusta doesn't cotton to strangers, doesn't suffer fools. The green coats won't be expanding the press credential list or setting up an auxiliary press center. Those there to observe this Masters will be largely those that observed the last one, the last many for that matter. The grounds might be bursting with azaleas and magnolias, but you won't see any paparazzi in bloom.
What's more, you aren't likely to hear any offensive taunts or catcalls from the galleries. Folks who are fortunate enough to get their paws on a gate pass at Augusta approach this golf tournament the way they might approach the Soup Nazi in an episode of “Seinfeld.” They don't dare draw attention to themselves; they watch their p's and q's.
Loudmouths and wiseacres are not well-received. Song birds and piano music are the sounds of choice. Just ask Gary McCord about Augusta's sense of humor. For the most part, save for structured news conferences, Woods will be able to go about his professional business at the Masters.
There will be nothing inside the ropes other than caddies in white overalls and some 7,450 yards of “Tiger-proofed” turf, a golf course Woods has counted four times among his 14 major championships.
In terms of passive environments, Augusta might as well be Eden for the scarred Sir Eldrick. Even Dr. Drew would approve of the Friendly Fruitlands. The path to golf focus will be as uncluttered as it can get.
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The quickest way the game's No. 1 star can put these unsavory months behind him is to change the content from “birds” to birdies, to sensationalize what is going inside the ropes rather than outside, to bring back comparisons to Jack Nicklaus and perspectives about his rank in golf history.
Al Davis can tell Woods how to make all this go away: “Just win, baby.”
But winning golf tournaments, much less majors, is never a layup, even for Woods. His career winning percentage in majors is 33 percent, which is fabulous stuff. Only Bobby Jones has a better mark, a 44 percent winning clip that demands some qualification. The definitions were significantly different during Jones’ illustrious career in the 1920s and early 1930s.
But to re-iterate, before “Driveway-gate,” before the parade of embarrassing phone messages and seamy soirees, when mental fortitude was Woods’ calling card, he failed to win 67 percent of the majors he entered. Now, he will attempt to make a major championship his first competition in five months.
And Ari Fleischer will be no help when it comes to answering the kind of questions the greens at Augusta will pose.
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No warm-up act to iron out kinks in his swing. No dipping the toe in the waters of tournament golf to re-acclimate himself. Woods is starting off at the top, in a major.
This is not new territory for Woods. He tried this same cold turkey trick in 2006, going from an emotional frying pan into a U.S. Open fire at Winged Foot. It did not go well. After taking eight weeks off to mourn the passing of his father, Woods pulled trombones from his bag. He carded a pair of 76s, stumbled 12 strokes over par and missed the cut at a major for the first time in his professional career.
Michael Campbell, who played with Woods through those initial two rounds, noticed a difference. “He’s pretty focused, but the intensity wasn’t there as it normally is,” Campbell said afterward.
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