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Visiting Tiger's past

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Posted: Wednesday March 08, 2000 12:24 PM

Had to talk to Earl Woods about something Tuesday, so I made the 15-minute drive to the Woods family home in Cypress, Calif. Strictly speaking, this is not the house in which Tiger grew up. It is the same address, yes, but two years ago the Woodses did a top-to-bottom remodel, heavy on granite, marble, unfinished rock, beveled mirrors and swanky wallpaper (my favorite is in Earl's office: sketches of the routing and scorecards of all the courses in the British Open rota). Still, there is a history to this place. It's like visiting the Colosseum in Rome, or the grotto hot tub at the Playboy Mansion -- it's not the present that is particularly interesting, but, rather, closing your eyes and trying to imagine the past.

MAIL CALL Caught your article in SI's swimsuit edition. What a life! Anyway, you've talked of Mrs. Mickelson, Mrs. Lehman and other PGA wives but have never mentioned Mrs. Crenshaw. Yet there she and Ben were in the big issue. What else are you holding back? —Henry Min, Collegeville, Pa. More than you could ever imagine, Hank. David Duval and Karrie Webb -- separated at birth? The shades, the Titleist cap, the dime-slot eyes (if they ever remove the shades) and the blond locks. The only way you can tell them apart now is that David has slimmed down, and Karrie hasn't ... —Kevin Forbes, Newton, Mass. That is such an uncalled for remark, Kev, and I've never been more proud of you. Maybe we should make Separated at Birth a weekly feature, open to all readers. My first nomination: Fluff Cowan and rock god/sperm dispenser David Crosby. Whom do you hang out with on the road? Or is your personality so annoying that no one will eat with you? One more thing: What is your favorite Spectravision movie? —Dave, Bloomfield Hills, Mich. Even the most annoying personality can hide behind a corporate AmEx, and that is the key to my social life on the road. There are a couple of other writers skimmed off the shallow end of the gene pool I pal around with, but rule 1(a) in the dog-eat-dog world of sports journalism: never, ever mention the competition (not that there is any). I'll even pick off the stray player or caddie if he's really, really hungry. Spectravision? I've never heard of it. One of my colleagues, however, highly recommends On Golden Blonde. Or was it Riders of the Lost Ark? With whom would you rather play a round of golf -- Jack Nicklaus or Heidi Klum? —Doug Friedman, New York City Doug, I'm shocked and offended that you would impugn my credibility -- nay, my integrity -- in such a manner. How could any self-respecting golf writer ever turn down the chance to tee it up with Jack? Naturally, I would choose to play with him. Of course, I would bring Heidi along as my caddie.

You'd expect to see more memorabilia on display (most is in storage, at a second family house in Tustin, Calif., or at Tiger's pads in Isleworth and Manhattan Beach, Calif.). All the stuff scattered around the house has a significance more personal than historical -- a snapshot of two-year-old Tiger with his first trophy, a framed cover of Black Entrepreneur magazine, etc. There are an astonishing number of tigers around the house, years worth of gifts from the literal-minded. Tigers carved out of marble or wood, painted in watercolor and oil, stuffed with goose down, you name it. The only real trophy on display is from the '99 Disney, a massive bronze thing with little figurines of Mickey and Goofy fooling around on the putting green. It sits on a coffee table next to Earl's favorite lounge chair. "I wanted a replica of that trophy from when Tiger won there in '96," Earl said of his son's second career victory. "We never could get one from the tournament, so Tiger said, 'Don't worry about it, Pop. I'll just win one for you.' And that he did." Nice to have a kid who keeps his word.

Also nice to have a son with ties to the automotive industry. Sitting in the driveway was a silver 500 SL, which was part of the booty from Tiger's victory at the 1997 Mercedes Championship (that one is Earl's; Tida got this year's edition; Tiger has graduated to Porsches). There was also a brand-spanking-new Cadillac Escalade, part of Tiger's deal with GM/Buick. Contractually, he gets three new rides a year -- one for him, one for mom, one for dad.

When I arrived at the house Earl was reclined in his chair, talking on the phone. A young woman, a personal assistant type, let me in. With his paunch, Ferrari-red Nike sweatshirt and ever-receding hairline, Earl looked like a beatific Buddha. He was in a fine mood, despite the fact he was due at the doctor later in the day and his two Labrador pups were at the vet. We talked for an hour and a half, about what I am not at liberty to say (keep your eye on SI), although with Earl the conversation often wanders to and fro. One interesting tidbit that is semi-public information concerns the house itself. Earl is hoping to someday turn the place into a museum, and his dream is to have it declared a national historical monument ("I want people to know Tiger didn't grow up in the ghetto, and he didn't grow up in a mansion in Beverly Hills, but, rather, a nice, quiet middle-class neighborhood, the epitome of the American Dream," he says). That's typical of Earl's grandiosity, the very thing that has earned him so many skewerings through the years. But remember this: Every outrageous thing he has ever predicted for his son has come true. He's probably the only person who knows exactly what his son is capable of, and he has known from Day One.

With an eye toward his future archives, Earl has turned packrat. The garage is stuffed full of intriguing Tiger minutiae, and we spent a while poking around. There are a million clubs, of course, but also a closet full of old golf shirts, all worn during competitions, going as far back as early high school. "Don't worry, they've been laundered," Earl said, pulling one out to show me. It was from the 1996 NCAA Championships, which Tiger won, of course, to join Jack Nicklaus and Phil Mickelson as the only players to win the NCAAs and the U.S. Amateur in the same year.

As we were shaking hands goodbye, I commented on the gorgeous Rolex Earl was wearing. It was part of Tiger's rewards for winning the PGA Championship. As Earl explained it, Tiger's contract with Rolex compels him to wear one -- and only one -- make of its watches. So the old man got another souvenir. "Ain't life a bitch?" he said, bidding me adieu.

Sports Illustrated golf writer Alan Shipnuck will take you On Tour each Wednesday at golfplus.cnnsi.com. Click here to send Alan a question or a nice, friendly comment.

 

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