It wasn’t supposed to be this way. On an early summer day more than a decade ago, Tiger Woods won the 2008 United States Open on one leg, capturing his 14th major and all but assuring an accelerated march into history as the greatest player who ever lived. These were good times: Tiger was great. Sports were great. America was great. Our post-9/11 world was finally taking shape, but still we grasped for personal anchors against the dark undercurrent of our new reality. We all needed him and held on tight to the promise of greatness. And then it all fell apart.

The financial crisis hit hard that fall. The following Thanksgiving, surgically repaired Tiger ran his SUV into a fire hydrant, the back window of his escalade shattered along with much of his personal and professional life. The ensuing revelations reframed the discussion of what it meant to have heroes, made us question the expectations we placed on them, and ask the hard questions of ourselves—what would we excuse for the heroes who spent a lifetime inspiring joy in our own lives?  

From there, it was nothing but a mess. Scandal. Divorce. Knee surgeries. The achilles. Four back surgeries. A fusion. Numerous withdrawals. Pills. Rehab. The mugshot. Chipping yips. 82 in Phoenix (Koepka’s first PGA Tour win, interestingly). Sure, there were some brilliant moments, but mostly there was unending ignominy and uncertainty, on and off the golf course.

And now, suddenly, it is everything. Our perception of time is marked by the singularity of the cultural moments we endure. And for those who love the game of golf—or indeed, redemption of any kind—it is no different. I have no doubt that what we witnessed today was not only the culmination of the greatest comeback in the history of sports, but also the greatest individual achievement in the history of sports.  

I won’t bore you with myriad personal anecdotes (and there are many) about how Tiger’s victories have been so inextricably linked with the memories of my own life, for most every non-casual fan acutely feels the gravity of these bonds. But I will say this: for a generation of young boys and girls who grew up idolizing Tiger Woods—someone who played this game like no other, in a world that was changing faster and in more ways than at any time before in history—today was a reclamation of our lost youth, of the people we were in a simpler, analogue time. That state we long for now in the dark, late at night, when the screens are plugged in and put away. We all owe an enormous debt.

This moment is a bridge to the rest of our lives, connecting our past selves and future selves, unfolding a roadmap to personal fulfillment. Because that is what great champions teach us: to be the best version of ourselves, that anything is possible, that the mind is an incredibly powerful tool, and that pure individual belief and desire have moved more figurative mountains than most of history’s great armies combined. And as I run my fingers along the long, bending, jagged arc of my own childhood and early adult life, I cannot help but feel inspired to follow this rejuvenated road beyond the edge of the horizon, and into the great opportunity of the unknown.  

And goddamn am I inspired tonight.