LA JOLLA -- They roamed the right side of the seventh fairway, father and son, examining divots in the otherwise lush grass.

After five days and 91 holes that included a playoff to decide a playoff, the greatest golf tournament ever played -- and played, and played -- finally had been decided.

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The U.S. Open, extended to a gorgeous, sunny and magical Monday, was over.

Tiger Woods had just been whisked down that same Torrey Pines fairway in a golf cart. With his wife, Elin, seated next to him, Woods was headed back to the 18th green, back to claim his trophy, to say a few words for the TV cameras, to pose for pictures and to hold his baby girl.

"Probably the greatest tournament I've ever had," said Woods, the man who has won 14 of these majors, but none in a manner this unimaginable.

Shrugging off two months of rust, his doctors' advice not to play, shooting pain in his knee, four double bogeys, tee shots so wild they came to rest at the base of trees, concessions tents and in bunkers intended for adjacent holes, Woods had a week for the ages.

At times using his driver as a walking stick, Woods stamped this tournament, in terms of unfathomable story lines, alongside Jack Nicklaus winning the 1986 Masters at age 46 and 20-year-old amateur Francis Ouimet's triumph at the 1913 U.S. Open.

The fans, 25,000 of them sending up roar after thunderous roar Monday, knew they had witnessed something special. So there they were, the father and son on the seventh fairway, not ready to go home just yet. So they looked at brown patches of dirt and wondered which one marked the spot where Woods carved the latest, and greatest, chapter of his legend.

On No. 7, the first hole of a sudden-death playoff, Woods knocked his approach shot onto the green and two-putted for par, beating Rocco Mediate, who missed the fairway, the green and his par putt, but, in losing, proved to be the most fearless competitor Woods has ever faced.

The greatest moments in life, and golf, are not scripted or choreographed or rehearsed. They do not require smoke machines and confetti, cheerleaders and booming rock music.

They just sort of happen. Like this.

Rocco Mediate, 45 years old and ranked No. 158 in the world, rallying from a three-shot deficit in the 18-hole playoff. The everyman with the creaky back, receding hairline, pins in his cap and affinity for "Rocky" movies, making three straight birdies to take a one-shot lead with four holes to play.

Adoring fans were everywhere, and sure enough there were a handful standing along the 15th fairway whistling the "Rocky" theme song as he strolled past.

Fittingly, Mediate drained a 35-foot birdie putt on that hole, then knocked his knees together and laughed in amazement. The man who survived a playoff just to qualify for the tournament and, on Sunday, couldn't even calculate the odds of beating Woods in a playoff now led by one shot with three holes to play.

"I told (Woods) I wanted to go up against him one time, one last time in something big," Mediate said about his friend. "I gave him the best that I had, and it wasn't quite good enough."

Woods, meanwhile, wasn't close to the top of his game. He might never be again. It's that left knee. Operated on three times now, it took weeks longer than expected to recover from the last surgery, two months ago.

"It's the greatest performance I've ever seen," said Woods' swing coach, Hank Haney. "When this started, I didn't even know if he could walk 18 holes."

At one point during the tournament, Woods remarked, "it's only pain," when talking about his knee. He might, or might not, be healed in time for the British Open, a month away. He might never be fully recovered.

"Yes," he allowed when asked if he might have further damaged it. "But I won."

Indeed. Woods was born to win major tournaments, no matter what, consequences be damned.

His gutsy performance will be added to a chapter of the greatest in sports.

That list includes flu-ridden Michael Jordan leading the Chicago Bulls to the 1997 NBA title, Steve Yzerman, skating on a broken leg and leading the Detroit Red Wings to the 2002 Stanley Cup and Kirk Gibson hitting a game-winning home run despite a shredded knee in the 1988 World Series.

Oblivious to the marshal trying hopelessly to usher the thousands of fans who surged under the ropes and swarmed the seventh fairway, they stood there -- father and son, inspecting a patch of dirt.

"I think it's this one right here," the boy said. "This is where Tiger hit his shot."

Yes, his father nodded.

"You're probably right."

Contact sports editor Loren Nelson at (760) 740-3551 or lnelson@nctimes.com.