I’ve moved beyond titillation in the Tiger Woods’ saga. Now I’m consumed with a couple of other thoughts.
The story is no longer especially interesting. Now it’s just sad.
Women continue to come out of the woodwork, or I suppose that should be “Woods-work,” each seemingly now offering more salacious details than the other.
Tiger and his wife, Elin Nordegren, seem to be in hiding. Good for them.
That does not mean I condone what he did. I don’t. I am sure I will never look at him quite the same again. There was a time when I could not take my eyes off the TV screen when Tiger was in contention on Sunday afternoon. He was mesmerizing. Now he’s a sideshow.
I shudder to think of just what kind of circus will ensue when Tiger returns to the tour in January or February. I’m kind of imagining something out of “Happy Gilmore.” He made his bed – literally. Now he gets to sleep in it. That won’t be his problem. His real issue will be escaping it. He used to do that on the golf course, where his legendary powers of concentration simply would put him in a zone that no one could penetrate. He’s likely going to find things just a little different when he returns.
For me, I’m pulling the plug. I’ve heard enough. I don’t need any more details.
I do, however, believe the story simply reinforces something I’ve become more and more convinced of in our media-driven, celebrity-soaked society.
We have lost our sense of shame.
There was a time when people involved in such tawdry behavior simply withdrew to deal with their issues in private. Now they go on the “Today” Show.
It’s called getting your 15 minutes of fame.
By my count, Tiger’s harem is now working on a couple of hours. The last number I heard of women coming forward to claim an affair with the greatest golfer on the planet is 12. Maybe he should make a calendar.
It is why we have been saddled with reality TV, with Jon & Kate (with or without their 8), parents who concoct a story about their son being afloat in a home-made hot air balloon, or a couple that decides to crash a state dinner at the White House.
I used to wonder just how low we could go. I don’t wonder any more. I just shake my head.
How sad.
The story is no longer especially interesting. Now it’s just sad.
Women continue to come out of the woodwork, or I suppose that should be “Woods-work,” each seemingly now offering more salacious details than the other.
Tiger and his wife, Elin Nordegren, seem to be in hiding. Good for them.
That does not mean I condone what he did. I don’t. I am sure I will never look at him quite the same again. There was a time when I could not take my eyes off the TV screen when Tiger was in contention on Sunday afternoon. He was mesmerizing. Now he’s a sideshow.
I shudder to think of just what kind of circus will ensue when Tiger returns to the tour in January or February. I’m kind of imagining something out of “Happy Gilmore.” He made his bed – literally. Now he gets to sleep in it. That won’t be his problem. His real issue will be escaping it. He used to do that on the golf course, where his legendary powers of concentration simply would put him in a zone that no one could penetrate. He’s likely going to find things just a little different when he returns.
For me, I’m pulling the plug. I’ve heard enough. I don’t need any more details.
I do, however, believe the story simply reinforces something I’ve become more and more convinced of in our media-driven, celebrity-soaked society.
We have lost our sense of shame.
There was a time when people involved in such tawdry behavior simply withdrew to deal with their issues in private. Now they go on the “Today” Show.
It’s called getting your 15 minutes of fame.
By my count, Tiger’s harem is now working on a couple of hours. The last number I heard of women coming forward to claim an affair with the greatest golfer on the planet is 12. Maybe he should make a calendar.
It is why we have been saddled with reality TV, with Jon & Kate (with or without their 8), parents who concoct a story about their son being afloat in a home-made hot air balloon, or a couple that decides to crash a state dinner at the White House.
I used to wonder just how low we could go. I don’t wonder any more. I just shake my head.
How sad.
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