Watching the media coverage of the Tiger Woods “scandal,” I sometimes have to consult my calendar to see if I am indeed living in a twenty first century democracy, or if the clock has been turned back to the Puritan run Massachusetts Bay Colony of my paternal forebears, or Inquisition era Spain with its auto da fes, i.e. public burnings of heretics and other “unrepentant sinners.”
How many times is Mr. Woods going to be asked to perform the grand guignol of a public mea culpa for transgressions that effectively hurt and concern no one but his wife and children? It is to them, not to us that he owes explanations, abject apologies, and acts of atonement. He was certainly prolific in his exploits, and apparently employed the same selection code for his playmates as a restricted country club does for membership: women of color need not apply. (I have filed a formal complaint with the NAAAAB, the National Association for the Advancement of African American Bimbos to protest our blatant lack of representation in ANY of the current sex scandals from Eliot Spitzer to Tikki Barber. Not even Jesse James gave a chance to a tramp stamp covered cutie of a darker hue. What up, guys? ) In the conduct of his affairs, Mr. Woods showed a crack addict’s lack of judgment, and very poor taste, but should we forever condemn him to the public stocks for pillorying?
In this country, to my knowledge, adultery is not a crime punishable by stoning (isn’t that the purview of Muslim theocracies misinterpreting Sharia?) Rampant extramarital sex has pervaded the world of professional sports since time immemorial, yes, even the “gentlemanly sport” of golf. There are iconic figures whose Don Juanesque exploits leave Tiger’s in the sand trap. These lotharios just had the good fortune not to experience their career peaks in the era of the insatiable beast: the 24 hour tabloid press.
After his first public apology, Mr. Woods was lambasted for “contrition deficiency” and for refusing to take questions. What, pray tell, did his inquisitors plan to ask that they felt the public had a right, nay, a vital need to know? His favorite IHOP dish, other than superannuated waitresses? Rachel Uchitel’s views on Nuclear Non Proliferation and the Arab/Israeli conflict? Adding to the absurdity, his first apology coincided with the release of a film by the director and convicted statutory rapist, Roman Polanski. Where was the outrage over this man’s continued evasion of the law twenty odd years after he drugged and sodomized a thirteen-year old girl? Is it because his victim remains faceless? Somehow, in Mr. Polanski’s case, the press was able to make the distinction between his work and his personal life (which arguably ceased to be “personal” when he faced trial, was found guilty and became a fugitive from justice) and grant him raves for a fine film.
Some will argue it is because Tiger set himself up as an all American family man and role model for youth (and garnered highly profitable product endorsements in the process.) I submit this scandal offers families the ultimate teaching moment: an opportunity to give our children a lesson in human complexity, for us to teach them that extreme competence in one area does not imply perfection in all others. This forces us to show our children the difference between fame (our society’s Golden Calf) and heroism. As we clamor for Tiger to “take responsibility for his misdeeds,” does this episode not remind us to define our own core values and uphold them ourselves, rather than place that responsibility on nipped and tucked celebrities, “overpaid” sports figures and, Heaven forbid, our all too human and horny political leaders?
The self-righteousness of Mr. Woods’ detractors reached its apex in the coverage of the Masters. We began with a homily from the head of Augusta National (which didn’t admit blacks into membership until 1990 and still does not accept women.) Billy Payne, in a moment unprecedented in the annals of the tournament, used the press conference to lambast Mr. Woods for “disappointing our kids and grand kids,” and warned him he would forevermore be judged by his behavior off the course. Thank you, Reverend Payne. (How will history and the good reverend’s grand-daughters judge him for upholding discriminatory policies against women?) The day after the tournament, sports writer Jay Mariotti described Mickelson’s moving victory as “a very necessary and uplifting moment at a time when scandals—including a very trashy one involving Tiger Woods have demoralized the American spirit.”
Really? Hmm. I’d no idea I was “demoralized” but that explains the malaise I’ve been feeling lately. It’s not the still struggling economy, the seemingly endless onslaught of recent natural disasters, the specter of terrorism and global warming. It’s that a golfer I’ve never met has cheated on a woman I don’t know, leaving me and the rest of America with nothing to believe in apparently, except perhaps a few real heroes in our own lives, and, oh yes, God. Thank you for the clarification, Mr. Mariotti. Now we understand our creeping despondency.
Later on in the same piece, Mr. Mariotti betrayed the insidious tribalism underlying his “moral outrage.” “Finally,” he wrote “we have some justice in the world. The right man won.” Last time I checked, tournaments were a test of athletic ability not of the world’s fairness. Is Mr. Mariotti really suggesting Tiger didn’t rightfully earn and deserve his previous myriad victories because of his failures as a husband? This journalist’s words offer an eerie echo of Jack London’s resentful coverage of black boxer Jack Johnson’s victory over Australian, Tommy Burns in the heavyweight championship fight of 1908 that became a parable of the struggle for racial dominance. “A golden smile was Johnson’s…Jeffries must emerge from his alfalfa farm and remove that golden smile from Johnson’s face. Jeff, it’s up to you. The white man must be rescued,” London seethed in the Herald Tribune, appealing to the white former heavyweight champion, James Jeffries to emerge from retirement and put the “upstart” Johnson (and by extension, all people of color) back in his place.
It appears that underlying much of the unrighteous indignation over Tiger’s transgressions and fall from grace is a Iago-esque resentment of his “unforgivable prowess,“ athletic and sexual. Though, since the beginning of his career, Mr. Woods has steadfastly refused to fly any ethnic flag and avoided racial controversy at all costs, at the end of the day, he represents the “other,” a man of many colors who like Jack Johnson before him, has dared to beat our country’s dominant group at their own game and like the irreverent, unapologetic boxer, “stolen” the flower of Anglo Saxon womanhood. In winning, Mickelson became, in effect, the latter day “great white hope” of Jack London’s dreams, restoring the “natural order of things” as he, an indisputably heroic white man swung his way to victory and then bestowed a kiss on his equally heroic blonde wife. Petty, threatened men could heave a sigh of relief. They had not, after all, lost everything to the “lesser races.” (In another country, the rivalry would be Serbs vs. Croats, Hutus vs. Tutsis, Ughyurs vs. ethnic Chinese. Here, the battle is joined between so-called whites and so-called blacks.) Through their exemplary behavior in the face of horrid health challenges, the Mickelsons have no doubt earned their bounty of praise and respect. Surely though, Tiger, given all he has accomplished in his young life, deserves far less scorn. Can we not spare just a bit of the compassion heaped upon the Mickelsons for him, our erstwhile pride and supernova? The press’s “punishment” of him seems grossly out of proportion with his “crime.” As Tiger’s relentless critics stoop to pick up yet more stones, it might behoove them to look within their own souls and ask why it feels so good and so important to hurl them.
