Right now, Tiger Woods may not be the best golfer in the world, but he is undoubtedly the game’s greatest celebrity. Lately, with the Masters approaching, I’ve been watching the Golf Channel. The channel’s converge of Tiger is so all-consuming that I could easily be watching the Tiger Woods YouTube channel. I read recently that Nike owned Tiger’s name. The truth is that Tiger Woods or Nike should be charging the Golf Channel for a percentage of its earnings, for the Channel’s relentless, 24 hour focus on Tiger Woods shows no sign of abating.

For the past few days the talk on the nervy, more or less hysterical Golf Channel has gone something like this:  Will Tiger enter the Masters? Does he have the yips? Is his back healthy? Has he lost weight and reduced his muscle bulk? Is he still happy with his coach? Does he lack the motivation to return to the top of the game? Are his sponsors pressurising him to enter the Masters? If he returns can he make the cut? What if he embarrasses himself again wit a bevy of stomach-curdling wild swings? What if his back breaks down again and he has to retire early? In short, “What are we going to do without Tiger?”

Tiger Woods is currently ranked over one hundred places below Rory on golf’s present ranking list. Yet the current Master’s tournament without Tiger’s participation resembled a well-embalmed corpse stretched out on top of a full-length calendar of major sporting events the average American citizen couldn’t be bothered to watch. 

When Tiger flew in for an exploratory practice round at the Masters the physical shudder of relief that erupted throughout the US media landscape reverberated around the entire globe; it was as if Tiger had transformed into Baron Frankenstein and through the force of his own indomitable will brought his very own ailing monster back to life.

When Tiger successfully completed his first practice round on Monday (and I am talking about a practice round) it was easy to imagine the jittery golfing powers that be running off to thank their local pastors for successfully petitioning the Almighty to send a healthy Tiger back to them. Curiously, when Tiger announced he was actually going to compete in the Masters the bad weather and heavy clouds currently blighting the nation’s skies mysteriously cleared up.

Now that Tiger is actually participating at the Masters and embracing old friends and foes alike as if they were members of his very own Tiger-centric fraternity, the Golf Channel’s vast army of peppy anchors, commentators and cold-eyed analysts are visibly energised. The Channel’s formerly deflated studios now have the air of an energised, evangelical church venue that is about to be filled up by millions of joyous parishioners. Tiger’s mere presence (not the quality of his game) has ensured that the Golf Channel achieves sky high viewing figures and helped the Masters retain its much-heralded place as a true national sporting event.

From morning to noon the Channel’s numerous golf-loving anchors will now shape their breakfasts, lunches, dinners and late night return trips to their bland hotel rooms around Tiger’s every movement, gesture and comment. All is well within Golf Channel world… except when these polished, highly articulate professionals have to discuss Rory McIlroy – the prodigiously talented and unquestioned number one golfer in the world – their shoulders droop, their eyes lose focus and all animation, energy and conviction falls away from their conversation; it’s clear these poor souls talk of Rory because they must. Because not to discuss the current outstanding player of the sport they are formally paid to cover would be a gross and all too obvious dereliction of duty.

These anchors put me in mind of the smiling, upbeat, glamorous presenters who have to hand out awards for the Best Special Effects or Best Sound Design at the annual Oscars. Sure the wives and kids of the gifted professionals who win these awards are bowled over with joyful glee, but the rest of us have gathered to hail the winners of the Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Movie and Best Director categories; everything else is mere preamble and light froth for the nerdy film historian.

When Julianne Moore recently won the 2015 Best Actress Award no one gave a damn and, as far as I can tell, no one felt even remotely guilty about the tidal wave of indifference that caused the highly reactive twitter-verse to abruptly stall, stumble and eventually collapse of boredom. Sadly, despite a wave of public support after he was announced as the host of the Oscars, Neil Patrick Harris unfortunately proved he was no Johnny Carson. At this moment, despite her immense talent, Julianne lacks the star quality and worldwide following of say Angelina Jolie. Frankly, if Julianne were to win the next three Oscars and be hailed as the greatest thespian of the age, I suspect there’s a good chance the Oscars would be cancelled due to lack of public interest. Rory is undoubtedly a formidable golfer, but right now he is also golf’s Julianne Moore.