
The apple on the 16th tee was what did it for me. Tiger Woods had just fallen behind Rocco Mediate in their U.S. Open playoff - after leading by three a mere five holes earlier - and here he was munching on a ... could it be? Yes, Johnny Miller, I'm pretty sure that's a Granny Smith. You can tell by the green color.
At that point in an Open playoff, most players wouldn't even contemplate solid food. Not after five days of grinding, five days of excavating their ball from ankle-deep rough, five days of the USGA's sadomasochism. (And in Woods' case, five days of gimping around following recent knee surgery.)
Oh, they might help themselves to some liquid refreshment - some Gatorade Tiger, say, if not a shot of Jack Daniel's - but it's unusual at such a stressful moment that someone thinks to himself: Snack time!
After all, you didn't see Mediate whipping out any peanut butter sandwiches, a la Al Geiberger. Mostly, you saw him spitting a lot, as if he had a bad taste in his mouth he couldn't get rid of, maybe acid reflux. The only way you could have fed Rocco at that stage, I figure, is intravenously.
And let's for forget, the 16th hole is a par-3, and Woods had been a disaster on par-3s all day - bogey at No. 3, bogey at No. 8, bogey at No. 11. The fourth and final par-3 at Torrey Pines, a 227-yarder backed by the abyss of the Pacific Ocean, might be the most nausea-inducing of the bunch. So, hey, why not chomp on an apple?
But then, as we've been reminded over and over again during Tiger's triumphant career, he's not like other golfers. Adam - a respectable 16-handicapper in the Garden of Eden - took a bite out of an apple and had to spend the rest of his life playing municipal courses. Tiger, on the other hand, gnaws on a Granny Smith, and here's what he does the rest of the day:
cHits all four fairways.
cHits all four greens in regulation.
cSends the playoff into sudden death with a birdie on 18.
cLeaves two other birdie putts just short - and smack in the center of the hole.
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