Happy Birthday, dear Archie!

Just three days ago I flew back from Spain. The "in-flight entertainment" included series, an option I normally never consider. But this time a two-episode one caught my eye: Tiger, a documentary on the life of Tiger Woods.

It occurred to me that it would be great to learn a bit about the life of someone you admired. Up until that day, I barely knew his looks. Without hesitation, I hit play and learned about a small baby Tiger fed on a high-chair in his parents' garage while watching his dad hit balls, and then about a ten-month-old baby taking his first stand and hitting his first ball all at the same time. After that, a scene had two-year-old Tiger appearing on TV swinging. The first episode went on mentioning all the things you knew--his humble origins, his greatness, his achievements. The second described his demise, including the scandals he was surrounded by, a part you never got to hear (better that way). 

Golf played a big role in our beginnings: your fondness of it, the Spanish club's party at the Mountain View golf course with you greeting me from the distance while I remained oblivious to your presence, our first "quasi-date" on the driving range… Then, after the first kiss, came the talks about going golfing one day, but the summer was busy, the fall was busier and winter brought the cold wind of a deadly diagnosis. Golfing together was not in the cards.

But while crossing the Atlantic the other day I somehow took the walk we meant to take together but never did.

Cheers, my dear, today 53 years ago the star that would light up my life was born.