Here's the thing about car accidents, you have to look.  Some people may only take a peek, while others will immediately pull over to try and get likes.  Most of us are somewhere in the middle, but regardless, we all have a spot somewhere on that spectrum.  So when the car accident that was Tiger's epic fall started to unfold, my eyes were wide open.  And this was bad.  Slow motion, in color and uncut kinda bad.  Then just when it seemed like the worst was over, somehow the cars were pulled apart and then smashed back together again, each new collision more violent than the last.  This may sound like hyperbole, but it isn't.  Because when it comes to our sports heroes, there are connections forged that are not easily broken.  Which is one of the beautiful things about sports, every time they win, it feels like a little piece of us wins with them.  Or sometimes a big piece.  We've all heard someone in the last week proclaim, "My Eagles finally did it!"  And so they should, THEIR Eagles did do it.  Those tears of joy were earned after years of failure, and it was finally time to collect on that marker.  We invest a great deal in our chosen teams and players, and right or wrong, their successes and failures become some strange measuring stick for us on a very personal level.  Their glory becomes our glory, but unfortunately their pain can just as easily become our pain.  So when Tiger found himself in the aforementioned demolition derby, it wasn't just some stranger getting beat up, it felt as though a friend was stuck behind the wheel.  And he wasn't wearing a seat belt.  There was conflict of course, nobody could dispute that the personal and professional nightmare he was living was completely his own doing.  At one point he seemed to have all the boxes ticked, but for whatever reason those Dimes from the waffle house seemed more appealing than his supermodel wife.  Smash.  They also have one helluva IHOP in Jupiter.  Bang.  Many of his physical issues could have been avoided as well.  Golfers do not need to participate in Navy SEAL training, but there he was laying the groundwork for years of chronic back issues and numerous surgeries.  Boom.  B-list porn star girlfriends?  Solid idea.  Crash.  But even through all of that, you can't just erase the things he did on the golf course.  That chip on 16 at The Masters?  Gimme a break.  Or maybe more importantly, the things he did to further the game off of it.  His greatness inside the ropes was unparalleled, but his ultimate stamp on the game will definitely extend beyond those boundaries.  Many of his harshest critics don't understand the kinds of barriers that he's almost single-handedly torn down over the last 20 years, they choose instead to focus on what's been written in the tabloids.  They choose to hope for him to fail, and maybe he deserves that, but i'm hoping for something different.  As he inches his way back into competitive golf I want to see the magic again, even if it's just a glimpse.  But it won't be easy.  The game has changed, it has grown, the competition has stiffened, now there are ten Tiger's.  Ironically, mostly because of Tiger.  As for him, his skills have eroded.  His confidence has been shaken.  His age is starting to show.  His most dangerous weapon, the intimidation and fear that he once instilled in his opponents simply by showing up at the course, has long since evaporated.  He will never be the dominant force he once was.  But it's important to remember that greatness doesn't just go away.  It may hide, it may disguise itself, it may lie dormant, but it doesn't disappear.  Remember Jack in '86?  He wasn't the Golden Bear anymore, not the one that had ruled the game in the past, those years had come and gone.  It was just Jack who showed up at Augusta that year.  Eroded, shaken, old.  But it didn't matter, because greatness is greatness, and when it decides to lift the veil it will not be denied.  So you see, maybe it doesn't matter that Tiger isn't Tiger anymore.  Maybe being Eldrick is enough.  I believe it is.