The Big Miss: My Years Coaching Tiger Woods

by Hank Haney

  I met with Steve after the final round and found him depressed about Tiger’s attitude. “We’ve just walked eighteen holes, and he spoke to me twice,” he said. “The first time was on fifteen, where he goes, ‘I think this chip might go right.’ Then in the fairway on seventeen he says, ‘It’s getting colder out here, isn’t it?’ Like we’d been chatting all day. I don’t know what his problem is, but he was horrible to me all week.”

  After Carnoustie, Tiger went home and kind of hunkered down. Several months later, he’d reveal that this was the period when he tore his ACL taking a bad step while running on a golf course. He never got any more specific than that about the injury and had never told me he hurt his knee. Short of getting an MRI, there was no way he could have known if the ACL was fully torn. But assuming it was, his subsequent vagueness, along with Corey’s later account, makes me doubt Tiger’s public version of how the injury occurred.

  By this time, Mark Steinberg had acknowledged that Tiger’s military obsession had to be confronted. Mark always hosted a dinner at his home near Cleveland the week of the WGC Bridgestone Invitational at Firestone in Akron, and he told me that it was where “I’m going to have a talk with Tiger.” On Tuesday night, Tiger, Steve, and I met at Mark’s home, and after dinner, he and Tiger went into Mark’s downstairs office, where they spent about an hour.

  I don’t know what Mark told him, but afterward, Tiger was different. To my knowledge, he at least cut down on the military trips. It was a moment that proved to me that Mark had a good feel for how to reach Tiger, and on this occasion the message had gotten through.

  As it turned out, Tiger went on to win the Bridgestone at Firestone. In the last round, he was paired with Rory Sabbatini, who had made the “he’s as beatable as ever” comments after Tiger’s April victory in Charlotte. Tiger accessed his A-game, shooting a 65 to Rory’s 74, and won by eight. It was Tiger’s favorite scenario, a silent beat-down of a cocky foe. “Everyone knows how Rory is,” Tiger told the media. “I just go out there and let my clubs do the talking.”

  I’d left the tournament on Thursday because my wife at the time, Jerilynn, was having health problems. It was a difficult situation that required my presence for an extended period of time. I wouldn’t see Tiger again until December.

  It was during this period that Tiger most demonstrated friendship toward me. We spoke on the phone nearly every day about his golf, but the conversation would also veer into the personal, and he was quite supportive. He’d inquire about Jerilynn’s progress and ask me how I was holding up. He’d often say, “Don’t worry about me, you’ve got more important things to deal with. Do what you gotta do.”

  Tiger’s surprising empathy, and my temporary absence from tournaments, led me to imagine how our relationship might ideally evolve. I hoped for a situation where Tiger wouldn’t feel he needed to see me in person as much, and certainly not as much at tournaments. I envisioned some long sessions at Isleworth to start the year to lay down a foundation and a plan, and perhaps a few others before and during the majors. The rest of the time we could check in by phone. I foresaw a modern-day version of what Jack Nicklaus had with his lifelong teacher, Jack Grout, who used to visit Nicklaus at the start of the year, then basically leave him alone unless Jack asked for help. The more self-sufficiency a player can manage, the better. A coach hovering all the time can be a crutch. I never felt I became that for Tiger, but as his knowledge of the plan became more sophisticated, I actually wanted him to need me less.

  But in the meantime, Tiger started playing tremendously. He won the PGA at Southern Hills in Tulsa, a tight, classically designed course that I’d played many times in college. He used mostly 3-woods and 5-woods off the tee to find the wide part of the many doglegs, and when he had to, he got the driver in play as well. In the second round, Tiger shot a 63 that would have been a major-championship-record 62 if his 15-footer for birdie on the eighteenth hole hadn’t gone all the way around the cup without falling.

  Tiger and I were having productive phone conversations daily. Before the final round, Tiger told me he felt in control. We went over the usual few swing keys, but I could tell it was one of those weeks when he didn’t have many doubts.

  Still, it wasn’t easy on Sunday. After getting his lead up to six, he made some mistakes. When he bogeyed the fourteenth, he was up by only one. But that’s when Tiger tapped the extra energy he saves for such occasions. He birdied the fifteenth, and then on the very long and difficult sixteenth, which required a driver to set up a reasonable approach, he made the “good swing” I always wanted him to trust and piped one down the middle. It was a proud moment for both of us, and Tiger showed his satisfaction with his trademark flourish, giving the club a hard twirl on the recoil of his follow-through.

  He won by two, earning his 13th major championship and his fifth in the last 12. I would sense more relief from Tiger in the aftermath. He knew he was entering the home stretch toward Nicklaus’s record, and the pressure was making the whole deal harder. No matter how well he played otherwise, a year without a major victory would be a disappointment, and he’d had to wait until the last one of the season to turn the year into a success.

  The win at the PGA also relaxed me a little. My absence had already spawned rumors that Tiger and I were splitting, and if he hadn’t won at Southern Hills, they would have grown louder. Because Tiger and I were communicating regularly, I wasn’t threatened that Tiger had won without my being there. Still, the speculation got intense enough that Tiger finally decided it required a rare response. In late October, he wrote on his website:

  Contrary to rumors, I have not split with Hank Haney, my friend and swing coach. He’s spent more time at home helping his wife deal with health issues, which is the way it should be. Besides, I’ve become much better at correcting my swing flaws, and that’s ultimately where you want to get to with a coach-pupil relationship. Hank is still going to be my coach; that’s not changing.

  Tiger won four of his last five tournaments of 2007, finishing second in the other. He played as if on automatic. It wasn’t perfect golf, though there were streaks of brilliance. Mainly it was beautifully managed play, the kind that avoids mistakes and produces one clean round after another. Above all, it was winning golf. In a way, the best thing I could say about it was that it didn’t surprise me. He was that good, and I knew that what he was doing was well within his comfort zone.

  After his victory at the Tour Championship in September, Tiger played only two more events, the Presidents Cup and his tournament at Sherwood, which he won again. He later said that he used the extra time to build up more leg muscle to protect his left knee, but that was the first I heard about anything like that. In fact, neither Tiger nor anyone in his inner circle gave me any indication his left knee was bothering him beyond the discomfort he’d periodically complained about for years. After Christmas, he even went on one more skiing trip, this time to Colorado with Elin and members of her family.

  When he came back in 2008, Tiger picked up where he’d left off, winning his first three events. His latest streak of official victories ended at five when he finished fifth at Doral. Throughout, there was still nothing out of the ordinary that I could tell about Tiger’s left knee. I was still working off what he’d told me in 2004, that he had only 20 percent of his ACL. I didn’t know if he had any less, and certainly was unaware of the ACL’s being completely torn. Tiger would occasionally grimace after a shot, but he’d been doing that since I’d begun working with him. He always went back to hitting without any apparent compensation.

  Before Augusta, we spent our normal week at Isleworth. He’d gotten a good handle on his swing issues, including the head-dropping problem, and he was going with his “good swing” more often. I’d made some notes to myself, and one was: “Best I have ever seen him going into a major.”

  The first indications of Tiger having a serious physical problem came at the Masters. He’d said early in the week that his knee hurt, and when I inquired lat
er, he said, “Nothing that some drugs can’t take care of. I’m fine.” I later learned from Keith Kleven that Tiger had taken Vicodin during the tournament, the first time to my knowledge Tiger had used that prescription drug during competition. Tiger again putted poorly at Augusta, his 120 putts eight more than winner Trevor Immelman, and Keith said strong painkillers can affect feel and touch. It was why Tiger resisted taking the same drugs two months later at the U.S. Open.

  It was another frustrating Masters for Tiger. In the first round, he made an eagle on the fifteenth hole, but it was offset by his two-chip bogey on the par-5 thirteenth, his first bogey on a par 5 since the previous August. Until he made a 60-foot bomb on the eleventh on Sunday, his longest birdie putt of the week was a 12-footer on Saturday. However, he also missed from inside eight feet five times on Sunday.

  In the final round, Tiger trailed by three when he came to the par-5 fifteenth hole looking for an eagle. He drove into the second cut right of the fairway. Steve told him a normal 5-iron would be enough. Tiger hit it solidly, but the ball landed on the front of the green and rolled back into the water. It was a rare mental error at a big moment, because Tiger knew that if he was going to miss on that hole, it had to be long. He saved par, but he’d needed at least a birdie. He finished three strokes behind Immelman, tied for second.

  I didn’t talk to Tiger until two days later, when he informed me that he was going to have arthroscopic surgery on his left knee. “Yeah, I’m going to have it cleaned out,” he said. He still made no mention of a torn ACL. My sense of the surgery was that it was intended to be exploratory, to cut away and trim some worn cartilage and to assess the general state of the knee going forward. However, once Dr. Rosenberg went in, he found more damage than expected.

  I was shocked to learn of the blown-out ACL. And also saddened. Tiger was coming off a period when everything we’d worked on was solidifying and the wins were coming in bunches. He seemed to be over the distractions of 2007, and had reenergized his work ethic. He hadn’t won at Augusta, but even in a loose performance he’d come excruciatingly close. He was right on the verge of achieving a level both of us had been waiting for, and now, heading into a U.S. Open on a course where Tiger had won more tournaments going back to junior golf than anywhere else, it seemed that all that momentum would be lost.

  Golf historians may eventually argue that Tiger would never be quite as good again. Perhaps, but that didn’t prevent him from achieving his greatest victory.

  It’s Sunday, May 18, 2008, a month after the knee operation, and I’m sitting at the dinner table with Tiger and Elin at their home in Isleworth. It’s quieter than usual, as Elin has recently instituted a “no television” rule during dinner. Tiger has gone along with the prohibition, but if the intent of the change was to stimulate more conversation, it’s not working tonight.

  Tiger rises to get something to drink in the kitchen. About halfway there, he suddenly stops and grimaces, then bends over slightly with his eyes still closed. He holds this position for a full 20 seconds. It’s the same pose that in a few weeks will become familiar to the millions who will watch the U.S. Open.

  I look at Elin, who seems as surprised as I am. This isn’t good. I ask Tiger if he is all right. “I just landed on my foot wrong,” he says. “I’m fine.” But the strain in his voice belies the explanation. I don’t want to go negative, but it just comes out. “Tiger, you can’t even walk. How are you going to be able to play?”

  I’d arrived in Orlando that day to initiate Tiger’s reentry into competition, his target the Memorial Tournament in less than two weeks. That would be followed by the U.S. Open at Torrey Pines, the first round of which was June 12. It was the first day I’d seen Tiger since Sunday of the Masters. We’d spoken on the phone, and he’d indicated that his recovery was going well. But as soon as we got on the golf course, it was clear that he was having problems. He was hitting the ball poorly, but more tellingly, moving slowly with a halting gait. Somehow, he’d lost a lot.

  His latest surgery had turned out to be a mixed bag. Although he never specified the reason for the procedure publicly, Tiger had wanted to alleviate pain that had been increasing from the effects of loose cartilage in his left knee joint. Dr. Thomas Rosenberg had cleaned out the cartilage, but he also discovered that Tiger’s left anterior cruciate ligament (ACL)—the thick ligament that connects the thigh bone and the shin bone through the front of the knee joint—was fully torn. It meant that Tiger was without the normal ability to limit side-to-side motion or to keep the leg from straightening too much.

  Rosenberg was the same doctor who’d found Tiger’s left ACL to be badly deteriorated in 2002, when he operated on him to remove cysts from his knee. But while Rosenberg was well aware that Tiger would have ongoing knee issues, I was told that he was still surprised to find it fully torn. Tiger had played so well in late 2007 and early 2008, winning nine of 12 tournaments, with two seconds and a fifth, that Rosenberg had expected Tiger to still have a functioning ACL. Once Rosenberg was inside the knee, he considered repairing the ACL on the spot. He didn’t because Tiger was unconscious and couldn’t give his consent. A reconstruction at that time also would have meant that Tiger would have missed the remaining three majors of 2008. There was also the question of whether the new ligament would come from a cadaver or be grafted from the hamstring of the opposite leg, which is the way Tiger would eventually go.

  After Rosenberg trimmed away the loose cartilage and left the ACL alone, the plan going forward was for Tiger to rest and rehabilitate for a few weeks, then return to competition and continue to manage the torn ACL through the year’s three remaining majors. He would then undergo major reconstructive surgery and, if all went well, be ready to resume his assault on Jack Nicklaus’s record at the 2009 Masters.

  Unfortunately, there was an aspect of the plan that Tiger didn’t consider.

  What had allowed him to get by with a torn ACL were the exceptionally strong muscles surrounding his knee, which he’d strengthened with years of lower-body training. The muscles had acted as an imperfect but workable substitute for the ACL, providing enough stability to the knee joint that Tiger wasn’t severely hampered as a golfer, though he would have been in a sport that required running, jumping, or contact.

  However, the minor surgery changed things. Immediate atrophy after even minor invasive surgery is normal, and the muscles supporting Tiger’s knee lost their strength as swelling, stiffness, and soreness set in. That caused the joint to become much less stable, to the point that the tips of the tibia, fibula, and femur began to touch where they met at the knee. Ideally, Tiger would have taken more time for his legs to regain their strength and again provide a stable cushion for the joint, but because he was determined to play at the U.S. Open, he began to train and practice while the atrophy was wreaking havoc.

  If the U.S. Open hadn’t been at Torrey Pines, he might not have rushed things. But the course on the cliffs of La Jolla was the site of more Tiger victories than any other. He’d begun accumulating titles there as a junior golfer, and after turning professional he’d won the PGA Tour event at Torrey Pines six times. Since I’d been his coach, Tiger had been victorious at the course each of the four times he’d played there. Torrey Pines’ big dimensions suited Tiger. He knew the greens, and he could access winning memories. Torrey Pines had never before held the U.S. Open, and Tiger had been looking forward to the occasion and the opportunity for years.

  When he began hitting balls again in mid-May, the jolt to his knee was more jarring than it had been when his surrounding muscles were strong. Despite hitting only a predesignated and reduced number of practice balls each day, and riding a cart as he played the course, the healing process was slow. Two weeks before the Memorial, on the eighteenth hole of a round at Isleworth, Tiger said he hit a 5-iron approach from a downhill lie and felt a crack below his left knee. I arrived two days later, and Tiger clearly wasn’t in good shape. After seeing the state of Tiger’s golf game and the way he doubled o
ver in the kitchen, I didn’t see how he’d be able to be ready for the Open, let alone the Memorial.

  The next day, Tiger was worse. On the practice tee, he could hit only four or five balls without needing to sit down in the cart, and he was reduced to using his club as a cane to cover the few yards back to the seat. Certainly, Tiger had verbally exaggerated injuries in the past, but this was about action more than words. He wasn’t complaining, he was just limping. Clearly discouraged, he informed me at lunch that he was pulling out of the Memorial. All his efforts would be focused on playing at Torrey Pines.

  I returned home and came back to Orlando on Friday, May 30, after Tiger had undergone an MRI on his knee. The next day, Dr. Rosenberg came in from Utah to evaluate the results and consult with Tiger. He and an associate sat down in the middle of an L-shaped couch in the family room, Tiger and I on opposite ends. Rosenberg opened his laptop on the coffee table and showed us the images, pointing to two small, dark lines at the top of the lower bone connecting to Tiger’s knee. He said the lines represented stress fractures of the left tibia. As he was conveying the bad news, I could see Tiger taking on a blank look that didn’t register any acknowledgment of the fractures. It was as if he were trying to will them away. With Tiger silent, I asked about how such stress fractures are normally treated. Rosenberg said the remedy was four to six weeks on crutches, followed by four more weeks of rehab. Doing the math, I calculated that that length of time would have Tiger still convalescing beyond the British Open and leave too little time to get ready for the PGA Championship in August. My thought was that our season was over, and there was now no point in waiting to fix the ACL.

  Finally, Tiger spoke. “I’m playing in the U.S. Open,” he said. “And I’m going to win it.” His tone was so serious that Rosenberg didn’t argue. “Tiger, you can try to play,” he said. “There’s not too much more damage you can do at this point. It’s just a matter of how much pain you can take.”