ATLANTA » Spending two weeks covering Michelle Wie and Tiger Woods gave us insight to how difficult golf can be when you're the most recognizable figures in the game.

Playing in the first major events on their respective tours, these two millionaires many times over aren't scratching out a living, moving from town to town in hopes of surviving the cut or sleeping in a rent-a-car to make ends meet. They aren't worried about where their next meal is coming from or if they can afford the flight and hotel costs that accompany them every stop of the way.

You ask yourself, “;What is the motivation for Michelle? Why does Tiger work so hard to perfect perfection?”; It's a simple answer, really. The mythical Roy Hobbs put it this way: “;I coulda been better. I coulda broke every record in the book.”; Iris Gaines asks, “;And then?”;

“;And then? And then when I walked down the street people would've looked and they would've said there goes Roy Hobbs, the best there ever was in this game.”;

Time will tell if either will be the best there ever was; Woods is far closer than Wie, but both have the natural ability to achieve greatness in perhaps the most difficult game to remain on top for long. The mental fatigue of playing 18 holes in a major championship when most things are going right is difficult enough.

But when the swing goes south, when the tiny imperfections take a 68 and turn it into a 73, where a missed 5-footer here or an errant drive there are the differences between winning and finishing tied for 25th, you get the idea how difficult remaining the game's most recognizable figures can be.

It's a curse as well as a gift.

During my four days with Michelle, I saw a big difference in the way she handles herself on and off the golf course. Her parents are still with her every step of the way, but the teenager who did everything she was told is growing into a woman who will be in control of her own life soon enough.

She practices hard. She swings and swings and swings at the range, sending high-arcing shots into the early morning and late-evening air with practiced precision. Hitting a bucket of golf balls before teeing it up for real is one thing, but it's quite another to go do it again and again after a round is done to find out how those small imperfections can be dealt with effectively.

Then there is the time spent putting, chipping; finding a rhythm that you can take with you wherever you go in the most important moments of competition. This isn't a complete life of luxury where money flows like Wall Street. It's time spent playing pro-ams with sponsors, having lunch with advertising executives and then going home so you can get up early and do it all again.

For Woods, his time on the range is just as punishing. If he doesn't hit it steady and true every time — and believe me folks, he doesn't — the rage he feels inside to be the best there ever was in the game manifests itself much like a 10-year-old who tops it off the tee. He curses, slams his club and yells at the gods for not doing their part.

Like Wie, he has given up so much of his time since he was a 2-year-old phenom to this game, that he feels entitled to do whatever he wants in his private time. It's hard for the mere mortals to understand this, but if you spent 24 hours in his spikes, you might have a better feeling what makes this man tick.

In a scene in the movie “;Out of Africa”; Karen Blixen is leaving the continent for good when one of her closest associates asks, “;What of me.”; Blixen tells him he will be taken care of, and he responds, “;I do not speak of money.”;

This is no longer about cash for Woods or Wie; it's about a sense of place in history and how they will be remembered. As Iris Gaines said, “;And then?”; That's what motivates these two players most. They don't want to talk about then just yet. Now is all that matters.

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Sports editor Paul Arnett covers golf for the Star-Bulletin.