HE STORY GOES that in the waning days of the Vietnam War, South Vietnamese Lt. Col. Vuong Phong saved his American colleague, Army Lt. Col. Earl Woods, from perishing in the jungles of Southeast Asia. Woods vowed to name his son after his friend, whom he called “Tiger,” and anyone who knows a 9-iron from a waffle iron is aware that he kept his promise. Without the bravery of Tiger Phong, there would have been no Earl Woods to teach his son how to play golf. And if there were no golf prodigy named Tiger Woods . . . what then? It has been just a little more than 10 years since a 21-year-old Tiger marched to victory in the Masters by a dozen strokes and heralded a new era in golf—time enough to consider his legacy and muse on the impact a singular athlete can have on an entire sport. There are basically four types of professional athletes: the journeymen who fill out the rosters and depth charts and tournament spots, the all-stars who achieve fleeting glory, the enduring Hall of Famers (Tom Seaver, Tom Watson, Tom Brady—just a matter of time), and finally, the icons. The last category consists of only a handful of individuals who have rejuvenated or renovated the games they play. Theirs are the faces you would expect to see on a sportspecific Mount Rushmore, and there is no doubt that Tiger Woods is one of them. But is he near the head of the class? Is he perhaps the ultimate icon? What confluence of forces turns a sportsman into a sport’s savior? Let’s examine the factors one by one, and we may find that the totality fits Tiger to a T. TIMING When the 1919 Chicago “Black Sox” were accused of purposely losing the World Series, baseball was at a crossroads. But the following year, Babe Ruth nearly doubled the single season home-run record (his own) and replaced a scandal with a spectacle. In 1995, baseball was reeling again—this time from a players’ strike that had canceled the previous World Series. Along came classy Cal Ripken Jr., setting a consecutive games record that smacked of hard work and dedication, reminding us why we loved the game in the first place. Golf wasn’t struggling when Tiger arrived, but it was suffering from a mild case of blandness. Amid a multicultural, youth-driven society—and an athletic scene rife with touchdown dances and tattoos and Tony Hawk wanna-bes—golf risked appearing too calm, too country-club and, frankly, too Caucasian. Tiger simply made golf cool, turning polite waves into adrenaline-fueled fist pumps. He made it less elitist. (Burgers and milkshakes on the menu at his Masters champion dinners? Heaven forbid!) And he made it more athletic, bringing weight training and conditioning to the sport, and making the prototype professional less of a Walrus (Craig Stadler) and more of a, well, Tiger. In a 2004 study of the “Tiger Woods Effect,” Gary Sailes, an associate professor at Indiana University’s department of kinesiology, estimated that the number of people taking up the game of golf had increased at a rate of 5 percent a year since Tiger came on the scene. The annual rate of increase was only 1 percent before Woods turned pro in 1996. That’s one way to tell a mere star from a true icon: The former draws people to his games; the latter draws people to the game. TRANSCENDENCE Once in a while, an athlete impacts American culture beyond the playing fields. Political columnist and baseball fan George Will has said that only Martin Luther King Jr. ranks above Jackie Robinson as the “most important black person in American history.” Muhammad Ali, in the words of biographer Thomas Hauser, “altered the consciousness of people all over the world.” Billie Jean King spurred equality for women not only in tennis, but also in the workplace and at home. These are pioneers, agents of social change. Tiger might be considered a 21st-century version, and his mixed ethnicity makes him even more of an Everyman icon. “If I can make golf look like America,” he said early in his career, “I’ll be a very happy man.” Like Arthur Ashe and Althea Gibson, he became a barrier breaker by becoming a champion. Like Michael Jordan, he has emerged as a cross-cultural idol—from the Masters to Madison Avenue. Like Joe Louis and Jackie Robinson, he has revealed possibilities. “The private mystique of golf has disappeared. Golf has become democratized and affordable,” Sailes said in his 2004 study, noting that the number of inner-city golf programs had increased more than fivefold in a decade and that African-American golf participation had doubled since Tiger’s debut. TRANSFORMATION Baseball historian Lee Allen once wrote of Babe Ruth, “For almost two decades he battered fences with such regularity that baseball’s basic structure was eventually pounded into a different shape.” The so-called dead-ball era was dead. With the coming of the “Sultan of Swat,” power ruled the game; it still does. In every sport, there are a few key athletes who changed the physical parameters or strategic focus of the games. As a receiver and then as a coach, Notre Dame’s Knute Rockne helped make the forward pass an integral part of football. As a hockey defenseman for the Boston Bruins, Bobby Orr redefined his position, just like defense-minded Bill Russell of the Boston Celtics showed how to redirect the course of a basketball game by redirecting the flight of the ball. In much the same manner, Tiger has reshaped golf—literally. When he overpowered Augusta National in 1997, turning it into a driver-and-wedge course, he announced, Ruth-like, the arrival of the long ball. Ultra-traditional Augusta and nearly every other PGA TOUR venue quickly moved to lengthen and toughen the courses. Yes, significant advances in golf equipment arrived at about the same time. But remember the term used to describe the redesigns? “Tiger-proofing.” TELEVISION Televised sports and telegenic athletes have always had a symbiotic relationship. But the most iconic figures—Magic Johnson and Larry Bird, Johnny Unitas and Joe Namath, Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus—harness the power of TV for greatest impact. When a new degree of TV coverage comes along, the great ones take their sport to the next level. Palmer is credited with bringing golf to the masses. Still, in his prime, only a handful of holes on Saturday and Sunday were broadcast. In the Nicklaus era, golf on TV was still a weekend phenomenon. Today, four-day coverage of tournaments is ubiquitous, and there are times when every one of Tiger’s 72 holes is televised. Given that TV ratings can spike as much as 35 percent to 50 percent when Tiger plays, it is fair to say he is the horse that pulls the cart. Freelance cameramen have been known to thank him personally for the extra work. His fellow pros are thanking him, too. Soon after Tiger’s first Masters triumph, the PGA TOUR signed a four-year, $650 million television deal (twice as much as the previous package). Last year, the TOUR inked an even more lucrative six-year deal with CBS, NBC and The Golf Channel. As a result, prize money has more than quadrupled in the past dozen years. Last year 93 TOUR players earned at least $1 million. The winner of the newly created FedExCup points race receives a cool $10 million this year, roughly Tom Watson’s take from his entire PGA TOUR career. TALENT Because golfers essentially play against the course, one can surmise what a Tigerless PGA TOUR might look like. Based on second-place finishes, it would mean a pair of majors for Chris DiMarco, a couple more for Ernie Els, four more tournament victories for Davis Love III, and probably three or four Player of the Year nods for Phil Mickelson. But although the pundits keep clamoring for a rival to Tiger, aren’t we really enthralled by dominance? Sometimes icons transform a sport simply by rewriting the record books to an absurd degree. Think Ruth hitting more homers than any other American League team in 1920. Think Jordan’s 10 National Basketball Association scoring titles. Think Wayne Gretzky’s nine National Hockey League MVP awards. Only eight months into Tiger’s pro career, BusinessWeek was already referring to golf B.T. (Before Tiger) and A.T. (After Tiger), asking, “Has any athlete, anywhere, anytime come this far this fast?” Amazingly, after 10 years (and 54 PGA TOUR victories, 12 majors and eight Player of the Year honors before turning 31), Tiger may have actually exceeded the hype. If you’re talented enough, you get an enduring nickname, like “Sweetness” or “Dr. J.” But if you’re unparalleled, you get your own adjective: Ruthian. Jordanesque. Tigerrific, perhaps? THEATER Think of it as talent meets timing. Babe Ruth points to the center-field bleachers in the World Series (so the story goes), then sends the ball there. Jackie Robinson breaks baseball’s color barrier and knocks four hits in his first minor league game. Michael Jordan takes the ball one last time as a Chicago Bull and sinks a title-winning jumper. Tiger Woods attempts an impossible Sunday chip shot on the 16th hole of the 2005 Masters. The ball pauses on the lip of the hole, shows off the Nike swoosh . . . and then drops. The great ones have an impeccable sense of drama. And the remarkable thing about Tiger is this: We’ve only just finished Act I. Brad Herzog lives in California, one mile from Pebble Beach, where he once shot a 65—on the first nine holes.   Illustration by Rob Day