One of the arcane rituals of the second decade of the 21st century involves encountering that moment when you realise the record of 18 major golf titles won by Jack Nicklaus, once utterly doomed, seems curiously safe.
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Through 2010 and early 2011 as some unknown entity replaced Tiger Woods with some sort of inadequate replica, many people have participated in this ritual.
Many have found that moment. Some have not. Many of us probably don't have enough to do in life.
Some of us, slow and stubborn, have resisted the moment, and so I continued believing Woods would pass Nicklaus through the fire hydrant, through the unwatchable apology, through the winless 2010, through the snore of the swing change, through the squandering of his own tournament, through the feckless triple bogey to close matters in Dubai, through that jaw-drop of a bad shot to lose at the Accenture Match Play and even through that hopeless withdrawal at The Players Championship in May.
I wondered, but still believed.
Then on Tuesday the announcement came, no US Open, left leg, listening to doctors, short-term disappointment for long-term gain, and boom.
There came my moment. I don't know why. It's not like the decision shocked. Something about it just sounded troublingly infirm.
Maybe it's the accruing of issues concerning that left leg. You almost wonder if it looks like some tornado hit in there. I just know that I thought of Nicklaus's 18 differently right from there.
Of course, we all once thought of Nicklaus's 18 as distant even as we heard how Woods put the number on his wall as a child as a goal, even as we heard that story so many times it began to cause mild nausea.
Then, an aeon ago - in June 2008, actually - we all thought of Nicklaus's 18 as second place, already. It had a second place feel and a second place destiny even as it held first place technically.
When Woods finished that stirring US Open at Torrey Pines near San Diego on the leg with the broken bone and the torn anterior cruciate ligament, when he birdied the 72nd hole from 15 feet to make a play-off, when he nudged Rocco Mediate in that play-off, he had alighted on 14 major titles, with what lay ahead even more compelling.
The 2009 US Open would play at Bethpage Black on Long Island outside of New York, where Woods won the 2002 US Open without too much sweating.
The 2010 US Open would play Pebble Beach, where Woods fashioned one of the most remarkable outcomes in sport history, somehow outdistancing a horde of the world's most gifted golfers in the 2000 US Open by 15 shots.
The 2010 British Open would occur at St Andrews, where Woods already had won two major titles, in 2000 and 2005.
Throw in the annual trek to The Masters, where his four victories clearly indicate mastery, and there seemed a chance that by the time we all got to, say, today, June 2011, Woods would have equalled or maybe even - outside chance - surpassed Nicklaus.
At 32 in San Diego then, he expected to play threateningly until, oh, maybe 45, and his 40s would not resemble other people's 40s because of his commitment to fitness.
Maybe he would play well to 50. He expected to have 50 more major tournaments at least, and plucking five wins from that bounty seemed lean. It seemed reasonable to wonder if he would get not only to 20 major titles but to 25, a celestial total given the unforgiving difficulty of winning just one.
Of course, the following week he withdrew from the remainder of that season, and in 2009 he suffered a stare-down from one YE Yang in the PGA on Sunday to finish second, and today he sits still on the 14, the future all murky, the impression changed profoundly from age 32 to age 35.
Where before the thought of his early 40s called to mind the same old buzz saw, now they seem sort of creaky. You feel for him and his future pain as much as you can feel for anybody who has a billion dollars.
Following him around courses has provided an uncommon amount of exhilaration. In a way, he has given a tutorial with his fearlessness in a ruthless game.
After a while you sort of believed he could do just about anything, and that's a stubborn thought to relinquish.
That's why it seemed strange on Tuesday to conjure the Nicklaus 18 and to note that it seemed to have a fresh coat of sturdiness.
More golf, s10-11
