Commentary: Focus on leaderboard, not on Tiger's wrongdoings

By Casey Michel     3/18/10 7:00pm

Last week, I was tasked with preparing a speech on why America may or may not be in moral decline. Pondering my options, I figured I could cite homicide rates, marijuana decriminalization and same-sex marriage - all the sociological strictures that comprise the glut of this nation's moral conversation. That is to say, all the points people are expecting me to discuss. And then I realized I didn't have to do any of this. Instead, I could just talk about Tiger Woods.

We all know the saga: the billionaire talent, the Stepford golfer whose only slips happened when nicking himself in Gillette commercial outtakes. Tiger lorded like a benevolent dictator, bearing down on Jack Nicklaus with enough fire, enough assuredness, to make the Golden Bear accede the crown before Tiger had even reached 18 majors. His physique and success were the embodiment of 21st-century Americana perfection, and his brand cowed all competition.

Yet his celebrity status turned him drunk, and with Delilahs at every turn, our Samson of Swing came crashing down in a quake heard from Augusta to Athens.

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Or so we've been told to think. With all of these tantalizing Tiger tidbits shoved down our throat - soft-core porn! Midnight phone calls! Tiger and real tigers! - it's easy to think that Tiger seeped himself in a soap opera dripping with enough drama to make TV executives whip themselves in how-did-we-not-think-of-that fashion.

But it's also easy, far too easy, to lose perspective of the matter at hand.

See, there are those who harp on the negatives of sport, on the Leonard Littles and Ray Lewises and Floyd Landises of the world, pointing and chiding and assuming that all those who compete for a living carry similarly murky ethics. And, to an extent, they have their point: Bad apples do fall, as anyone owning a Michael Vick jersey can attest.

But Tiger, well, Tiger's not one of them. Look at the facts: He didn't end anyone's life, didn't climb behind the steering wheel after a cocktail or three, and didn't bust up Phil Mickelson's knees with a nine-iron. He didn't sneak millions from his community in unpaid taxes, and he didn't cheat his competitors. He neither lied to nor defrauded his audience.

He simply cheated on his wife.

Of course, such a simplification glosses over the emphatic and seemingly arrogant way with which Tiger found his dalliances. The man may not be rivaling Wilt Chamberlain's bedside record, but Tiger certainly slept with enough women for Hugh Hefner to take notice. The fact that it remained a secret for so many years, that his mistresses were willing to keep their trap shut and that the National Enquirer - in between stories of Rosie O'Donnell's alien communications, naturally - broke the story, is a testament to Tiger's dedication to the sidelines.

But the fact of the matter remains. Tiger hurt one group and one group alone: his family. His is an intensely personal hurt, and as such his retributions should be kept behind closed doors. And it is no business of the puffed-up moralists, those shouting from Mt. Soapbox demanding Tiger be strung up and kicked out.

Of course, arguments could be made that Tiger also injured the game that gave him everything and that his fans deserve a higher level of trust and a lower level of lust. And that's a nice thought, certainly, but its naivety is surpassed only by its ridiculousness. The PGA Tour can't deal with the dent to the millions it takes in each month? And Tiger's fans were forced to go without him playing in, what, the Accenture Open? We're actually crying over this?

Now, I'm not saying that what Tiger did was right. Boiled down, the matter is simple: His marriage, which hewed a pair of gleaming children, was founded on a vow of faith. And while adultery is all too commonplace in society, his word was still broken.

His improprieties were obvious to everyone in this saga, from the plastic surgery bimbos, to his ignorant, indolent caddie, to his delirious agent, Mark Steinberg, who asked reporters to "please give the kid a break." All who took part, either wittingly or through feigned ignorance, should feel the pain of regret now that Elin and the children have been laid bare by the media's and the nation's slobbering. So Tiger and his ilk should apologize, heartily, sincerely. He should see the necessary therapists and grovel for however long Elin wants.

And that, frankly, is it. They are the only ones who should be dealing with the matter - not the gossiping hordes, not the scratch-and-claw media. Tiger and his family should be left to their own devices, on their own time, in their own manner.

Of course, when Tiger returns - which looks to be in next month's Masters - the theories of his success or failure will hinge solely on what effect the end of his affair had. He'll be on the pursuit for his fifth green jacket, and the field will finally have a measure to mark its progress. But this pursuit, to the chagrin of true gold fans, will be nothing if not a non-story, for America and its media will still be tailing Tiger's trysts.

I want nothing more than to be proven wrong. I want Tiger's love life to be checked at the front gate. It is up to the fans and to the media to decide when they've had their fill, and I pray that time has finally come. And that, I believe, will tell me more about America's moral compass than gay marriage and marijuana ever could.

Casey Michel is a Brown College senior and former Thresher editor in chief.

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