Woods a Louisville Slogger

We now take you live to Tiger Woods’ gallery alongside the fifth green at Valhalla Golf Club. Listen, won’t you, to the sounds of greatness, the sounds of history, the sounds of a champion. . . .

“What’s happening?”

“Shhhhh.”

“I can’t see.”

“I can’t move.”

“What smells?”

“Shhhhh.”

“Who’s putting?”

“Either Tiger or another guy.”

“What are they putting for?”

“Either three or four.”

(Loud cheer.)

“What happened?”

“Somebody either made it or missed it.”

“For what?

“For either birdie or par.”

“This is so special.”

“Once in a lifetime.”

*

So you want to watch Tiger Woods play golf?

No, you don’t.

Watching the sporting universe’s most famous resident is like standing in a very small closet. Or a very long subway. Or a very bad dream.

It’s dark. It’s sweaty. You want your mother.

That way, you can put her on your shoulders and she can tell you what’s happening.

Strolling with thousands of others alongside the most exciting athlete of this era is a long walk to nowhere, with occasional stops at nothing.

You can see Tiger. You can occasionally see his swing. You can even sometimes see the flight of his ball.

You can never see all three at the same time.

You might, if you’re lucky, watch him putt. Or maybe even watch his putt roll in the hole. But never both.

I know. I tried it. I followed him from outside the ropes during the first two days of the PGA Championship this week.

He is leading the tournament with an 11-under-par 133.

But judging from the number of shots I saw from start to finish, he is shooting a 144-under-par zero.

I could have arrived early and camped at one hole and seen everything. Lots of people do that.

But then Woods leaves that hole, and the crowds prevent you from immediately leaving with him, and you’re stuck watching Bob Estes and Mathias Gronberg.

For the thousands who insist on following Woods from hole to hole, it’s the worst seat in sports.

There are spots behind poles at Fenway Park, but eight profusely sweating and bourbon-smelling people won’t be leaning on you.

There are places in the stratosphere at the Superdome, but at least you won’t spend five hours on your tip-toes.

“This is crazy,” said Walter Hill, an Indiana businessman caught in the Woods mob Friday. “So many people, all doing the same thing. You have no idea who is shooting. You have no idea what they shot.”

It was worse because Woods was paired with Jack Nicklaus the first two days.

But with his six-tournament winning streak and two victories in majors this season, Woods’ galleries already had gone from unusual to unbearable.

While crushing other golfers, he inadvertently has crushed his fans.

For them, it’s all about noise.

Standing 10-deep around a tee box, they listen for the distinctive sound of his driver.

Standing 20-deep around a green, they listen for the cheers.

A high-pitched shout means that he has just sunk a birdie putt.

A long, low cheer means he has just recorded a par.

A gasp, then silence, then a few stray claps means bogey.

“You learn to listen for the yells,” Hill said.

It’s also about caps.

When standing on a weed-filled slope on the far side of a green, able to see only Woods’ back, one relies on those in front to explain what’s happening.

Always ask somebody wearing caps with Dunlop or Mizuno or some resort in Kauai. They always know.

The last time I asked help of somebody wearing a baseball cap, he told me that he wasn’t sure, but he thought Woods was having a great game.

For more enterprising fans, it’s also about pants.

On several holes Friday, several youngsters waited until everyone was in place around the green, then crawled up on their bellies behind them.

They then watched Woods putt from between people’s legs.

“People are like, ‘Kid, what are you doing here?’ ” said Eric Burton, 15. “But how else are we going to see it?”

The only other alternative costs $60, but the crowds were jostling so much, it was nearly impossible to hold one of those nerdy telescopes on your eye.

I watched one tee shot from the middle of a bridge, stuck between two fairways, unable to see or hear or move until Woods already had headed down the fairway and struck his second shot.

I watched one putt while sliding down the back of a green from a spot where I couldn’t see anything anyway.

I learned, any time you see an open fairway viewing spot, there is a reason.

I ran to one, but it was covered in poison ivy.

I ran to another, and soon was ankle-deep in mud.

But I was there. I was with Tiger Woods. I breathed his air. I felt his swing. I was in the trenches with him for the beginning of a memorable and dramatic march that will continue today.

What TV channel is he on again?

*

Bill Plaschke can be reached at his e-mail address: bill.plaschke@latimes.com.