Three women were walking among the massive crowds surrounding the 18th green here Friday when one of them spotted a purple shirt in the distance and stopped.
Rising above the tightly packed mass of polo shirts and khaki shorts, emerging from the smell of fertilizer and sweat, a cry goes up for a champion lost.
It is golf's church, a place where azaleas and pines form the stained glass that towers over hushed congregants as they pay homage to golfing gods pursuing a brightly colored robe.
The Tiger snarl was there, but it came with a laugh.
The pregame flyover was so late, some fans might have thought it was a couple of Southwest Airlines jets racing to Burbank.
The smell of fresh paint fills the concourse. The sight of ushers dressed in Boston Celtics green rattles the nerves. The giant luxury car hood ornament sitting atop the right-field scoreboard raises eyebrows.