The once invincible world number one is just a shadow of his former self, writes LAWRENCE DONEGAN

GENIUS IS hard to argue against, with its capacity for wonder and surprise. If it were not, then the story of Tiger Woods would be well into its third and final act by now; the part where it all goes wrong for the man himself and the world around him is reconciled to the reality of greatness reduced to the ranks of mediocrity.

Woods and the rest of us got another dose of this reality over the weekend, when the world’s mostly famously fallen athlete missed the cut at the Wells Fargo Championship, one of the most prestigious PGA Tour events of the year. Woods in his prime almost never missed a cut. He has now missed three over the past three years – hardly the definition of failure but when placed in the context of everything else he has (or rather has not) done during that period the rational observer would surely acknowledge at least a degree of significance.

Woods, of course, was having none of it. “I’ve missed my share of cuts in the past and they don’t feel good,” he began (Woods has missed eight cuts in almost 16 years. By comparison his most significant career rival, Phil Mickelson, has missed 63).

The issue was, he said, that despite his “new” swing he sometimes fell into the habits of his “old” swing. “I follow my old stuff and hit it awful,” he said. “I know what I need to do. I just need more reps doing it. We’ve changed a bunch of different things, and every now and then, I fall into the old stuff. And that doesn’t work, the combo platter of old and new.”

Seasoned interpreters of Woods’ delphic utterances saw through this one quickly enough. He was using his own failure to have a dig at his old coach Hank Haney, who earned his ire by recently publishing a book about the six years (and six Major championship victories) they had together. But to the untutored ear his words were baffling.

Which brings us back to genius, and its power to make us disbelieve even that which we have seen with our own eyes. Woods has won one official tournament and managed six top-10 finishes over the past two years. That is the record of a middling-to-good PGA Tour player. Yet we view him still as this extraordinary sporting figure – a superman who can wilt opponents with a glance and win on command. Call this wishful thinking. Call it brand loyalty, an emotional attachment that sustains our belief in sporting heroes long after their best days are gone.

There is also an element of fear involved. Knowing that Woods feeds hungrily on what his critics have to say, who would be brave enough or stupid enough to publicly state that he is a spent force? There was a time when no one would but that time has now gone

“He is going to have trouble,” Arnold Palmer said the other day when asked if Woods would ever break Jack Nicklaus’s record of 18 Major championship wins. Lee Trevino, another great from a bygone era, concurs, advising Woods to dispense with the notion of the essential swing coach. “What he needs to do is go off by himself, (with) nobody else, and take it out of the ground. That’s what I did, that’s what these three guys did, Mr (Ben) Hogan did it. All of the old pros used to take it out of the ground, there was no instructor, there was no guru, no sports psychologist and all this other stuff.”

As for Nicklaus himself, he tried and failed to disguise his true thoughts on Woods’ life-long quest to kick him off history’s pedestal. “I still think that his chances are very good of it and he probably will. But if I said anything else you guys would write headlines.”

If a man of Nicklaus’s status and age declines to speak the truth then it is too much to ask any member of the current generation to do so. For one thing, they have too much respect for what Woods has done and how he has transformed the sport.

And for another, they are too scared of the backlash.

On the eve of the last Ryder Cup, Rory McIlroy had the temerity to suggest the American was not unbeatable – a statement of the obvious that led to a day of headlines so discomforting to the young man his European team-mates had to stage of a public display of support for him, donning “Rory” wigs on the practice tee. A lesson was learned and that lesson was that actions are less liable to misinterpretation and exaggeration than words.

It is noticeable that the better McIlory has a become as a player, the more respectful he has been towards the American. He no longer states that Woods is beatable, he simply proves it, week after week after week.

And he is not alone. Bubba Watson, Mickelson, Hunter Mahan, Luke Donald – the list of golfers who you would take to beat Woods on any given week grows ever longer and it gained another name on Sunday.

While the once great was back home in Florida working on his swing, the 23-year-old Rickie Fowler was at the Wells Fargo beating McIlroy in a play-off. It was thrilling stuff. What it wasn’t was a “glimpse of the future”, as some commentators argued. Rather, it was a perfect summation of the game in the here and now.

Call it a new era if you like. As for the old era – the Tiger Woods era? Stick a fork in it, it’s done.