Condoleeza Rice's first column for the Daily Beast isn't about international relations. That stuff's presumably better placed in Foreign Affairs. No, Condi waxed schoolgirlish about Tiger Woods, who she totally practically dated once.
Golf champion Woods and former Secretary of State Rice both went to Stanford, you see. They were tight.
I once sat with him at a Stanford-Duke basketball game. Stanford won on a buzzer beater, and we stormed the court together. With that kind of bonding, whom else would I pull for?
So when it came time for Rice to attend her first Masters tournament, there was no question who she wanted to follow around the course. When organizers asked, Rice writes, "I said, 'Duh?'"
Sadly, Woods groupies were lined up at the first tee two hours before he started, so Rice pretended she didn't care and was all, "that's fine, I'll just chill at the 16th tee and watch whoever."
Then in the middle of the tournament, when Woods was doing well, Rice had the chance to say "hello." But she didn't, because she didn't want to distract him. Now she has to regret that decision for the rest of her life, every time she leafs through the old Sports Illustrated Woods stories she keeps in her hope chest.
Not that it mattered: Woods choked anyway, after Rice got to see him on the 12th role. She hasn't lost faith:
When Tiger's ball hit that tree at 18, I felt like Joe Montana had just thrown a pick in a two-minute drive in the Super Bowl. But you know that Tiger will be there to do it right the next time...
When Tiger is on the course and starts one of his surges, it feels like Magic Johnson or Jerry Rice, one on one with an opponent.
Condi Rice, loyally sticking by a surger, no matter how badly he appears to have blown things. Sounds about right.