Prodigious Egos
July 1, 2004
by David Brown

It’s not easy being a prodigy. Kobe Bryant and Tiger Woods have exceeded prodigious expectations – and in the face of incredible pressure. Yet somehow despite the greatness they have achieved, their professional dreams remain unfulfilled in different ways, but for the same reason: the colossal egos they have depended on, not only to succeed, but to make sense of the excesses of their fantastic celebrity.

Kobe Bryant may finally get his wish. The party in L.A. is breaking up. Phil Jackson is gone, and Shaq is reportedly asking for a trade. Bryant is a free agent, unconstrained by the bonds of The Big Aristotle and the Zen Master to pursue his own championship.

Kobe has three rings, but their luster has already faded into the background, obscured by the hulking image of number 23. Kobe might well be as good or better than Jordan ever was, as his play through much of this bizarre season has often shown. But in terms of legend, that slippery currency by which true greatness is measured, Kobe is somewhere in the range of Isaiah Thomas.

Kobe knows any Laker glory up to now is attributed as much, and likely more, to O’Neal’s presence than his own. Of course teams win championships, but Jordan seemed to do it on his own, never mind the importance of Scottie Pippen and a host of role players who continually lived up to and exceeded all expectations over the course of six titles.

Bryant doesn’t want his legacy to be tethered to O’Neal’s. To Kobe, Shaq is a 350 pound anchor, dragging his credentials down below the surface of hoops lore. Kobe needs his own team, his own coach, his own fans, his own playoff glory, his own championship run, and his own ring.

That’s the problem with achieving greatness at such a young age after living up to a mountain of expectations – you have to keep rising above the bar, which itself pushes upward which every amazing feat you pull off. There is no coasting except into the oblivion of “Jeez, what happened to that guy.” All-star? Who cares. Twenty-five, seven and six a game? Nice player. Legend? No way. Close, but yet so far away. Take a seat next to Alex English.

It may be an exaggeration, but this is how Kobe looks at his career and why he’ll likely do anything to ensure he is spun-off from Shaq into his own prime time, showtime, headlining career. Winning titles isn’t enough. He doesn’t want anyone else to get any credit for his success, even if it means playing for the Clippers.

Like Bryant, Tiger Woods is feeling greedy these days. Tiger enjoys the benefit of playing an individual sport, where no meddlesome teammates can drag you down or horn in on your attention-grabbing frolic up the ladder of athletic greatness (I guess Nike doesn’t count). He fired his caddy for getting a little too caught up in the dim collateral glow from Tiger’s spotlight. More recently he broke away from swing coach Butch Harmon, perhaps afraid that Harmon was getting a little too cozy on Tiger’s coattails.

After his Masters victory and a year on the PGA Tour, Tiger struggled and worked with Harmon to rebuild his swing. He quickly became the most dominant player golf has ever seen, winning seven more majors in 12 starts, including four in a row. He was the best in the world by a long shot, and the best ever if longevity was removed from the equation.

Now he’s not the best, or even the second best in the world. He’s probably about even with Vijay Singh, but clearly behind Phil Mickelson and Ernie Els. He seems completely unable to control the ball off the tee with the driver, and his iron play has been erratic. Around the green he is still brilliant, and his shot-making ability and mental toughness allow him to compete week after week.

But something is clearly wrong. He should be winning more tournaments and winning them running away.

And yet he will not go back to Harmon. When asked about Harmon, Tiger sounds like a jilted lover, trading barbs in the press and uncharacteristically letting us a glimpse the surface of raw emotion. What did this guy do to Tiger?

What Harmon did was make people say, Wow, that Butch Harmon must be a great coach. Nobody questioned Tiger’s greatness. His legend was cemented. But Tiger’s ego would have none of it. Harmon was becoming part and parcel of the legend, as Tiger saw it. Harmon had to go.

Now Woods is stuck. His swing is in desperate need of a tuneup, or perhaps a major reconstruction. But Tiger insists that he’s playing well and that he’s just working through a few things and that he’s close and the rest of the field is stronger and the courses are tougher and it’s not my girlfriend’s fault and I can still win.

But after the U.S. Open, nobody is buying it anymore. We’re all too busy cheering for Mickelson to be bothered with Woods’ stubborn stoicism or his caddy’s surly demeanor (Maybe Tiger should fire him).

At what point does Tiger swallow his pride and call Harmon back home to ease his pain? Is it worth forsaking the winnings he could reap if he could recapture even some semblance of his old self? There’s no guarantee Butch will cure what ails him, but isn’t it worth a shot at some point. Isn’t that point sometime in the very near future?

Not likely. If we know anything about Woods, it’s that he does not tolerate disloyalty, or at least his bizarre conception of it. And more than that, bringing back Harmon now could only be a lose-lose situation in Tiger’s mind.

If Harmon revamps Tiger’s swing and he doesn’t improve, he will have suffered a great humiliation without any payoff. On the other hand, if Tiger wins the next six majors with Harmon’s help, then those victories will be sullied by the fact that every golf fan in the world knows that Harmon had as much to do with Tiger’s success as Tiger himself did.

And that would be unbearable for an ego like Tiger’s.

It’s not easy being a prodigy. Sometimes you just can’t win.

(David Brown is a volunteer staff writer for 2 Walls Webzine)