You know, when Tiger Woods apologised to me, I didn’t get it.
I didn’t feel like I needed an apology from him, did you? His wife, now she deserved an apology. But me? Nuh-uh. What do I care where he dips his wick? It has no bearing on my life, at all.
And really, fame sucks. If every guy who ever laid some pipe on the side had to take to the airwaves to make a pubic apology, holy christ, there’d be nothing else on TV from now until the end of time.
Using your dead father to reingratiate yourself with your corporate masters and middle America, on the other hand? Now that is an act of creepy, crappy whoredom for you.
Honestly, I really truly do not care what Tiger does with his penis. I’d care if I were his wife, but I’m not so I don’t, and frankly have no idea why anyone else gives a fiddler’s foxtrot. I don’t think it was nice or right or good of him to do what he did, but I think it was not all that surprising and I think it makes him no worse than any other human being who transgresses in this particular way. I’d be willing to place a pretty hefty bet that any number of the CEOs of the corporate entities with which he’s associated have a piece or pieces on the side too. But I bet no matter how those little extracurriculars play out, few of those men will be subject to such thorough-going public pillorying.
That being said, I think Tiger’s shown us something really unseemly about himself with this Nike thing but I guess that’s morality in the age of advertising.