Truth or Consequences

Well, here’s something interesting and non-political to talk about; gossip! It is always important to engage in gossip before all the facts are known, because once we know what actually happened we become either historians or conspiracy theorists, instead of gossips. It is also important to be one of the first gossips to gossip in order to influence the direction of speculation within your circle of inquiring minds. This makes you appear well connected and wise, which is an important part of status in most tribes. Gossip is a critical element of human communication and social bonding since it requires no actual investment of effort in research or critical thinking and is almost as much fun as sex, even more so for people who don’t like sex.

So, without further ado, how about that Tiger Woods? Tiger Woods is great to gossip about because he is probably the single most famous person in the world. Even if you don’t play golf, drink Gatorade or reside in civilization, you know about Tiger and his unlikely story of achievement and the billion dollar industry he has become. Everybody loves Tiger, even if he is a foul-mouthed, egocentric elitist who spends way more time signing advertising contracts than he does signing autographs for his adoring fans. By virtue of being .7874 shots per round better than any other golfer in the world, perhaps in combination with his boyish charm and multi-racial, international origins, Tiger commands the respect and affection of literally billions of humans, who possibly see him as an avatar of their own potential for god-like fame and fortune.

Anyway, what we know is this; Tiger left (or returned to) his house in his Cadillac Escalade in the wee hours of the Friday morning after Thanksgiving and promptly ran into a fire hydrant and a tree. This is all anyone can currently say with assurance, but that is by itself pretty fertile ground for speculation. Where was such a celebrity going at 2:30 in the morning with no shoes? How did he run off the road before even leaving the neighborhood? Why does a guy worth a billion dollars drive an Escalade? These are all very tantalizing questions, but we are presented with even more fodder for speculation by what is alleged to have occurred. First we are led to believe his Swedish model wife saved him from impending doom by breaking the window out of the vehicle and somehow extricating him before he bled to death, or the car exploded or the cops showed up, or something. All of this heroism is, of course, fine, and has nothing to do with me, but those who respect and admire Mr. Woods or follow his exploits on the links might wonder if he will ever recover from this brush with death and if he can at some point in the distant future be expected to resume his pursuit of every standing record in golf history.

Fortunately, he was treated and released from the local emergency room with what were described as “minor injuries”, primarily facial lacerations, that is, scratches. Since Mr. Woods and his wife have declined to provide statements to the police the only information the curious public has to filter through are statements from Mr. Wood’s public relations team, a neighbor’s brief call to 911 and all the hearsay from TMZ.com., and the hearsay is quite interesting. If you are inclined to believe the more negative and vicious rumors, Tiger was chased from his home by his lovely wife after she scratched his face in a brief assault and then grabbed (what else?) a golf club and proceeded to pursue him down the driveway and out into the street amassing a Mickleson-esque stroke total before Tiger drove into a tree, something he often also does during the U.S. Open. At this point, Tiger apparently emerged from the vehicle dazed and confused, possibly medicated, and sat down on the curb. I can completely understand.

This little drama was supposedly precipitated by Mrs. Woods’ belief that Tiger was involved in an extra-marital dalliance with a rather attractive 34 year-old New York woman whose occupation is variously cited as Club VIP Manager, Night Club Hostess or 9/11 Widow, depending on the source. Tiger may have gotten her confused with the Club Pro, or not, but there is little doubt that she can properly grip a shaft, though it is possible she may have a tendency to hook. In all fairness, however, Ms. Uchitel has denied having any involvement with Mr. Woods whom she has “only met a couple of times”, probably having crossing paths at all the fan events Tiger is known to frequent. As far as I know, the sole source for this salacious info is the National Inquirer, which has been wrong in the past, especially about Bigfoot, so I’m not sure I would accept their representations as fact. Mrs. Woods may well have the straight-up 411 about the situation, but unless you were there, how do you really know?

Tiger does, of course, have a real problem that deserves our empathy. He is a 33 year-old guy with a cute smile and the best body a legion of personal trainers can create. He has a net worth that starts with a “B” and spends most of his time traveling the world without the company of his wife and children. I suspect he routinely encounters a stream of rather comely young women who make no secret of the fact that they would like to catch the eye of the Tiger. I am not endorsing anyone’s moral failures, but temptation is compounded by opportunity, which is why most intelligent, faithful men studiously avoid putting themselves in situations where weakness of character will translate into behavioral failure, something Tiger may have practical difficulty doing. I do not know Mr. Woods and he could well love his wife dearly and be a man of great resolve, but it is small wonder that Mrs. Woods might be inclined to believe the worst when presented with the unlikely coincidence of the club hostess and the golf champion staying in the same hotel in Melbourne, Australia. Most women would probably find it to merit at least a good wedge shot.

Now, some may ask why any of this personal stuff is any business of anyone except Tiger and his wife, but that ignores the truth of modern celebrity economics. While we are only legally entitled to whatever information the Public Records laws of the State of Florida provide for, there is a massive industry built around the Tiger Woods persona and each of us contribute to the financial wellbeing of his family each and every time we drink Gatorade, buy any Nike product or use a Gillette razor. Tiger’s utility in marketing these products is based upon our perception of him as someone we respect, admire or envy. We wouldn’t know what we thought about Tiger if we didn’t have some sort of information to consider. Perhaps we don’t have a right to knowledge of the most intimate details of his life, but Tiger and his reputation are just like any other product we are being sold; fairness requires that we at least have a list of the ingredients. This is the Faustian bargain that all celebrities make, knowingly or not, and I have no sympathy for those who would accept the obscene compensation generated by their celebrity status and simultaneously bemoan the loss of privacy and the public’s insatiable thirst for the trivia of their lives. Strippers get paid for getting naked; it’s the way the world works.

In the end, after all the knowing laughter subsides and the ignorant masses move on to some other adored victim, there are still perhaps at least a couple of real lessons to be drawn from this hilarious public relations disaster. One of these is that lying never works. Even if you technically get away with it in the short term, the threat of future discovery will always be hanging over you, and most people, especially wives, have a pretty good instinct for what is probably true. Lying is entirely too much work if done right; keeping the story straight in the face of emerging facts requires proactive effort and keen awareness of changing circumstances, traits many American significantly lack. The other issue is that, despite the prevalence of untruthfulness in our society, most people just don’t respect liars. People will generally forgive almost any flaw in their idols if it is owned up to and the consequences are accepted, but bullshit always stinks. When you make your living from public adoration, mea culpa is a far better response than fuck you.

Of perhaps the greatest comfort to most of us is the knowledge that a private jet and a 155 foot yacht cannot protect you from domestic discord or a seven-iron swung in anger. Everybody has to go home at some point, no matter how grand the home may be. There is, after all, some basic fairness in the world, despite the widening differences in class and the seemingly magical lives of the privileged few. If the very rich are truly happier than most of the rest of us, which is apparently questionable, it is surely only because they have more things to distract them from their unhappiness. Tiger can go climb the Matterhorn with all the Hooters calendar girls or buy a weekend trip to the International Space Station with ten of his best friends, but none of that will compensate for the enduring pain of a damaged relationship with the mother of his children. The fundamentals of life, love and death remain unchanged by income; no amount of cash can buy you into being something that you aren’t, and there are no diamonds big enough to fill the holes left by betrayal and the collapse of a dream.