US Masters / Bill Elliott / 02 April 2008 /

Bill Elliott looks back on Tiger's first Masters victory

Remember the film 'Mississippi Burning'? Based on a true story, it was a searing indictment of racial abuse in the Southland in the sixties. As it happened, I saw it in a cinema in Augusta, Georgia and the following morning its raw emotion was still burning vividly in my mind. Which is when I asked Arthur about it.

Arthur was the head bartender in the clubhouse at Augusta National for many years. He was a big, black guy with watery eyes and a slow, broad grin. I liked Arthur a lot and I hope he liked me at least a bit. He was, however, a stickler for decorum and steadfastly refused to call me anything other than Mr Elliott which was sweet but unnecessary.

Anyway the morning after the cinema I talked briefly to Arthur about it and then I asked him what it had been like in Augusta during those years. This dignified, older man looked at me for a long minute, then he placed one of his big, working-man's hands on my softer version and said softly "Mr Elliott sir, you don't wanna know". I looked back at him and said "Arthur, you just told me pal".

A few years later Arthur retired and I missed him greatly. His retirement predated Tiger Woods' emergence by a couple of years and so he wasn't around when the kid made his pro debut at the Masters in 1997. That, of course, turned out to be some Masters. Tiger struggled over his opening nine holes while the world watched to see what he could do against the big boys in a major, then he gritted his teeth and blitzed his way home.

He was, of course, never to look back. Woods won that Masters and his first major title by a stunning twelve shots. It was an extraordinary laying down of a template that he has followed ever since. Put simply this is: Go out, smash the course, hit the leaderboard, sit back and watch the majority of rivals crumble in the face of your onslaught.

Suddenly Tom Watson's comment a year earlier when he said that Woods was the most significant golfer, probably sportsman, to emerge in at least 50 years did not seem so crazy after all, suddenly the few black people who watched the Masters sat up straight and took proper notice.

Charlie Sifford flew in that final Sunday to witness Tiger's victory procession over the final 18 holes. Charlie, of course, was the first black golfer to play on the US Tour. Before 1961 he and his brothers had been banned. Not secretly excluded, officially banned. Bobby Kennedy changed that. Charlie was late into his 30s when he made it on to the tour and he wasn't welcomed. First time he played he went to pick his ball out the hole and found it had been filled up with human excrement.

So Charlie was there for the prize ceremony, beaming away as Tiger slipped on his green blazer. This was my 18th Masters but never before had I bothered to make the short walk from Media Centre to ceremony. Why? Oh, either too busy or too disinterested in what, let's face it, is a rather boring ritual.

In 1997 I made the trip. I wanted to see this one. As Woods stepped forward a bunch of young black guys who had been working as lawn waiters during that Masters jumped gleefully and high-fived each other beside me. I grinned at them and they high-fived me as well. Then we all cried. Happily.

The world changed a bit that Sunday afternoon in Augusta, changed just a tad for the better. I have no idea where Arthur was as all this went on but I continue to hope that my old friend was watching too and glad that we could all be grateful that Mississippi, and elsewhere, was no longer burning as much.

Eleven years on, I'll still be thinking of this stuff when I watch Tiger win his fifth Green Jacket. Maybe, now, you will too...

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