In the moments immediately following his victory last Sunday in the World Golf Championship event at The Concession Club, Collin Morikawa spoke for so many when he talked not about himself but about Tiger Woods.
“I don’t think we say thank you enough, so I just want to say thank you to Tiger,” the 24-year-old Morikawa said.
Woods was laid up in a Los Angeles hospital room, his long recovery from severe leg injuries sustained in a car crash just beginning.
While others on various tours wore red shirts as a nod to Woods – Phil Mickelson went so far as to buy his own in Tucson where, as an Arizona State alum, he wore a black vest to cover the Arizona Wildcats logo on his chest during the PGA Tour Champions event – Morikawa’s shirt didn’t arrive soon enough for him to join the sartorial salute.
It didn’t matter.
His words said more than a shirt could.
The outpouring of affection for Woods, whose warmth factor has increased exponentially these last few years, reached the man himself who tweeted his thank you on Sunday night.
It is hard to explain how touching today was when I turned on the tv and saw all the red shirts. To every golfer and every fan, you are truly helping me get through this tough time.
— Tiger Woods (@TigerWoods) March 1, 2021
In a normal year – if we can remember such a thing – Woods would be at Bay Hill this week playing in the Arnold Palmer Invitational, a place where only Palmer, the owner, made himself more at home. Woods won the event eight times, practically making it a rite of early spring, usually by hammering home a long putt on 18 with the host watching from behind the green.
Bay Hill is the intersection of arguably the two most important figures in the game’s history. While Old Tom Morris, Bobby Jones, Ben Hogan, Jack Nicklaus, Seve Ballesteros and others have left their imprint on history, Palmer and Woods brought it out of the newspapers and television screens and implanted themselves on society.
Their competitive accomplishments (a combined 144 PGA Tour wins including 22 major championships) are just a part of who they are and what they mean to golf. Their celebrity was/is immense, whether it’s by bringing color to a largely white game or by selling motor oil or iced tea and lemonade to the masses. Their charisma and style drew different generations to televised golf and to the game like nobody else.
They shared more than the game. They have personified it beyond the golf course.
In some ways, Palmer and Woods couldn’t be more different. Palmer was a white guy from Pennsylvania, the son of a superintendent turned club pro, who played golf with a swing cluttered with twists, turns and the occasional fury of an angry preacher.
Woods was the mixed-race son of a military man, raised in southern California, and blessed with generational talent. As outgoing and warm as Palmer was, Woods played most of his golf as if he were insulated from his surroundings, his fury focused on being the most dominant player ever.
They were born 46 years apart but they came to be good friends and not just because Palmer was there seven times to shake Woods’ hand after he’d won at Bay Hill (he wasn’t there in 2012 due to a health scare). They shared more than the game. They have personified it beyond the golf course.
Woods won the first of his three consecutive U.S. Junior Amateur titles at Bay Hill in 1991, one of the earliest hints at the player he would become.
Over the years, Woods and Palmer had their moments together including a dinner in 1995 when Palmer picked up the tab while Woods was still a sophomore at Stanford. Woods ultimately paid back the $25 dinner bill to avoid NCAA sanctions (a ludicrous technicality). Palmer never cashed the check Woods sent.
The enduring images, however, are those of Woods walking into Palmer’s handshake after winning again. The best may be the moment in 2013 when, with his arm around him, Woods made a private remark that caused Palmer to burst into laughter.
Palmer passed away in the fall of 2016 but his spirit still permeates Bay Hill. It was a place he loved and nurtured and where he played his beloved shootout with friends more days than not.
A set of Palmer’s clubs sits on one end of the practice tee during tournament week, his office is still in the clubhouse and the umbrella logo is as prevalent as the Spanish moss in the live oaks. This week, in many ways, is still about Palmer.
Woods was going to miss this week anyway, still recovering from his latest back operation, but now his future is uncertain after the wicked wreck. As the days have unfolded, fear has been replaced by concern, sympathy and an even greater appreciation of who he is and what he has meant.
Woods, too, will be at Bay Hill in spirit this week because of what it has meant in his career and the way he is tied to Palmer.
It’s a time to say thank you – again.