Tiger Woods was at the absolute peak of his powers in June 2002. Think back. He’d just won the Masters. He was the only person on the planet who seemed capable of wrestling with the "People’s Country Club." When the 2002 US Open headed to Bethpage Black on Long Island, nobody really knew if a public course could actually handle the greatest golfers in the world. It was a gamble by the USGA. It was muddy. It was loud. Honestly, it was a bit of a circus.
Bethpage wasn't some pristine, gated enclave like Augusta National or Shinnecock Hills. It was a place where regular guys from Queens and Nassau County rolled out their sleeping bags in the parking lot just to get a tee time.
The 102nd US Open changed the DNA of the tournament. Before 2002, this event was mostly a "blue blazer" affair. Then came the "Black Course." It was the first time a truly public course hosted the national championship. It was long. It was brutal. And for four days, it felt like the entire world of golf was revolving around a patch of land in Farmingdale, New York.
The Brutality of Bethpage Black
"WARNING - The Black Course is an extremely difficult course which we recommend only for highly skilled golfers." That sign at the first tee isn't a joke. It's a threat. In 2002, the USGA turned the volume up to eleven. The rough was thick enough to lose a small dog in. The fairways were narrowed down to ribbons.
Rain played a massive role. It poured. The course became a slog.
Because the ground was so soft, the ball didn't roll. You had to carry it 280 yards in the air just to have a chance. This played right into Tiger’s hands. He was hitting "stingers" and towering irons while everyone else was struggling to reach the par fours in two.
It wasn't just about the grass and the bunkers. The crowd was something else entirely. New York fans aren't like the polite galleries at St. Andrews. They were screaming. They were heckling Sergio Garcia about his "re-gripping" habit. Every time Sergio stood over the ball and pumped his hands, the fans would count out loud. One. Two. Three. It got into his head. He eventually gave the crowd the finger, which only made things worse.
Tiger Woods vs. The Field (And the Weather)
Tiger opened with a 67. It was a statement. He was the only player under par after the first round. People often forget how much he dominated the narrative back then.
He followed it up with a 68.
By the time Sunday rolled around, the tension was thick. Phil Mickelson was chasing him. Phil was the "People’s Champ," especially in New York. The fans wanted him to win so badly it hurt. But Tiger was a machine. He wasn't playing against Phil; he was playing against the golf course.
The 2002 US Open was essentially a two-man race by the back nine on Sunday. Phil made a charge. He got within two strokes. The New York crowd was losing its mind, chanting "Lefty! Lefty!" at the top of their lungs.
Then came the 16th hole.
Tiger hit a massive drive. He looked invincible. While Phil faltered down the stretch, Woods remained steady. He finished as the only player under par for the entire tournament. His final score was a 277 (-3). Phil finished at par. Jeff Maggert, who had a wild week himself, ended up in third.
The Equipment War and the 7,214-Yard Monster
At the time, Bethpage was the longest course in US Open history. 7,214 yards. That sounds short by 2026 standards, but in 2002, it was a monster. Most guys were still using steel shafts in their woods or early-generation graphite.
The USGA was worried about technology. They wanted to prove that a tough course could still defend itself against the new solid-core balls and titanium drivers. Bethpage did its job. Only one person beat it.
The 10th and 12th holes were absolute card-wreckers. Par fours that played like par fives for half the field. If you missed the fairway, you were basically hacking out sideways. There was no "going for it" from the thick stuff.
Why the 2002 US Open Still Matters Today
This tournament proved that public golf belonged on the big stage. It paved the way for Torrey Pines and Chambers Bay. It showed that the "everyman" golfer had a connection to the championship that you just don't get at private clubs.
It also cemented the Tiger Slam era. Winning the Masters and the US Open in the same year? Only a few legends had done it—Tiger joined the likes of Jack Nicklaus, Arnold Palmer, and Ben Hogan.
There's a reason people still talk about 2002. It wasn't just a golf tournament. It was a cultural moment for the sport. It was loud, muddy, and incredibly difficult. It was the "People's Open."
Actionable Takeaways from the Bethpage Legacy
If you're a student of the game or just a fan of sports history, there are a few ways to really appreciate what happened at the 2002 US Open:
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- Visit the Course: You can actually play Bethpage Black. It’s still a public course. You have to sleep in your car or be very fast with a computer mouse to get a tee time, but it’s one of the few Major venues accessible to the public.
- Study the "Tiger Stinger": Watch the 2002 highlights to see how Woods controlled the ball flight in heavy wind and rain. It’s a masterclass in course management that modern "bomb and gouge" players often ignore.
- Look at the Lead-Up to 2009: Compare the 2002 results to the 2009 US Open, which returned to Bethpage. You'll see how the USGA learned to manage the crowds and the setup based on the "wild west" atmosphere of the first trip.
- Check the Stats: Look at the "Strokes Gained" (if we applied them retroactively) for Tiger's long iron play that week. It remains one of the most statistically dominant performances in the history of the sport.
The 2002 US Open wasn't just another trophy for Tiger Woods. It was the moment golf realized it could be gritty, loud, and accessible without losing its prestige. It was a turning point for the USGA and a reminder that sometimes, the hardest test in golf is simply staying dry and keeping the ball in the short grass.