Oh, I’d love to say that I’d rather watch the “sport” that grabs our quadrennial bemused attention during the Winter Olympiad. And I do turn in to this exercise in beer shuffleboard on ice from time to time, when the clicker slips in my hand. Okay, even on purpose.
But, as an observer of the passing pop cultural scene, I am also just as fascinated by the whole Tiger Woods imbroglio.
There is a part of me, a part I’m not so proud of, that wants to see Woods go down for the count. And that arrogant caddie of his with him. Kind of like you secretly got a chuckle in high school when the captain of the football team who was going steady with the girl of your dreams got caught cheating on his algebra test and suspended from school and kicked off the team. (I went to a high school with a good academic tradition and no football tradition at all. Unlike most places, the star of the team would have been booted for a transgression.)
I am so sure I’ll tune in tomorrow to see what young Eldrick has to say for himself. To see if one of the invited members of the media shouts out a question even though the golfer’s handlers have advised in advance that Mr. Money Bags won’t take any queries from the floor? To see if there is any heartfelt mea culpa whatsoever? To see if that babelicious nanny wife of his stands by her man?
Most of all to wait for the post-statement anschluss of shit Tiger’s surely to get. For failing to address all of the issues that have been raised. For failing to answer any questions. For failing to show an ounce of humanity.
I’ve always believed that legitimate contrition goes a long way. If I were handling Tiger I’d have advised him long ago to fess up to all he’s done. I’d have him move to a place of humility for his talent, and understanding why people are so pissed. And I’d tell him to stand there and answer every stupid question from any reporter who wanted to attend, even if they have to have the presser in the JerryJonesDome.
Then I’d tell him to enter the tournament the following week . . . with a new caddie.
– Seedy K
– Seedy K