The Big Miss: My Years Coaching Tiger Woods by Hank Haney Read Free Book Online Page B

2004 but wasn’t happy with the way he hit the ball. A week later he traveled to the Dubai Desert Classic. There Mark won for the first time since 1998. He’d been fighting a case of the yips, and he finally switched over to an unconventional “saw” putting grip that I’d encouraged him to try at the end of 2003. He putted like his old self and held on to win by one over Paul McGinley. Tiger, who finished five strokes back, waited for Mark off the eighteenth green to congratulate him, something I never saw him do for another player. According to Mark, Tiger told him, “I’m as happy for you as I’d be if I’d won myself.”
    Everyone was in a good mood when they boarded Tiger’s leased Gulfstream 550 (nicknamed TWA, for Tiger Woods Airlines) for the ride back to the States. Mark later told me that when the subject of Tiger’s game came up, he was feeling so good about his victory and his friendship with Tiger that he just decided to stop holding back. First Mark said, “Tiger, you’ve got to get someone to help you with your game.” Tiger answered, “OK, who should I get?” Mark said that Tiger mentioned Butch’s younger brother, Billy, who was Jay Haas’s coach and whom Tiger liked, but then dismissed the idea because the sibling connection would probably cause complications. A couple of other names came up before Mark finally said, “Tiger, I know Hank’s my friend and I’ve been with him for years, but Hank’s the best teacher in the world. Besides that, he’s the one who suggested you make the big change in your swing in the first place.”
    Tiger paused for a moment and said, “Yeah, I know. I’m going to call him tomorrow.”
    When the plane landed in Orlando, I got a call from Mark’s agent, Peter Malik. “Hey, Hank,” Peter said. “Stay loose. You’re going to be getting a phone call.”

 
    The next day, March 8, 2004, I’m having dinner at Bob’s Steak & Chop House in Plano, Texas, with my father, Jim, who’s in town for the day. It’s the kind of traditional Chicago-style steak place from my dad’s expense-account days, all mahogany and white linen. I rarely eat steak, but I order a New York strip, medium rare. The waiter has just brought us our food when my cell phone rings.
    I’ve told my father I might be getting a call from Tiger sometime in the next few days but that I’m not really holding my breath. I don’t have Tiger’s number, but when I look down and see the 407 area code on my screen in front of a number I don’t recognize, my stomach jumps. “Excuse me,” I tell my dad, “I gotta take this call.”
    I walk quickly toward the entrance, and answer. “Hey, Hank,” I hear on my cell, “this is Tiger.” I give my normal “Hey, bud” greeting, but there’s no small talk. Barely pausing, Tiger says, “Hank, I want to know if you’ll help me with my golf game.”
    My mind flashes on that winter day at Exmoor with Jim Hardy, and as I stand on the sidewalk watching the valet-parking guys running around and people going in and out of the adjoining shops, I feel disoriented. Everything around me is normal, but I know my life has just changed forever. I’m talking to Tiger Woods, the greatest golfer who’s ever lived, and he’s asking me to be his coach.
    Because of Tiger’s tone, I try to hide any excitement from my voice. “Sure, Tiger. Of course,” I say, adding, “Thank you for the opportunity.” Tiger stays all business, asking, “What do you think of my game?”
    I kind of surprise myself with how easily I snap into professional mode. I don’t say, “Tiger, I think you have the best game of all time,” which is what I believe. I realize he is a tour pro asking a tour teacher to measure him purely against his own abilities. I say very straight, but aware of how odd it sounds, “I think your game is pretty good.”
    The next question isn’t a surprise. “What do you think I need to do better?”
    I’m in my wheelhouse now, and I tell him