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Some records are written in ink. Others are carved into granite.
Tiger Woods didn’t just win four majors in a row — he redefined what dominance in golf looked like. Between June 2000 and April 2001, Woods pulled off a stretch so staggering, so relentless, that the sport had to invent a new term for it: the Tiger Slam.
Let’s rewind to where it all started — Pebble Beach, June 2000.
There are wins, and then there are message-sending, jaw-dropping, history-rewriting victories. Tiger’s performance at Pebble wasn’t just dominant — it was seismic. He opened with a blistering 65 and never looked back, finishing at 12-under while second place lagged at 3-over.
Let that sink in for a second. He beat the field by 15 strokes.
Ernie Els, one of the game’s greats, stood nearly speechless afterward. “My words probably can’t describe it,” he said. “So I’m not even going to try.”
When the guy chasing you doesn’t even try to put it into words, you know you’re doing something special.
Just a month later at St Andrews — the Old Course, golf’s holy ground — Tiger completed the career Grand Slam at age 24. The youngest ever to do it.
His play was laser-focused. Across his first 63 holes, he made a single bogey. That’s not just consistency — that’s golfing with machine precision.
Even when David Duval mounted a brief challenge on Sunday, Tiger stepped on the gas. A memorable fairway wood to the par-5 14th helped seal it. He won by eight strokes.
Next came Valhalla, and with it, a showdown worthy of its name.
Tiger vs. Bob May. Both finished at 18-under, a PGA Championship record. But it wasn’t just about the numbers — it was about the tension, the fireworks, the playoff.
Tiger’s iconic moment? Chasing after his birdie putt on the first playoff hole, finger-pointing as it dropped. Vintage swagger.
He had to birdie the final two holes in regulation just to force that playoff. Then, in the three-hole showdown, he got it done with a clutch bunker shot and nerveless par putt. Grit met greatness.
By April 2001, the pressure had reached boiling point.
Could he actually pull it off?
He entered Sunday at Augusta with a one-shot lead. David Duval, again, was in the mix. At one point on the back nine, they were tied. And yet, Tiger stayed ice-cold.
A closing 68 — and a birdie on 18 — sealed the deal.
The Tiger Slam was complete. Not within a single season, but across two, which might be even harder. As if to emphasize the moment, President George W. Bush picked up the phone to personally congratulate him.
Let’s be clear: no one in modern golf has ever held all four majors at the same time.
Tiger did. Not in a single year, which would be the “calendar” Grand Slam — but over two seasons, which arguably requires even more resolve. You get an offseason. Time to cool off, to doubt, to fade.
Tiger didn’t.
He stayed dialed in, start to finish. That’s like running a marathon, taking a break halfway through, and coming back to sprint the second half — faster.
Some called it “the greatest golf ever played.” Others compared it to Michael Jordan in his prime. The media created a new term just to capture what we were witnessing.
The Tiger Slam wasn’t just a series of wins. It was a cultural event.
And maybe the wildest part? It still stands alone. No one’s matched it. No one’s really come close.
We’ve all felt good after a hot round — maybe breaking 80 for the first time, draining that impossible putt, or finally figuring out your driver after months of slicing it into the next postcode.
Now imagine doing that for four straight majors. Against the world’s best. Under pressure no one else on Earth has ever faced.
Tiger Woods didn’t just win. He changed the conversation. And the echoes of that run? They’re still bouncing around every tee box, every Sunday leaderboard, and every golfer chasing something extraordinary.