Friday, December 4, 2009

The Lie of The Tiger

I am a disagreeable sort. I recognize that fact. I recognize as well that to any number of casual observers (or my wife for that matter) that my disagreeable nature is a limitation. As my favorite American philosopher once observed, "A man has got to know his limitations." I simply do not join in the Roman chorus calling for Tiger Woods' balls to be driven off a tee as far as possible now that we have learned that his nerves of steel are positioned atop feet of clay.

Do not misunderstand: I have little patience for those who pay lip service to the presumptive sanctity of their wedding vows. And if Mrs. Woods was my daughter or my little sister than young Eldrick and I would be having a discussion about my fist playing through the back of his head. She is not. Therefore he and I shall not be having that conversation. And since he is a billionaire professional athlete and I am - well let us just say that I am not and leave it at that OK (it is a bit early in the day for me to start an uncontrollable crying jag) he and I will likely never engage in any conversation.

If people choose to write to the companies who pay Tiger to endorse their products such as Gatorade, Gillette, American Express and Nike to rail against him continuing in that role - although good luck with the folks from the Land of the Swoosh who pay children in impoverished nations 3 fish heads a day to assemble the products that they sell through the world at bust-out retail prices - feel free to do so. America is a great place that way. While I do not think it is worth busting a blood vessel over, if you do then you have every right to be heard.

Just do me a favor. Meet hue and cry on a corner somewhere far out of earshot of my neighborhood. Right about the time that this particular professional athlete gets elected to public office or appointed to a position of public trust slightly more significant than #1 Singles player on the U.S. Ryder Cup Team, I will commence feigning disappointment and outrage at the apparently asinine way in which he lives his personal life. Until that happens - I will watch him play golf and otherwise continue to enjoy the same "your twain and my twain never leave from the same station" approach to living my life as juxtaposed against his that has worked so well thus far for both of us. I am curious to know however - just because my favorite element of human behavior is our hypocrisy - how many of those who are screaming for Elin Woods to go "Big Bertha" all over her husband expressed a similar degree of outrage when President Clinton was caught on the receiving end of knob-polishing sessions in the Oval Office while he was collecting a government paycheck.

Apropos of nothing I suppose other than my lack of appreciation for adults who wear hats that make we wonder what today's free flavor of soup was, a piece of unsolicited advice to Jesper Parnevik. When your career as a professional golfer has reached the point that your relevancy is reduced to your role as the guy on tour who introduced the present Mr. Woods and Mrs. Woods to one another, it is time to work on your short game.


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