Tiger! Tiger! Tiger!
Didn't you read the "moral turpitude" clause in your Nike contract? It clearly states "this contract will be null and void in the event your aggrieved spouse takes a three iron to the back window of your Escalade any time after 2:00 AM". Didn't anyone ever remind you of the words of Confucius who wrote "He who wishes to become the idol of millions would do well to keep his putter in his bag". Of course Confucius probably didn't spend much time at Vegas cocktail lounges.
All kidding aside (and that may take some time) this story sucks. A lot of people admired Tiger Woods; me included. For almost 34 years he has been letter perfect. Perfect childhood (so far as we know), perfect golf career, spotless reputation, sponsor's dream and, in a world of dirty laundry, a seemingly focused professional. Tragically, he now appears to have been focused on his next horizontal mambo. And see, that's the tragedy. Sexual dalliance allows for endless ridicule. Jokes about his driver alone could fill a book. It's one thing to have a drug problem or a martini jones. People shake their heads and wish you well in rehab. However, if your particular brand of peccadillo (see, still funny) involves playing hide the mashie with ladies to whom you are not currently married, you quickly become grist for the comedy mill. No one feels sorry for a guy who spends his off hours diddling his way through the western world.
Another impediment to understanding is Tiger's wife is gorgeous. True, the grass is always greener at someone else's country club (sorry!) but most people are baffled as to why Tiger would feel the need to stray from such a beautiful course (Sorry again). This is especially vexing in that a silver dollar would cover all three women. Is the fillet in Vegas better than the filly at home? (OK now I'm embarrassing myself.)
For those who say that this is a private matter between Tiger and his wife (and the bimbos and the lawyers), stop yourself. When you live a public life, when your income is derived from the image you project, you don't get to decide to suddenly become Joe Average American. The price you pay for the privilege of selling Accenture and Nike and Gatorade and Buicks and Gillette shavers is that you are special and worthy of emulation. Tiger isn't the ideal pitchman because he's a great golfer. He's also a great black golfer and good looking and, up until now, appeared to embody the American ideal. And that's why this story sucks. We all thought it was OK to look up to Tiger Woods. Turns out the guy we admired like Jack Kennedy turned out to be all too much like...Jack Kennedy.
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