Tiger Woods and Butch Harmon: Kiss and Make Up, Please

Dear Tiger Woods,

First you were Tiger Woods Butch Harmon. Then you were Tiger Woods Hank Haney. Now you're Tiger Woods Sean Foley.

You started out like Jaws: a ruthless predator who made grown men pee their pants when you "popped" up on the leaderboard.  Then you transformed into Jaws 2: still formidable, but ultimately damaged, capable of being defeated in a major by a Y.E. Yang hybrid from the rough (which I equate to a Great White being electrocuted).  

Now, you're like Winter from Dolphin Tale: rehabilitated but untested. You've got a new swing, new shoes, and a new 'tude, but the extreme makeover will not restore you to Big Fish status.

 Unless .....

 .... you get back together with Butch Harmon. Now. Today. On Valentine's Day. Buy him a card, tape a few I MISS U heart candies to it, take the jet to Las Vegas, interrupt a lesson with Phil, get down on your hands and knees and sing "I will always love you," and beg for your old golf game back.

I can't stand watching the latest incarnation of Tiger Woods. I don't mind watching you lose. It's the way you're losing that is so disheartening. First, you can't putt. I don't care how much better and farther you hit the ball that other pros back in the day; what made you scary good was your ability to make EVERY SINGLE putt from inside 12 feet. Now you can't make putts from 2 feet. Butch can fix that.

Second, you've gone soft. On the 12th hole Sunday at Pebble you holed out from the bunker. Exciting!  But, no roar, no fist bumping with whoever your new caddie is, no expectation that this shot could be the momentum changer. Instead, you politely stepped from the bunker and stood there looking out of place, unsure.

We could sense at that moment you knew you didn't have it. We knew that shot meant nothing, that your game just isn't right, that you can't shoot 64 on Sunday, much less 69. Phil sensed it too. He calmly dropped a 30-footer on top of your bunker shot and jacked himself and the crowd up with a few first pumps of his own.

This week, Lee Trevino said you should get back together with Butch. Listen to the man. Trevino talks a lot, but he doesn't talk a lot. He doesn't mouth off on Twitter like almost every other professional athlete. He's won multiple majors. He's a hall of fame golfer. Listen to the man.

You've only got 4-5 really good years left; once you hit 40 your chances of winning a major decline. If you're going to catch Jack Nicklaus, you need the best. Harmon is the best. You were the best when you were with Harmon. Simple.

There were times at Pebble where I couldn't tell you apart from the amateurs. You're hunched over at address. You're picking the club up too fast. And did I mention those 2-footers? Plus, what's with the shoes? I understand they're easier on the knees and legs. But they make you look like you'd rather be lawn bowling.

So call Butch. As much as you've disappointed so many golf fans, we want you back. Professional golf needs you back. We want to see you make a run at Jack's record. It's not going to come without your former swagger, swing, and putting stroke. Call Butch. Kiss and make up. Pretty please.

Sincerely,

Scott Tiernan

Read more sports correspondence at: http://sportsletters.blogspot.com