Tiger Woods: the one safe bet in life
Sunday 23rd July 2006
By Dan Davies
In previewing the tournament's return to Hoylake for Golf Monthly I had suggested that Tiger would be inspired by the memory of his late father and by following in the footsteps of the great Bobby Jones, who he now overtakes in the all-time majors list (if you choose to count the British Amateur titles won by Jones and the three US amateur crowns collected by Woods). I also wrote that he might struggle to win at a course where driving accuracy would be at such a premium, his only previous Open titles being won over the wide-open spaces of the Old Course at St Andrews. Right on one count and oh so very wrong on the other.
Tiger looked in total control all week, eschewing the driver for unerringly accurate long irons from the tee and a display of controlled iron play into the greens that many expert observers consider to be among the finest of all time. Once he holed out for a birdie on the 18th green on Saturday evening, the one-shot lead he had established might as well have been 10. He has now won the last 11 majors he has led going into the final round and there was not a moment on Sunday when that sequence looked like ending.
So why on earth, after a week of lining the bookies' pockets with bets that were too clever by half, did I not lump the house, record collection and golf clubs on Tiger hoisting the Claret Jug? Even at odds-on it was the nearest thing to an offer of free money.
No, thanks to the hopeless gambler's disdain for logic, I stuck to my gameplan, which over the week had been about erratic as Seve's driving. Going into the tournament with a conspiratorial wink and tap of the nose for anyone who would listen to my hunch about qualifier and former Hoylake champion Mikka Ilonen (the Finn won the amateur championship here in 2000), I was confident that course knowledge gleaned from playing university golf at Royal Liverpool and avid studying of form would see my online betting account comfortably in the black by the end of the week. I had Mickelson to win, Garcia as leading European at 10-1 and decent each way punts on Olazabal, Rodney Pampling (don't ask me why) and Angel Cabrera at 85-1.
Ilonen gave me some entertainment though it ultimately proved unwise to back him each way without Woods and Els on Saturday morning. The bookies would have been smiling again when I chucked some more reckless money at Goosen at the halfway stage.
As Tiger eased to the front and muscled all-comers aside, I switched to rescue mode. As most seasoned gamblers will testify, this is more commonly known as kamikaze mode. A Heinz (57 bets) on seven Friday two-balls sank faster than the hopes of the much-vaunted collection of British and Irish players. Then on Saturday, rather than learning my lesson and investing wisely in the inevitability of Tiger winning, I went instead for a mighty 247-bet goliath on Nine two-ball matches. The first half of a hot, dusty weekend on the Wirral was passed in a mixture of horror and dark humour as virtually every golfer I backed went backwards at a rate of knots. I couldn't pick my nose, never mind a winner.
Other than one utterly rash final bet on Robert Allenby at 200-1 each way (he could shoot 66 couldn't he?), Sunday unfolded with everything resting on Cabrera and Garcia. As a result, the day was viewed through the lens of desperation. I felt my stomach muscles tighten with every Sergio Garcia 8-footer, and sag with every miss. And rather than feel delighted for the plucky run of Anthony Wall, I found myself willing his birdie putts to miss as he looked like finishing ahead of the Spaniard as leading European.
As for Cabrera, this is not the place to repeat my reaction to his treble-bogey on the 2nd. Having promised my girlfriend that there would be dinner and presents if the big Argentinean emulated de Vicenzo's win here in 1967, it looked like being beans on toast when I got home.
As Tiger strolled the links like he owned them and my hopes ebbed, wilted, revived briefly revived, all that mattered was Cabrera finishing in the top five and Garcia getting his head together and nudging clear of Wall. This is what betting does to you. The Open (like the Masters) is a great event to gamble on, which probably why you rarely meet a penniless bookmaker. On the line was not only foolish pride in the depth of my own golfing knowledge but also money I could not really afford to lose.
My Open duel with the bookmakers mirrored the last-day fortunes of both my main hopes. If break even was par, I finished more than a few over. Cabrera cost me big-time and I will never forgive Hideto Tanihara. At least Sergio limited the extent of the damage.
It has been a fantastic week and a fantastic Open. When his game face finally cracked as he took the Open champion's reception down 18, Woods looked as emotional as we have ever seen him. This one was for Dad, as Chris DiMarco's brave run to second was doubtless for Mum, who died suddenly earlier this month.
Personally, there were more than enough memories to make up for the financial losses Walking 18 holes with Seve on Thursday was memorable, if only for witnessing the possible Open farewell of a golfer who inspired so many from my generation. The great man missed the cut but left many indelible images on the brain, none more so than a display of classic scrambling on the last four holes in the first round, and one sublime, soft-hands chip shot on Friday that rolled back the years.
Being inside the ropes for the Woods-Els, last-match-out on Saturday, however, was a sporting experience to take into old age. Woods is a bona fide phenomenon, capable of going so far 'into the zone' even when at the centre of a circus of attention and activity. His ball-striking, his concentration, his ability to step up a gear in the intense heat of final day battle and, if nothing else, his aura (especially up close, as I experienced on that third afternoon) mark him out as one of sport's true greats.
Last year at St Andrews Woods secured me my biggest ever win over the bookies. He's the closest thing to stone cold dead cert, as his equal best of the day closing 67 proved beyond doubt. It was an immaculately executed lesson, and an expensive one for the bookmakers all over Britain. Whatever it had cost us in lost bets, the Golf Monthly team departed Hoylake satisfied that a week spent in the company of greatness had, as always, been worth every penny.
