I told myself I wasn't going to write about it. I told myself that, when Tiger Woods finally emerged from his self−inflicted divot and addressed the media about his various transgressions, I would keep my opinions to myself. After all, who am I to condemn one of the most dominant athletes of my time, a person who's inspired millions of people and made even more in dollars?
I told myself that I should be busy having a good time in Vancouver, enjoying the adventurous mountains, glittery snow and curling rinks that The Tufts Daily sent me to report on. Rather than disrupt the trip of a lifetime, I owe it to myself to ignore all of this brouhaha surrounding Woods' press conference.
I told myself that this was a touchy subject, something so many columnists have addressed over the past few days. Everyone has their opinion about Woods, ranging from the volatile and angry to the sympathetic and encouraging.
I told myself that I wasn't going to write about it.
So I'm not going to.
I'm not going to lament about how uninspired his speech was, how he took methodical pauses between his words that nearly lulled me to sleep. At a time when Woods needed to present himself as an upstanding citizen, one who can reach down and relate to the common man and tug on some heartstrings, Woods instead remained up on his perch, peering down with a barrage of clichés about how "sorry" and "selfish" he was.
I'm not going to say how badly I want to believe Tiger that he is going to change. Everyone deserves a second chance, even the most horrific of adulterers. I want him to return to the golfing form he showed on the 16th hole at the 2005 Masters, at a time when he was only an athlete and not a public figure plastered across tabloids and Web sites. He needs help and, rightfully so, he's seeking it out. I can only hope that it somehow tames the Tiger back into the cage.
I'm not going to talk about how disappointed this has made me, that someone who seemed above the glamour and glitz of Hollywood athletics could fall so far. Before Thanksgiving, Woods' private life was just that — private. Now look what happens when the mightiest and holiest of all athletes falls into the gutter amid a car crash, rumors of domestic abuse and a cheating scandal. Photographers followed his wife, they stalked out the schools of Tiger's children, the latter being over−the−line and unacceptable. Of course, it comes with the territory of being so famous, that the public will want to know when something detrimental happens, because gossip is in our society's DNA. But why give the masses anything to talk about to begin with?
I'm not going to tell my readers how this scandal shocked me to my very core. This was a man whose story was perfect. Biracial son and devoted father bond on links en route to son becoming arguably the greatest golfer of all time. Father passes away, bringing out only emotion anyone has seen in son for years. The CBS movie writes itself. Maybe, though, it's more interesting this way, a soon−to−be redemption story that will play better with the public than your run−of−the−mill happy ending. But this isn't fiction. This is a man's life we're publicizing.
I'm not going to explain how Tiger single−handedly made me pay attention to golf. I'm not going to discuss his pathetic excuse — that he worked hard his whole life and thought he deserved temptation. I'm not going to praise him for recognizing how he let millions of fans down, as well as his loving family. I'm not going to wonder why questions were not asked at the press conference.
I'm not going to criticize Woods for any of this.
Because it's his life, and I told myself I wouldn't write about it.
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Alex Prewitt is a sophomore who has not yet declared a major. He can be reached at Alexander.Prewitt@tufts.edu.
