Who really cares about politics when there’s a good sports
debate to engage us? After last weekend’s U.S. Open finale, with
Tiger Woods’ monumental blow-up, it’s time to ask the all-important
question: Tiger or Jack? By age 36, halfway to 37, whose
career looks better?
Answer: Nicklaus, by nearly a country mile.
To understand the answer, let’s first understand the question.
There can be no doubt that nobody since Bobby Jones, Nicklaus
included, was quite so dominant a winner through age 32 — more
titles, and by oft-larger margins — than Tiger Woods. But even in
his first dozen years against world-class competition, Woods’ edge
over Nicklaus in majors, total professional victories, and number
of majors won by record margins was only slight. Those few extra
wins, though, obscured the growing evidence that Woods’ overall
legacy of excellence was starting to fall behind that of Nicklaus,
even before Woods’ infamous midnight car crash at the end of 2009
(and subsequent unraveling).
The last 30 months have provided more perspective on where
Woods’ career, astonishingly good as it is, still falls short of
Nicklaus’ at the same age.
Here are the raw numbers now, at age 36 ½:
Total U.S. professional victories: Woods 73, Nicklaus 60.
Significant overseas non-major victories: Woods 12, Nicklaus 12.
Professional major victories: both at 14. So far, give just a
slight edge to Woods.
But now consider consistency of performance in major
tournaments, which is where the real difference shows. By this age,
Nicklaus had finished in the top 10 in majors 47 times, Woods just
35. Nicklaus had seven third-place finishes in majors, Woods just
3. Nicklaus had 12 second-place major performances, Woods just six.
And even in the quality of those high finishes (in other words, how
many times each was either in a playoff or within a single shot),
Nicklaus did better: Five times he was within a single stroke,
while Woods finished a stroke behind only twice.
In short, Nicklaus was a far more constant presence at the top
of the leader boards in major tournaments, a greater threat to win
every time he teed it up, than Woods has been. Nicklaus kept his
game at top level when it really counted far more consistently;
Woods was far more feast or famine. (Nicklaus also by this age had
two Players Championship trophies, in just three years of the
event’s existence, compared to Woods’ single Players title in
sixteen years on tour.)
And, as I have argued
here before, Nicklaus’ highest-level competition was far more
impressive than that of Woods. Nicklaus entered the fray in 1962
with Arnold Palmer, Gary Player, and Billy Casper all already
established in their primes. Woods entered in 1997 with Greg Norman
and Nick Faldo both fading extremely fast (no more major wins for
either of them); and with Ernie Els and Vijay Singh (significantly
poor substitutes for Palmer and Player) and Phil Mickelson (despite
his prominence, not really more accomplished than Casper, and —
unlike Casper — without a major to his credit before Woods
emerged) as the only players even near all-time great status. By
36, Nicklaus faced almost-exact contemporaries Lee Trevino and Ray
Floyd (and Tom Weiskopf, for that matter, one level below) as
serious challengers who rank among the greats, plus Johnny Miller,
Hale Irwin, and Hubert Green all having already established
themselves as highly significant younger forces who were within
eight years of Nicklaus’ age, and Tom Watson — at ten
years younger — already with a major title under his belt. (Also
in the Watson age cohort were Ben Crenshaw and Tom Kite.) Woods,
for his part, still faces not a single near-exact-contemporary with
even near-great status, and nobody within eight years younger than
him who seems likely ever to reach even Kite-like accomplishments.
(Perhaps Dustin Johnson, nearly nine years younger, will rival Kite
before he’s done.) And within ten years of Tiger’s age on either
side, only Jim Furyk and Padraig Harrington are competitors of the
stature of Lanny Wadkins, Doug Sanders, Larry Nelson, or even Dave
Stockton, much less Gene Littler.
So Nicklaus more consistently performed at the top of his game,
against tougher top-tier competition. He did it despite using
equipment far less advanced and far less forgiving of errors. (He
also hit his drives consistently straighter than Woods usually has
— Woods’ improvement this season notwithstanding — even while
remaining the among the game’s ten longest drivers several years
into his 40s, which is a superiority Woods gave up to his
contemporaries several years ago.) He did it while giving back far
more to the game and to the fans (even though, unlike with Tiger,
it took Nicklaus’ fans nearly a decade to embrace him),
establishing a record of sportsmanship and graciousness that Woods
hasn’t come close to matching.
Okay, okay, you say — but what about Woods’ more concentrated
dominance than Nicklaus when Woods was at the top of his game?
Well, it really wasn’t much better at all.
Consider Woods’ best four-year period, from 1999 through the PGA
of 2002. We’ll compare it to Nicklaus four-year stretch beginning
right after Jack’s father died in 1970 — in other words, from the
British Open of 1970s through the U.S. Open of 1974. During those
comparable 16-major-tourney stretches, Woods earned seven
victories, Jack five. But Jack had three seconds, one third, two
fourths, and a fifth; Tiger had just one second, one third, no
fourths, and one fifth. Jack was in the top ten 15 of 16 times,
with only a tie for 13th marring the string. Woods was
in the top ten only 11 of 16 times, with a 25th, a 28th, and a 29th
marring the picture.
But Nicklaus wasn’t finished. In the majors immediately after
that 16-tourney stretch, he finished in the top 10 an astonishing
16 of the next 17 (he tied for 11th in the 1976 U.S.
Open), with three more victories, four runner-up finishes, and four
third places. In short, he finished in the top thirteen finishers
in major tournaments a mind-boggling 33 consecutive times, all
while in his 30s! Woods finished in the top 10 “only” 10 of the
next 17 majors, with three missed cut and three other times outside
the top twenty. Put another way, even in Woods’ best eight-year
period, he failed to finish in the top ten (or even top 11) 11
times — and all before his serious injuries began. (Nicklaus
missed the top 10 in majors just nine times in 13 years, all after
age 30!)
Even during their best eight-year stretches, then, Nicklaus’
sustained excellence outstripped that of Woods. (And, after
breaking his string with a missed cut at age 38 — two years older
than Woods is now — in the 1978 PGA, Nicklaus still ran
off another string of major performances as follows: 4, T9, T2,
T65, T33, 1, T4, 1, T2, T6, T23, T4, T15, 2. In other words, two
more wins, two seconds, and three fourths — and with the famous
Masters victory in 1986 still four years ahead.) And when Woods did
win during those eight years, he was often defeating the likes of
runners-up Bob May, Chris DiMarco (twice) and Shaun Micheel, while
Nicklaus’ runners-up in all eight of his victories during those
eight years either were Hall of Famers or near-Hall players like
Bruce Crampton (14 career PGA wins), Tom Weiskopf (16 wins) and
Doug Sanders (20 wins).
The point is not to belittle Woods’ phenomenal record. The point
is that Nicklaus left “phenomenal” behind and, in terms of
sustained excellence, reached near the realm of the
“otherworldly.”
None of which is to say that Woods will fail to catch Nicklaus’
famous record of 18 professional major titles. He has ten more
years to win four more majors to tie Nicklaus (at the same age
Nicklaus won his 18th) — far from an impossible task
for somebody of Woods’ talents. It is to say that Woods’
career so far is less impressive than Nicklaus’ was at the same
stage of life.
With apologies to William Blake, a Tiger might burn bright, but
a (Golden) Bear swallows lots more food — and it hunts, and lives,
significantly longer.
