Bag It, Tiger: Golf's Biggest Star Should Call It Quits

They say you can't un-ring the bell, but Tiger Woods is testing that. He used to bring such joy and meaning every time he showed up. He was a superhero for little kids, who made the soundtrack at every golf tournament: "Tiiii-gerrr.''

Now, he's mocked by old people.

Someone asked Woods the other day if he has thought about retirement, and he said, "I don't have my AARP card yet.'' And then the AARP—a large and powerful advocacy and membership group for the elderly—responded on Twitter: "It is better to be over 50 than it is to be over par.''

Ouch.

Remember all the hope and excitement Woods once embodied on the course, the powerful symbolism of a young person of color dominating a sport of stuffy old white guys and historical exclusion? Woods broke that history. That's the bell he rang. But is he still any of those things? Because when Woods plays golf now, there is no feeling of hope. No thrill. Instead, if you're a fan like me, there's just a sick feeling in your stomach that you wish would go away. And yet you can't look away. Woods is a slow-motion train wreck out there, struggling and scuffling and joyless. There's seemingly nothing to hope for. And that's why I have to say this, as selfish as it may initially sound.

I wish Tiger Woods would just retire already.

Yes, he's only 39, but it's time. If he keeps stumbling along on tour, doing what he's doing now, embodying frustration, personal failure and collapse, he may just undo some of the good that he already has done. Of course, it's his decision. His life. Through his career accomplishments and still-adequate skills and performance, he has earned the right to stay. But for many of us, this is just too painful to watch. And what is the ultimate price?

After seven holes in the first round of the British Open Thursday, Woods was already 10 strokes behind. He finished with a 76, about a mile out of the lead. He shot seven over par for the first two days and missed the cut.

Woods hasn't won a major since 2008. He simply can't golf. This isn't a graceful fall from the top—not like, say Jack Nicklaus or Arnold Palmer, who everyone forgave for getting old enough to join the AARP. Somehow in golf, unlike every other sport, you often can stay out and compete with the best, even when you aren't anywhere near good enough anymore.

But it might not be possible for Woods to ever get to that point. His play and physical health have been that erratic. How many first-day flameouts are still to come? How many rebuilt swings will we see? Woods is still a spectacle, only that's part of the problem—he's just for show now, but what is the show?

Woods spent so many years so overly protective of his image. He stiff-armed the press. He made employees sign nondisclosure agreements when they stopped working for him so they couldn't tell his story. He wouldn't speak up on social issues, so as not to anger his sponsors or upset his carefully cultivated persona, a largely blank slate of smiling, single-minded sports success, the perfect canvas on which to paint clever marketing campaigns. And now he's just out there on the course, so alone, so naked.

Please, Tiger. Just go, before yesterday's polished fantasies are completely replaced by today's grim reality.

"It's hard to watch the greatest player of this generation be a middle-of-the-pack hack,'' Paul Azinger, former PGA Championship winner and Ryder Cup captain, said. "You almost want to say, `Who are you and what have you done to Tiger Woods?'"

Jordan Spieth is doing all he can to carry golf. He doesn't have Woods' grand aura or deeper social meaning. But if there's a tiny chance of a real lift, it lies in his hopes of winning the Grand Slam. That could spark.

No one has won the Grand Slam in golf— all four majors in one calendar year –since Bobby Jones in 1930, and back then, the majors weren't made up of the same tournaments as today. Tiger never did it, nor Jack or Arnie. Not Ben Hogan. Spieth won the Masters and the U.S. Open, and if he can pull of the British this weekend, then that will leave just the PGA Championship next month in Wisconsin.

It would be an incredible story, with incredible buildup. But right next to him, with just as many eyeballs watching, will be Woods and his failures.

There is no shame in leaving. Watson has been doing it for 15 years. On Friday, ESPN ran a prolonged feature on Watson's greatness, complete with lovely, touching music. I was actually at Watson's fondest farewell at the British, when he had the thing won, but choked it away on the 72nd hole in Scotland.

That was in 2009.

It's hard to see how Woods can reach the point where people are just happy to see him play, even if he's playing poorly as he does now. If he can get there, it would buy him some time. Relieve so much pressure. Perhaps then he could pop up and contend for a major, here and there, and everyone could remember the good times.

Woods has 14 major titles. He still says he's after Nicklaus' record of 18. Somehow, that now sounds sad.

Nobody remembers Michael Jordan playing for the Washington Wizards. No one remembers Nicklaus or Palmer bottoming-out. Their declines didn't diminish anything. They just got old. That happens. But Woods? He threw everything away. He's now ranked No. 241 in the world. Look beyond his personal ranking, and the sport is suffering, too: TV ratings have fallen, golf participation numbers have fallen, courses are closing across the country and you don't see many American minorities on tour.

Look, it isn't Woods' responsibility to save golf. And it also isn't fair to blame him for all of the game's ills. He couldn't have kept doing what he was doing; he'll turn 40 in December. But he didn't just fade, the way other all-time greats did. And he meant so much more than they did.

Nicklaus used to say that he was never going to be a "ceremonial golfer.'' The idea was that he wasn't going to let himself be like Palmer, still playing, but not really competing. Just out there, like a living wax statue, seeing and being seen. A few years after Nicklaus won the Masters for the last time, I wrote a newspaper column about him from Augusta, saying that he had become everything he vowed never to be. That Nicklaus was just for show.

I have some memories of walking along the 10th fairway on Sunday watching Nicklaus, who was in contention to win. A reporter from Seattle, I believe, approached and asked, "Aren't you the guy who wrote that Nicklaus is just for show?''

The reporter then started interviewing me. Nicklaus didn't win, and I wrote a column about eating, literally, my original column. (Newspaper, by the way, has the sort of light, cardboard-y taste of frozen peas).

So it's possible that Woods has another major in him. Maybe even probable. He surely has a great round or two in him along the way, too. But can the amazing part of his legacy survive five or six years more years of what we've been seeing? Golf Digest recently quoted an anonymous player as saying that Woods has lost his desire. Single-minded desire was at the core of what made Woods successful—and compelling—in the first place.

"I'm still young,'' Woods told reporters at the British on Tuesday. "I know some of you guys think I'm buried and done, but I'm still right here in front of you.''

That much remains true. No matter how hard we try to look away.