When Tiger Woods as a 20-year-old golf prodigy stepped onto the world stage in the summer of 1996, he carried with him an amateur record the likes of which had never before been assembled, that toothy grin, that not-yet-famous stare, and a cockiness unveiled when he made it known that his goal was to eclipse Jack Nicklaus’ record of 18 major wins.

Already most of the golfing world loved the man formerly known as Eldrick, and the rest loathed him, which has been the single constant throughout his career.

During the next 11 years, Woods, often executing shots that defied physics, stayed in front of his major promise, picking up a Masters, U.S. Open, British Open or PGA Championship here and there, often by stupid margins, once possessing all four trophies at one time — the architect of and sole owner of the Tiger Slam. Speculation grew that he would not only surpass Nicklaus’ record, but that would happen early on the back nine of his career.

After winning his 14th major in the 2008 U.S. Open, managing it with a double stress fracture and a torn ACL in his left leg, Woods was just five wins from setting the new standard, and 31 years old, when most golfers are reaching their prime. He had put together the greatest decade of golf ever, amassed hundreds of millions of dollars, had a trophy blonde wife from Sweden, and driven golf’s growth into a worldwide sport that for the first time since Arnie’s prime was cool.

What he didn’t amass was a bunch of friends.

Woods didn’t care. That was never part of the plan. Being buddies with the guys in the group was a distraction. There were majors to win.

He embraced his reputation as being aloof, unapproachable, and arrogant — all of which, when on display with his famous red shirt and that stare, served him handsomely on Sundays. The intimidation was real.

What Woods never did was disrespect the game, despite the occasional toss of the club in fury, and his getting a bit of help from his fan club while moving the world’s largest pebble in an Arizona desert.

But just as Nicklaus’ record seemed a foregone conclusion, it suddenly was too long a carry. A not-so-funny thing happened to Woods — life.

He was recast as mortal. He was an adulterer with a weakness for wine and women. His body was not made of steel, and it was breaking down. He had cravings, some of them not admirable. His worst sin, a least in his mind: He lost a major he had led on Sunday.

There also was an influx of golfing talent to deal with that Woods had himself inspired. The wins continued to pile up, but not the majors.

Until Sunday, when Woods, now almost unrecognizable except for that red shirt and stare that no longer mocked his former greatness, put the finishing touch on what is certainly in the conversation as the greatest comeback in all of sports.

It was his 15th major, revitalizing talk of Nicklaus’ record. It was his 81st tour win, one short of Sam Snead’s all-time mark. And it was a very bold bullet point in his favor as GOAT, which is bolstered by this defiant fact: In his 22-year career, Woods has won 23 percent of the time he teed it up; Jack Nicklaus, whose percentage is skewed downward a tad by ceremonial golf at the end of his career, won at a 12 percent clip.

Woods could go zero for his next 300 starts and his winning percentage would still be higher than Nicklaus’. Yes, feel free to check our math.

Woods’ good use of life’s mulligan was a triumph over many things, but mostly his own self — four surgeries on the back and four also on his knees that two years ago had him embedded in his recliner; his frailties as a human; his dalliance with prescription medicine to control the pain; and that long shadow of expectations he had established as Eldrick.

Woods now had as a 15th club humility, which was force fed to him when the game he loved was taken away, and he was like the rest of us, craving what he once was. His love of golf endures, but it is a platonic romance: Winning remains important, but is no longer paramount. With his win in the Tour Championship last year, he had already made a fool of the pundits who had said never again, and given the rest of us a lesson on perseverance and hard work.

This win was delicious for other reasons, including that his children, Sam and Charlie, greeted dad beside the 18th green as Woods’ own father had when he won the Masters in 1997. But there were also a dozen or so fellow golf professionals, of multiple generations, waiting for Woods, high-fiving him and yukking it up, happy for their buddy, but also anticipating what his resurrection meant for their game and their bank accounts.

It was a sight that once could not have been imagined.

And a joy to see.