Tiger may prove to be built like a once-great MLB closer (e.g., Eric Gagne), an NFL kicker (e.g. Mike Vanderjagt), or an NHL goalie (um… that one guy…). Able to perform a very specific physical act reliably and repeatedly for years, becoming nearly machine-like in his precision, then—for reasons more mental than physical—losing it completely. In five years we may be reading sports journalism features entitled, “Whatever happened to Tiger?” where the journalist is only able to chronicle the epic tailspin to obscurity and, ultimately, statistical oddity.
But I'm not betting on it.
The problem with this theory? He is not like anyone else in almost every way. The examples of someone dominating an individual sport quite like Tiger are so rare as to be useless for comparison, particularly because they are not just rare, but idiosyncratic. See Didriksen, Babe & Semanya, Caster. (Err… okay, maybe those two have some things in common.) That is why the story has been so fascinating. It is trite to say that Tiger's fall has been the farthest. It is more than that: this is a trajectory that is not just longer, but in an entirely new direction. Great athletes have failed before, and Tiger's sheen of brilliance has tarnished greatly. But he is more than a great athlete: his rise was singular and his fall has been equally so. Whatever the end, it will be special.
Bet on it.
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