It’s difficult to think of a sporting victory which meant quite as much as Tiger Woods at Augusta in 1997.
At 21 years old, he was the youngest to ever do it. And at 18-under-par with a 12-stroke lead, he was officially the best golfer the world had ever seen. But that doesn’t nearly capture the whole of it.
Woods was the first black man to win on a golf course which was only forced to allow black members seven years earlier.
Black players were banned from competing at the Masters until 1975, and caddies had to be black until 1982. That’s where he did it.
This was a victory for black Americans everywhere, something which was not lost on Woods.
He thanked Charlie Sifford, Lee Elder and Ted Rhodes, three black golfers who paved the way for Woods and still don’t get the recognition they deserve for helping to open up golf to an entire race.
Before them, John Shippen was the first black man to compete at the US Open when he came fifth in 1896. George Franklin Grant actually invented the golf tee in 1899.
Black players competing in golf didn’t start with Woods, but in the wider public consciousness of the nineties, it did.
At the beginning of the decade, a 14-year-old Woods said: “Every time I go to a major country club I can always feel it. Always sense it. People always staring at me. ‘What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.’
“When I go to Texas or Florida you always feel it. They say ‘What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here.’
“And that’s probably because that’s where all the slavery was.”
When he won at Augusta in 1997, he featured in a famous Nike advert afterwards saying: “There are still courses in the United States that I am not allowed to play on because of the colour of my skin.”
So he gets it. You can be sure of that. But like Michael Jordan, Woods has shied away from powerful statements about race with time – and even run into controversy.
Two weeks after winning the Masters, Woods seemingly tried to write himself out of the African-American narrative.
When Oprah Winfrey asked him if being referred to as an African-American bothered him, Woods responded: “Growing up, I came up with this name: I’m a ‘Cablinasian’.”
At school, he would tick both African-American and Asian on forms asking about his race.
“Those are the two I was raised under and the only two I know,” he told Oprah. “I’m just who I am, whoever you see in front of you.”
His father, Earl, came from African-American, Chinese and Native American descent, while his mother, Tida, is of Thai, Chinese and Dutch descent.
Woods angered many African-Americans, who had just adopted him as a hero, but it was also understandable: ‘My race does not define me, can’t I just be an extraordinary golfer?’
More recently, large sections of the African-American community were disappointed when he accepted a Medal of Honour from President of the United States Donald Trump.
There can be no doubt: Woods is not the same sort of activist as someone like Lewis Hamilton, and many consider that a shame, particularly in the current climate when his voice could make such a difference.
But like Jesse Owens at the Berlin Olympics in 1936, Woods’ career represents a more symbolic victory over racism due to this simple fact: black people weren’t allowed to do what he did until he went and did it.
Woods wouldn’t have been accepted at Augusta the year he was born. So he was a lone wolf, raised as an outsider and sent on a singular mission, because as a black man, golf necessitated that.
Raw talent wasn’t enough, there was so much more to overcome. And he knew he had to do it alone.
His parents, Earl and Tida, taught him to build walls around himself and turned him into one of the most mentally tough athletes of all time.
There are plenty of books to read about Woods: the sensational highs, the humiliating lows, and many point towards character ‘flaws’ to explain why everything happened the way it did.
Destined for greatness from a frighteningly young age, he never allowed anyone into his complex world.
Golf was paramount, not making friends. Just as he could find ‘the zone’ on a golf course, real life was rarely very different from the Masters.
But in truth, there weren’t many friends to be had for Woods in a sport dominated by white men, and the environment he broke into wasn’t exactly warm to him. He was just the way he had to be.
Perhaps all of those things contributed to the collapse of his personal life in 2009, or maybe it’s what helped him get back up and return to glory at the 2019 Masters despite his body and his life in tatters little more than two years prior.
He has an incredible knack for doing things people don’t think he should do.
One thing’s for certain, those character ‘flaws’ are what made a black man the greatest ever player in a sport previously considered white. Sometimes we forget what that took, and the significance it carries on its own.
There is no escaping that golf isn’t the game it was supposed to become after Woods burst onto the scene. It has improved in terms of diversity, but its ugly history means it couldn’t exactly get worse.
Black people still make up a disproportionately small percentage of members worldwide, and it remains a bit of a playground for elitists, rather than something for everyone.
Twenty-three years after Woods’ famous victory in 1997, there are still only a small number of prominent black faces in men’s professional golf. Harold Varner III, Cameron Champ, and Woods himself, to name a few.
Wasn’t the win in 1997 supposed to be a watershed moment for black golf? Yes, but it would be unfair to say it didn’t have any impact at all. Change doesn’t happen overnight.
Plus, Woods knows that actions speak louder than words. His charity, the Tiger Woods Foundation, supports underprivileged minority students through education.
Having seen a gap in society, Woods has served 175,000 impoverished children over two decades, offering resources and opportunities they wouldn’t get elsewhere.
There can be no doubt: Woods is a proud black man who has reinvented the very culture of sport, even if he doesn’t want to shout about it.
When asked whether he could change racism in golf by becoming the greatest, a 14-year-old Woods said: “Yes.”
Perhaps just being the man who broke down all of those barriers in 1997 was enough, and the rest of the golfing world failed to do the rest.
And with the 44-year-old’s career entering Hall of Fame territory, there will come a day when golf will have to rely on more than just Woods’ presence to address the same issues he spoke about when he was 14.