Psst, here’s all we’ve learned for certain about the juiciest sports mystery of the year: Tiger Woods is incapable of driving a Cadillac as straight as his wife swings a golf club in the middle of the night. Who knew?
During the 24/7 news cycle, there are seldom morals to the stories, only fodder to feed a gossip- hungry scroll with the insatiable appetite that rolls nonstop at the bottom of our television screens.
Sorry, Tiger.
No mulligans are allowed for the rich or famous in a celebrity-obsessed society.
It’s impossible to walk into our lives as a 2-year-old wunderkind smacking it dead-solid perfect off a tee on “The Mike Douglas Show,” grow up to win green jackets, endorsements and American hearts, then expect to run away and hide when you wreck the car.
Fore!
The peace of our Thanksgiving weekend was disturbed when Woods bounced his SUV off a fire hydrant and into a tree outside the family mansion on his own version of Black Friday. And what loving spouse doesn’t respond to the scene of an accident at 2:25 a.m. by packing a club to smash out car windows for a dazed, confused and bloodied hubby?
Something fails to add up on this scorecard.
The strange events at Tiger’s den in Florida read more like the lyrics of a sad country song by John Daly than a credible story.
After refusing to talk with police investigators, Woods issued this terse statement to the prying eyes of America:
Mind your own darn business.
Can’t say I blame Woods and Elin Nordegren. Their relationship definitely does not deserve to be turned into a national sport, kicked around by TMZ. Despite the fact Woods has pocketed around $1 billion for sinking putts as a very public figure, he did not get married for the benefit of our prurient curiosity.
“This is a private matter and I want to keep it that way,” Woods announced on his website.
Sorry again. Privacy ain’t happening. Woods has a better shot at teeing it up for his next round at Pebble Beach in a foursome with Ben Hogan, Dwight D. Eisenhower and Old Tom Morris.
The silent treatment won’t cut it for the most famous athlete on the planet. We the people of the United States, a country of hopeless gossips, let our imaginations run wild as fast as we can google images of Rachel Uchitel, a New York nightclub hostess alleged by the National Enquirer to have rattled the bedposts with Woods, according to a story published two days before the car wreck.
There might be a war in Afghanistan and a tussle about health care, but we haven’t been this worked up about any story since being transfixed by the sight of an empty silver balloon soaring across the sky in Colorado. Does that say more about Tiger or us?
Woods owes absolutely nobody an explanation for being in a fender bender. Tiger isn’t stupid. Exactly how would it make everything better at home if he bares his soul with every juicy detail of an embarrassing situation? There’s something cool in Woods telling all the gossip-mongers to get a life.
The strategy, however, contains one fatal flaw. Fair or not, Woods must deal with roughly 300 million prying neighbors across the country. They aren’t going away happy, just because Tiger admitted: “I’m human and I’m not perfect.”
Woods is a force of nature. For all his fist-pumping victories from Augusta to St. Andrews, however, he is not particularly lovable or especially cuddly if you venture too close to the ropes, and get caught in the shrapnel of a nail-spitting athlete tossing his club or caddie Steve Williams ripping to shreds a violator of Tiger’s hallowed space.
But I also remember the British Open in 2005, when Woods stood with his head bowed in the 14th fairway during a moment of silence for victims of terrorist bombings in London, then told the poignant story of how his mother had been staying in the hotel across the street from one of the deadly explosions. It was more remarkable than any shot I ever witnessed Woods crafting from the deep rough, because he offered a rare glimpse into the vulnerable heart of a Tiger, raised to show no weakness.
Kultida Woods had not wanted to tell her son about the brush with tragedy in London.
“My family doesn’t do that,” the No. 1 golfer said at the time. “When my dad had cancer, he didn’t say anything. When I had knee surgery, I didn’t say anything. We just do that. It’s one of our deals of being a Woods, I guess. Deal with things and move on.”
It goes against his nature, but if Woods took the time to share an honest peek at what happened in the wee hours of Black Friday, here’s betting America will not only forgive him any transgressions, but also might see Tiger in a way the fiercest sports competitor of his generation is almost never regarded: as a sympathetic figure. Tell the tale in a safe environment, like on a chair next to David Letterman.
A regular guy with real-life problems would only make the 14 major championships and 71 PGA Tour titles all the more remarkable.
Mark Kiszla: 303-954-1053 or mkiszla@denverpost.com
