by Hank Haney
Tiger’s round was tumultuous. He bogeyed the first hole after a poor chip, and was three over par after five holes, seven shots behind the leader. Then he miraculously holed an 8-iron from 160 yards on the seventh hole for an eagle, and he birdied the eighth and ninth holes to get back with a chance. On the par-4 fourteenth, Tiger missed a seven-foot birdie putt and then rushed the 20-inch tap-in, the resulting bogey effectively ending his chances. He eagled the fifteenth and birdied the eighteenth to play the last 12 holes six under, but after a 69 he still finished five strokes behind Mickelson.
The big picture? Considering the mental load Tiger was carrying, his performance was phenomenal. But he was in no shape to see it that way. The crowd was cheering loudly for Mickelson coming up the 72nd hole when Peter Kostis of CBS interviewed Tiger a few yards behind the green. Rather than take the opportunity to be gracious and win friends and support, he was curt. Later, Tiger told reporters, “I had another terrible warm-up today. I’ve got to be able to shape the ball both ways. I felt very uneasy over every shot I hit out there.”
I didn’t wait around to see him. Suzanne and I walked back to the hotel along Washington Road, which was still crammed with traffic. We could overhear people celebrating Phil’s victory and wondering about Tiger’s future. A couple of people recognized me, one saying, “Nice try, Hank.” We stopped at a Subway to get a couple of sandwiches for the road, and after checking out, headed to Hilton Head, 350 miles away, where I was going to spend several days at my junior academy.
Before long we were on moonlit, tree-lined country roads in the middle of South Carolina, which put me in a reflective mood. “Holy shit,” I said out loud. “Am I crazy?” There were tears in my eyes, but both of us were laughing. Then I turned serious again and said to Suzanne, “Maybe I am. But I just can’t do it anymore.”
Filled with that thought and knowing it wasn’t the right time to talk to Tiger, I decided to call Mark Steinberg to air my feelings. “Mark, I’m finished,” I said. “I’ve had enough. I’ve put everything into this. I’ve been a good team player. But I’m just done.”
Mark and I had talked often about the pressure of serving Tiger, the constant scrutiny and criticism from the media, and Tiger’s moody ways. He knew the effort I’d put into getting Tiger ready for the Masters, and how disappointed I’d been that Tiger hadn’t come away from therapy an easier person to work with. So I doubt Mark was shocked that I was unhappy. Still, he reacted strongly.
“Hank, you can’t do this,” he said. “You can’t do this to him. This is the toughest time of his life. You’re one of his best friends. You understand him. He needs you. Whatever you do, don’t abandon him now.”
I’d never heard my role valued quite that much, and it made me pause. I told Mark that I was too emotional to make a decision at that moment. I told him I’d think about it and call him in the morning.
By the time I called back, I’d calmed down and taken Mark’s pleadings to heart. If Tiger truly needed me as much as he said, quitting now was not the right thing to do. I told Mark I’d delay my decision and see how things developed. “I won’t leave him hanging,” I said. “I’ll be there for him.”
Four days later, I’d gotten more comfortable with the idea of continuing to coach Tiger. I sent him a five-page e-mail—with a cc to Mark—that critiqued his Masters performance and proposed a plan for his game going forward. The e-mail was more extensive and candid than anything I’d written to him since 2005. I felt I had nothing to lose and got some things off my chest.
The e-mail included the following passages:
You have great knowledge of the golf swing and the parts of the golf swing, but at times you are all over the place with what you are working on. It is as if you are doing what a lot of people do that don’t know anything, looking for the secret. I mean, in the weeks leading up to Augusta it seemed like you had musical swing thoughts going on. First I heard it was get the club more inside and around, then it was get the left arm up, stand closer, posture through the ball, some kind of release I hadn’t seen before and the list seemed to go on and on. Corey says it is sometimes like you have swing ADD.
I thought your attitude on the golf course was incredibly good. You were so great with the fans, and I truly believe it had a positive impact on your preparation and ultimately on how well you did in the opening round. I know you will kind of laugh at that last notion.
Sunday was not a good day from start to finish. In your warm up … it didn’t seem like you gave yourself much of a chance to get something going because you were so upset and negative about how you were hitting it. This to me is a waste of energy and talent. One of your greatest attributes is that you can figure things out, you can come up with something that will work, but when you get so upset it really makes it hard to get something going.
Not only does your head tilt with the longer clubs but it drops way down in the downswing and hangs back. If your head drops your posture changes, and if your head lays back your body has no chance to move in sync together. You have got to fix that mistake. IF YOU WOULD COMMIT YOURSELF TO FIXING THAT MISTAKE YOU WILL BE THE GREATEST BALL-STRIKER OF ALL TIME.
One last thought. Every time you get done with a round and talk about how terrible you hit the ball it is a direct knock on me. I know you are frustrated, and rightfully so. I also can take it, but I could take it a lot better if I really felt you were committed to the things that I believe in that I think would really help you. I know in my mind I have helped you learn more about the swing and playing the game, and I know that the best of your golf is yet to come. You have had a terrible time in your personal life and have handled it in a manner that I totally respect you for. As I have told you before, you are on the climb back up now and not the slide down and I am always on your side. Hang in there and get working on your game.
As usual, Tiger didn’t respond to my e-mail. Given that I’d just spent fourteen days in a row with him and that Mark had probably told him that I’d threatened to quit, I thought that this time he might get back to me right away. Instead, more than two weeks went by before he called me the night before the first round of the Quail Hollow Championship in Charlotte, which I didn’t attend.
He didn’t acknowledge receiving the e-mail and opened the conversation as if everything was normal. He greeted me with a customary “What’s up?” and went on to talk about the NBA and baseball and even the weather. For the 20 minutes we talked, he didn’t mention golf. When I brought up his game, he changed the subject. He told me he hadn’t slept well and was considering withdrawing. He admitted being worried about a woman who was claiming that he’d fathered her child. He said the claim couldn’t be true because the timeline was wrong, but he knew it was going to lead to taking another hit in the media. At the end of the call, I asked him how he was doing overall, and he said, “I’m hanging in there.”
That call turned my mind back toward leaving Tiger. The lack of acknowledgment of my e-mail or any of the subjects in it bothered me, because if he’d actually read it, it would have been impossible not to notice that I’d given it a lot of time and thought and that the tone carried some urgency. If he hadn’t read it, that obviously told me something, but if he had and decided to blow it off, that was revealing as well. I realized he was under a lot of pressure and had a lot on his mind—soon he would miss the cut at Charlotte with scores of 74 and 79—but at a time when I needed Tiger to acknowledge some things about our partnership, he just didn’t.
Tiger played the following week at the Players Championship, which he hadn’t asked me to attend. At his Tuesday press conference, he told the media, “Hank and I talk every day, so nothing’s changed. According to the press, I’ve fired him five times by now.”
He lied. That pissed me off, because we didn’t talk every day. We had talked once since the Masters, and not about golf. I was getting the feeling that Tiger wanted to string me along, keep me as his coach mostly to take the blame for his “bad” swing but listen to me less and
less.
Tiger’s first three rounds at the Stadium Course left him eight strokes back. He called me on Sunday morning before the last round. It was mostly 20 minutes of small talk. His main concern was his neck. He said he feared he had a herniated disk. In what I took as a passive-aggressive suggestion that my swing instruction might have been the cause of his pain, he said, “It’s weird. It only hurts when I play golf.”
When we hung up, I’d made up my mind. I’d been giving my exit a lot of thought and had prepared some statements and even what I would say to Tiger when the time came. I intended to resign on Sunday, but when Tiger withdrew on the seventh hole because of his neck, I thought it might seem like piling on, and I also didn’t want to take attention away from the final day of the tournament.
As if I needed any more reasons to quit, Johnny Miller took a shot at me during the NBC telecast of the final round, saying of Tiger, “This might be a little harsh, but I really believe he needs to, every night, watch the U.S. Open in the year 2000 at Pebble and just copy that swing and forget the Haney stuff. That was the best golf anybody has ever played in history.” Just as it was with Tiger, it seemed that whatever I’d accomplished as his coach was never going to be good enough.
On Monday morning, I called Jim Gray, who had been a friend and mentor at ESPN but who now worked for the Golf Channel, to tell him I’d be resigning as Tiger’s coach. Because I also had a contract with the Golf Channel, I felt an obligation to give them the news first. I sent Jim a prepared statement and asked them to wait a few hours before breaking the story.
Then I sent a text to Tiger saying we needed to talk. He texted back, “I can’t talk today. I’m with my kids.” The wheels were already in motion, so I put everything I was going to say in a text and sent it to Tiger. It said:
Tiger, in every instance when I am asked about Tiger Woods, I always answer in the best interests of Tiger Woods. Every time you are asked about Hank Haney, you never answer in the best interests of Hank Haney. It bothers me. It hurts me. If anybody should understand the value of friends at this point in their life, it should be you. I feel like I’ve been a great friend to you. I don’t feel I’ve gotten that in return.
He texted me back right away:
I always tell people you’re my coach. You take criticism of my game way too seriously. And maybe it’s time that we just take a little break.
I had another text ready. I thought, How am I going to feel when I press the Send button? It was definitely a big moment in my life. I pressed that Send button, and immediately felt a huge sense of relief. I sort of checked to make sure I wasn’t deluding myself, and realized that my emotion was genuine. I thought, Oh my God, I can’t believe I feel this good.
The message said:
Tiger, I appreciate everything you did for me. The incredible opportunity I had to work with you. It’s been an unbelievable six years. You’ve won a lot of tournaments, we’ve had a lot of great times. It’s taken me to a place in my profession that I would never ever have hoped to have been. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for the opportunity, but it’s time for you to find another coach.
He responded,
Thanks, Hank. But we’re still going to work together.
I was surprised, but I wasn’t going to waver. I answered,
No we’re not. It’s finished. Done. Over. I’m no longer your coach.
A few seconds later, Tiger texted,
We’ll talk in the morning.
Amazingly, I later learned that Tiger did a telephone press conference in the afternoon supporting the AT&T National in which he referred to me as his coach while talking about how his neck injury affected his swing. “I talked to Hank about some of the stuff,” he said. “We’re still working on it. We have a lot of work to do.”
Not long afterward, the Golf Channel read my prepared statement, which I also posted on my website. It said, in part:
I have informed Tiger Woods this evening that I will no longer be his coach. I would like to thank Tiger for the opportunity that I have had to work with him over the past six-plus years. Tiger Woods has done the work to achieve a level of greatness I believe the game of golf has never seen before and I will always appreciate the opportunity that I have had to contribute to his successes.… It has been a great learning experience, and along the way Tiger has elevated me in my profession to a level that I never thought I would achieve before I had the opportunity to work with him.
I made sure to add,
Just so there is no confusion, I would like to make clear that this is my decision.
The next morning, Mark Steinberg called me. He said, “Hank, you handled everything well. Your statement was classy. Tiger’s fine about it. He’s going to issue a statement and say it was a joint decision.”
I said, “What? Mark, that’s bullshit.”
He said, “What do you mean?”
“That’s not what happened,” I said. “And you know that’s not what happened.” I was hot, and I just let go as I never had with Mark before. “That’s something that can get you in trouble with the media, telling a lie. That’s not what happened. And if you say it was, I’m not going to go along with it. I tell the truth.”
There was silence for a few seconds, before Mark said, “OK, OK.” Still, when Tiger’s statement came out, it didn’t acknowledge that I resigned. Instead, it said:
Hank Haney and I have agreed that he will no longer be my coach. Hank is an outstanding teacher and has been a great help to me, but equally important he is a friend. That will not change. I would like to thank him for all he has done for me the past six years.
That afternoon, Tiger called me. I felt and probably sounded emotional, and I’m sure he could sense it. He sort of reiterated his official statement, saying, “Thanks, Hank, so much for everything you’ve done. I felt like my game got so much better with you helping me. We have been great friends and the most important thing is to remain great friends. You know, we’re still going to work together.”
For some reason that I still can’t figure out, he just didn’t want to let go. “Tiger,” I said, “if you ever want me to watch you or help you with an opinion, as a friend I’ll be happy to do it. But we’re not going to work together. I’m never going to be your coach again.”
“We’re still going to work together,” he said again.
And I answered, “No, we’re not.” He kind of chuckled, and we said good-bye.
A few days later, Jim Gray came to my home in Dallas to do a long sit-down interview for the Golf Channel. When Jim asked me about whether I’d ever known Tiger to take performance-enhancing drugs, I said very firmly that even when I witnessed Tiger’s injections from Dr. Galea, I never saw anything suspicious, and I didn’t believe Tiger ever took any kind of PEDs. I added, “The only thing I knew about was his issue with the sex addiction.”
After the interview aired, I got a text from Tiger that said, “Thanks for telling everyone that I was in sex-addiction treatment.” I felt bad, because I’d intended to exonerate Tiger, and I’d assumed his sex therapy was common knowledge, since it had been widely reported. But he’d never actually publicly confirmed that he’d been treated for sex addiction.
The next morning, Mark Steinberg called me, fuming. “How could you do that?” he said, raising his voice. “How could you say that? How can he raise any money? This will kill his foundation.”
I said that I was sincerely sorry. “I tried to be very positive in that interview,” I said. “I didn’t mean to hurt him or cause him any problems. I apologize if I did.”
Mark didn’t let up, saying, “You better not be doing any more interviews.”
That hit me wrong. “Mark,” I said, “you don’t control me anymore. I’m going to talk to who I want to talk to.”
I hadn’t wanted there to be any bad blood, but now it appeared there might be. I figured my next meeting with Tiger would be awkward. I was pretty much done traveling to tournaments, so I didn’t expect to see him soon. B
ut then I learned that he’d be playing at J. P. McManus’s pro-am in Ireland in July, where I was scheduled to do a clinic. I was nervous on the way to the event, hoping I wouldn’t have to see Tiger. There was a chance I wouldn’t, depending on when Tiger played on the two days I’d be there. Because he usually skipped pro-am dinners, I didn’t expect to see him there. But when Suzanne and I walked into the dining room the first night, there was Tiger at a table with J.P.
I sucked it up and walked right to him. When Tiger saw me, he stood up with a big smile and hugged me. “How you doin’, bud?” I asked. “Good as I can do,” he said. I told him to hang in there, and he said, “I’m making it.” I don’t know what Tiger said about me when I left, but while I was there, he was gracious. Except that doesn’t describe it exactly. I guess you could say that he was the same as always—warm and cold at the same time.