Am I the only person who simply can’t muster any more interest in the Tiger Woods infidelity story?
“Then whatcha writing a column about it for, Mr. Elitist-Intellectual-Above-The-Fray-Snobasaurus?”
Well. We know that’s not true.
My new favorite show is “Metalocalypse” on Adult Swim. Huge William Murderface and Nathan Explosion fan.
So don’t give me that.
I don’t think I ever had much capacity to attach myself to these types of stories, though, and that tank has sprung so many leaks by now that the Tigerevelations that have been pouring forth non-stop since he smacked into that fire hydrant just run down the pipes for me as fast as gravity can do its thing.
Full disclosure: I’m a Phil guy.
Among golf fans, you’re either in the Tiger camp or the Phil camp, and never the twain shall meet.
I haven’t preserved in lucite the blades of grass that the wind blew into my face off Phil’s iron when I watched him hit out of a remote section of rough at the Hartford Open many years ago, I’m not groupie-level crazy, but he’s my guy, and Tiger, well . . .
Pro golf, especially the majors, will always be exponentially more interesting with Tiger in it, even if you’re rooting like crazy against him.
I admit that I let out a little snicker every time Tiger jacks a drive way off course or misses a putt and does the incredulous jaw-drop as he walks up to tap in for bogey.
Needless to say, when he gets back on the course someday, that will surely not change.
But schadenfreude is vastly different from ambivalence, and I take no pleasure in seeing Tiger’s epic downfall off the course. It would be natural to assume that I’m lapping up this Tiger dirt, based on my Phil affiliation, but it just isn’t happening.
There’s just . . . nothing.
It didn’t take long for everyone to get the picture that this guy is some kind of dirtbag. He’s a jerk. End of story, right?
Except that it isn’t.
New sewage keeps rolling in, and you know this even if you don’t seek it out, because it finds you.
As of Friday, the New York Post had had the Tiger saga on its front page for 19 straight days, tying its own record.
The previous best? 9/11.
The only bright side out of all this is that one of my old favorites, Garry Trudeau, has been hitting home runs left and right with Doonesbury. A recent strip featured a breaking item on TV reporter Roland Hedley’s Twitter feed: “Comedy writers fear layoffs as nearly 2,000 Tiger jokes write themselves.”
Maybe there was a day in the past when this ever-growing Tiger slag heap could’ve held my attention, but I’ve had that beaten out of me by the countless gossipy trash stories that have become such a lucrative industry in this country.
People have made careers on the backs of victims like Jon Benet Ramsey and scoundrels like O.J. Simpson.
This is what passes for product in a country where entertainment is an “industry.”
We’re bleeding manufacturing jobs with no end in sight, but the business of leisure time and self-gratification continues to thrive.
A big part of it with Tiger, already, is speculation about when he’ll be on tour again, because, you know, people just love a good comeback story.
Here’s a sentence starter you’ve probably been hearing a lot lately: “I can’t wait to find out [fill in sordid detail/development] . . .”
Me? I can wait.
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