Frankly I'm still reeling from my sorry showing in the March Madness pool, compounded by the fact that my pal Michael, a shrink whose every breath is deeply considered, won because on a random road trip more than 30 years ago, he stopped in Lawrence, Kansas and bought a Jayhawks T-shirt.

I have a slightly better chance in my Masters pool, a two-man affair where my golf-crazy pal gets Tiger and I take the field. The odds are slightly in my favor, since Tiger has won 13 majors in the 11 seasons since he romped to his first Masters title in 1997--and only four Masters, or slightly better than one in three. Still, nobody feels smart betting against Tiger, not when he is at the top of his game as he is now and not when he is well-positioned--tied for 19th and four strokes back after a par 72 first round--with the course almost certain to play harder the rest of the weekend.

Side bets aside, there is certainly a part of me that would prefer to see Tiger win Sunday and prolong the season's only suspense--no, not the FedEx Cup, but his odds-against shot at the Grand Slam. Because even though the talent on the tour is unquestionably deeper than at any time in the game's history, Tiger feels like the only game in town. At least the only one that generates sustained interest.

It is not hard to understand why the tour honchos and the sporting press have tried desperately through the years to drum up a legitimate rival for Tiger, but--from David Duval to Sergio Garcia to Ernie Els to Vijay Singh to Phil Mickelson--none have been able to rise to the challenge and most have slipped back at the very thought of it. Mickelson came closest and looked to be on the cusp of genuine rivalry until he imploded on the final hole at the 2006 U.S. Open. His 2007 decline, injuries aside, was inevitable: Mickelson's best finish in a major last year was 24th at the Masters and he failed to make the cut at both the British and U.S. Opens.

The arrival of Ian O'Connor's "Arnie & Jack" is a welcome reminder of how the power or rivalry serves not only the sport, but both men. And while nothing may derail Tiger from supplanting Jack Nicklaus as the greatest golfer of all time, six more major triumphs is hardly a mortal lock. But Nicklaus' legacy of greatness will always be enhanced by the fact that he had to go through "The King," Arnold Palmer, to reach the top.

For those of us old enough to remember those days and duels, O'Connor's book is a vivid stroll down memory links. For those Tigerphiles who believe Woods invented the game at the end of the 20th century, it is a welcome elucidation of a golfing golden era. As O'Connor writes: "Arnie and Jack represented the perfect conflict in personality, background and style at the perfect time--just as TV was starting to plant larger-than-life figures in America's living room and dens"

By the time most current fans met Nicklaus, he was the beloved "Golden Bear". But in his early days, he was an unwelcome usurper, a pudgy kid--the legions of Arnie's Army called him "Fat Jack"--subject to catcalls and other rude behavior on the course. And while nothing could stop his game and he would soon surpass Palmer, Nicklaus could never match his style--at best a staid Perry Como to Arnie's Sinatra flash. But the rivalry made both men bigger than they would ever have been standing alone.

Golf is hardly the only sport where that is apparent. Tiger may be the greatest, but "The Greatest", Muhammad Ali, never wore that mantle as surely as after his three classic fights with Joe Frazier. It's too bad for Tiger and for us that he will likely never face that test.