The year was 1996. I was old (43), heavy, and, being kind to myself, didn’t exactly pound the ball. Yet there I was, in the final group on Sunday at Oakwood Country Club in Coal Valley, Ill. Back then, when the Tour stopped in this part of the country, it was called the Quad City Classic.
Whatever it was called, the place was packed. Of course, the people were not there to see me. Heavens, no. They were there to see my playing partner. And, really, who could blame them? The day before, on the 1st tee – I was paired with him in the third round, as well – I introduced myself.
“Tiger, I wonder if I can get a couple of autographs for my kids,” I asked.
“Sure,” he said.
“They’re about the same age as you are,” I told him.