Wednesday, March 16, 2005 | 9:25 a.m.
Adam Candee covers golf for the Sun. Reach him at (702) 259-4085 or by e-mail at [email protected].
Is it safe to come out of the hyperbole hiding shelter yet?
If not, send word when the tempest of reactionary talk about Tiger Woods and Phil Mickelson setting the stage for the next great golf rivalry in their recent final-round duel at Doral finally passes.
To all the infatuated talking heads, ink-stained wretches and golf fans wanting these two to become the new Arnie and Jack, a sobering piece of reality: It ain't gonna happen. Not a chance. Get over it.
In fact, get over all of the following, like, yesterday:
Don't insult what Arnie and Jack did for golf by trying to conjure up another rivalry to match it, as many print and broadcast accounts tried to do after Doral. Even if the hope is just to match the golf they played and not the stature they achieved, there are 25 major victories between Palmer and Nicklaus that suggest it's not possible.
More than ever before, with silly-sized purses, humongous advertising contracts and increased competition for both, golf is a coldly individual sport and no one more clearly represents that than Woods. To achieve his level of ability and celebrity, Woods became Tiger mostly on his own.
Folks say they want someone to challenge him, a rival to push him to a higher level. Where would that be -- Jupiter? It just isn't true. We don't need Tiger to have a true rival, aside from the occasional nudge from Mickelson like the one at Doral, as he chases Nicklaus' 18 professional majors. The proven most successful scenario is the one where Tiger's only rival is Tiger because he is internally driven to succeed and he alone brings the casual sports fan to golf.
TV ratings and tournament attendance shoot up when Woods is there. He brings the channel flippers to the game and keeps the diehards riveted. It's the same magnetism that Nicklaus developed not through personality, but through excellence. And Palmer, the guy's guy and Army leader, never needed any help attracting a crowd.
That's not Mickelson, nor is it Ernie Els, Vijay Singh or any of the other occasional houseguests in Tiger's purview. Woods is the drawing card that gives people a chance to first kick the tires on Mickelson, et al.
And which of the three most likely potential rivals has the personality for the task? Let's see ... Singh is too aloof, Els is too laid-back ... and even after his Masters victory, Mickelson still feels like a guy awkwardly trying to play the part of rival that's been thrust upon him because he's been told that he should, not because he truly burns for it.
Arnie and Jack did not need any self-help pep talks about wanting the rivalry with each other.
"At times, we became so hyper about beating each other that we let someone else go right by us and win," Palmer said recently, with due respect to Gary Player, Lee Trevino, Tom Watson and other greats of the 1960s and 1970s. "But our competition was fun and good for the game."
They both needed the competition of golf and each other, and thank your stars for that. Arnie won the Masters in 1962, then gave the green jacket to Jack in 1963. Nicklaus returned it to Palmer in 1964 before wresting it from him in 1965 and keeping it in 1966. If those are the good old days, surely most people will take a double order, and it's only natural to wish it from Tiger and someone else.
But really, save the wishing and praying and flipping over your magic 8-ball hoping for a Tiger-Phil funfest. Sure, their contempt for each other is well documented and they have the game for the task, so some factors are in place. But even if Woods and Mickelson could sustain the give-and-take that marked Arnie and Jack for a decade -- and they can't -- the stars just aren't aligned to create such joy, intensity and interest like they once were.
Together, The King and the "fat boy" turned Golden Bear made golf as we know it in the United States today. No doubt that anyone from Ben Hogan to Bobby Jones to Gene Sarazen deserves credit for the early American development of the game, but a college kid fresh out of the Coast Guard named Palmer and an insurance salesman from Columbus, Ohio, named Nicklaus brought golf from the mansions to the masses as sports TV first emerged as the vehicle for doing so.
Fans related to them, these guys who list U.S. Amateur victories as defining points of careers that began in the game, not the business, of golf. Nicklaus made $30,000 selling insurance in 1961 and wavered on turning pro in golf for fear that he could not make the same money. Palmer topped the money list at $40,000 in 1958, the year of his first Masters win. Neither concept seems plausible today.
People cheer for Woods, marveling at his transcendent talent. They feel for Lefty's near misses and revel in his Masters win. But do they relate to two young men weaned on golf and bred for the sole purpose of making millions upon millions of dollars playing the game? Fat chance.
That they can even chase such funny money is also a product of Palmer and Nicklaus. From 1957 to 1966, total purses on the PGA Tour increased by nearly 450 percent to more than $3.7 million -- which isn't even a rich purse for a single event today.
And whether it is International Management Group, The Golf Channel, golf course design, real estate, clothing or any of the other endeavors they started during and after their careers, Palmer and Nicklaus whipped up the entrepreneurial wind that Tiger and his challengers inherited in this generation.
Woods is a brand and a marketing force, but he is so of his own accord and talent. Whereas Palmer and Nicklaus pinballed against each other to amplify the energy that introduced many people to golf, Woods does not need or necessarily want Mickelson, Els or Singh as a running mate, on or off the course.
The sooner we all get past that reality, the sooner we can enjoy what the game has to offer without holding it to a standard that cannot be regained.
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