Tiger Woods Plays Mind Games With Himself and the Leaders

NORMALLY ON the third day of the Masters – "moving day", as Tiger Woods calls it – the rest of the field are reduced to watching his clicking progress into the distance as the shadows lengthen.

Not yesterday – at the start of the round, at least, and not with much trepidation at the end of it.

No, in the penultimate session of the 2009 Masters it was Tiger's turn to keep an anxious eye on the leaderboard, as his own game spluttered like a reconditioned Rolls Royce and old Ken Perry and youngish Chad Campbell rattled along with the zip of a pair of jalopies down Magnolia Lane.

They were attended for much of this warm, light-breezed day by Angel Cabrera, Tim Clark, Jim Furyk, Steve Stricker, Shingo Katayama, Todd ­Hamilton ... names (with the exception of Furyk, who clattered through the field in the afternoon), that light up few billboards.

Woods has no right to victory, of course – only a predisposition for it. But, after eight months away working on his knee, the magic remained bottled and the grim countenance fixed – until his faltering putter came to life, brightly in the middle and clinically at the end.

As he lined up a six-footer for par on the 18th, thoughts of bogeys here on Thursday and Friday were, no doubt, expelled from his cool head; he slotted it home to finish four-under. He's still there, still Tiger.

Hurrying from the course, he bore the look of a champion keen to keep his mojo, to stay strong after one of the toughest days of his comeback. "Right now, I need to eat," he sad. "That's what I'm going to do right now."

But he lingered long enough to dissect his day. "It was not a very good start, obviously. Making double at one and three-putting the first hole just put me right behind the eight-ball. But, man, I fought hard to get it back today. That was a hell of a fight."

Indeed it was. To tread the carpeted warmth of the Augusta National Golf Club is to walk into a painting, so perfect are the colours and shapes. Briefly yesterday, though, it was as if Tiger had taken his place in something conjured up by Edvard Munch.

The day, blessed in sun, the grass sparkling from overnight storms, could hardly have started more wretchedly for the man who has won here four times. He was entitled to scream when he went wild left off the 1st tee, into the trees, then lugged it out to the right of the green for what should have been a regulation up-and-down. But his chip rolled back on him, and he missed a three-foot putt for double-bogey.

He blew a birdie chance at the 7th, as he struggled to give his round the heart-thumping lift it needed. Finally it came: a monster 45-footer at the 9th for birdie and he turned in 36 for the third time this tournament. It wasn't diabolical, but it wasn't divine. Tiger found himself caught between heaven and hell and, early in the day, did not look to know the way out.

If he puts himself in contention to win from here, he will, surely, be drained by the exertion of the comeback. Won't he? He can't do it, realistically. Can he? Then again, Woods has always been a golfing surrealist.

"If Kenny and Chad go off and shoot two, three, four or more under par from where they are right now, it almost puts it out of reach for us. But, if they come back a little bit or stay where they're at, we've still got a chance."

He wasn't talking in the royal plural; neither was he giving serious consideration to bracketing too many of his fellow contenders alongside himself. He remains fiercely focused, brilliantly selfish.

As Padraig Harrington's bid for a third straight major ebbed, and Rory McIlroy contemplates what a bitch it is getting older, it was left to Ian Poulter and Lee Westwood to carry the European fight. They are on four-under with Woods, not bad company, as it happens, and they will do well to stay with him.

Phil Mickelson, as ever, lurked dangerously, the quality sleeper just outside the leading group, and the player who probably was attracting most of the smart money.

There will always be a buck or two reserved for the main man, though. Did he think the lay-off was the reason he struggled? Woods, ever so briefly, became animated. "No, it's not that at all, not that at all. I just didn't hit the ball as precisely as I needed to today and just fought my ass off to get it back, just to shoot a number. I'm very proud of that."