As Woods attempts another comeback – this weekend's is the biggest comeback because it follows the longest lay-off, for 16 months and multiple surgeries – the meaning of his story is once again contemplated, and as each year passes since his fall from grace, it just seems more and more mind-boggling. (Woods is nine shots off the pace after the opening round of the Hero World Challenge in the Bahamas). Exactly seven years ago this week, Woods drove into a fire hydrant, triggering the collapse of the house of cards that was his reputation. It is the No.1 sporting fable of our times, the celebrity shocker that most echoes ancient mythology.

At one level, Woods's legacy is unchallengeable. When Ralph Waldo Emerson was knocking around, someone of Woods's racial background was not a person in the US, let alone a man. That a golfer with a black father and a Thai mother could dominate the whitest of white sports was a transcendent and indelible achievement.

As with Muhammad Ali, race was one of many storylines. Could you make it up? An African-Asian-American is not only the greatest golfer but the highest-paid sportsman ever. But he leads a secret life, concealed not only from his family but from his professional inner circle, and once it is uncovered, his disgrace is as complete as was his domination. His body collapses, and so does his mind, to the point where he cannot fulfil the most basic requirement of his sport. His career dies of shame. Only Shakespeare or the ancients could have concocted such a story, yet it has happened in our midst, broken by the National Enquirer and amplified by Facebook.

Golfers know that Woods, on the course, died of shame. Ernie Els, who knows him well, prognosticated this week about Woods's comeback: 'It's what you think of yourself. It's what you think where you are. We look at this great player, but he's not seeing the same stuff in his own mind ... To look at other people looking at you like, 'Hey, you're not the same guy,' that's hard to take."

Here's the guy Ernie Els is: at this year's Masters, he six-putted the first green on the first day, putting himself out of the tournament as soon as it started. After walking off the 18th green, he spent about 45 minutes with media and other ghouls, all asking him about his humiliation. He gave interview after interview, genuinely puzzling over what had happened, wracking his brain for an explanation. That's a true champion, to be so open and generous when others would run and hide and find someone else to blame. That's also the culture of the sport in which Woods shamed himself.

Els's list of achievements would have been longer than his four majors if not for Woods winning 14, as their peak years coincided. Yet Els has no rancour, only a keen perception of the truth about Woods. It wasn't his knee that stopped him winning majors, it wasn't his back; it was what he thought of himself before, and what he thought of himself after.

Woods had the complete golf game, but what won him the big prizes was his ability to sink crucial short putts. It was his superior nerve. And that superiority, it turns out, was built upon the aura he created, convincing his rivals that he was not only a better golfer, but mentally invincible, a flawless competitor but also an impervious individual. The only chinks were occasional surliness and bad temper. But as Els and others have admitted, from 1997 to 2008 he had them beaten before they stepped on the course.

Who would have thought that moral disgrace, sexual promiscuity of all things, could unpick a sporting masterpiece? So many have been exposed as all-too-human, yet recovery and redemption are part of the cycle. Not, so far, with Woods. It was the shame that cracked his putting stroke and that mental shell he lived in, and the shame, the humiliation, that persuaded a new generation that he was far from unbeatable. For his whole life, he had walked onto golf courses believing that everyone out there, whether they loved him or feared him, respected him; and now he was walking out there with the knowledge that everyone thought they could see through him, mocked him. Being flawed wasn't what mattered. It was that he was the biggest hypocrite, the biggest phoney. He wasn't real. Golf found him out.

Can he reach the top again? I really hope he does. If you are a sporting romantic like me, you would have spent some years barracking against Woods. You wanted Jack Nicklaus's 18 majors to keep its unreachable lustre. You cheered for underdogs like Rich Beem and Y.E. Yang and Zach Johnson against Woods, and pitied those like Els, Vijay Singh and Phil Mickelsen who seemed doomed to live in Woods's shadow. Then, you went through a phase of satisfaction at his fall. He had feet of clay. But now – now you would love a real comeback. It's far from impossible, as he is still, preposterously, only 40 years old. He won't dominate as he did, but he can win majors. Perhaps.

Golf does not need Woods as it appeared to need him seven years ago. Competition at the top is as healthy, with drawcards such as Jordan Spieth, Jason Day, Rory McIlroy, Dustin Johnson and Henrik Stenson at their peaks. The king of games lacks nothing. But if Woods could get back into contention in a major, tie down that roof. He remains the most charismatic sportsman in the world and golf's biggest star. At the British Open at Hoylake two years ago, I followed Woods as he self-destructed a good position into an epic battle to make the cut. While McIlroy was running away with the tournament, playing at an unbeatable standard, Woods's gallery was four times greater. The support from the crowd was overwhelming. Whatever you think of Woods, masses upon masses of people want him to be great again because they are drawn to the bright light of history. Can he win tournaments? Can he win majors? Nothing would be more exciting; and yet golf is also a theatre for the dramatisation of darker questions: What does this man think about all day long, and will this show us, in the end, what he really is?