UPFRONT:IMAGINE YOU ARE Tiger Woods' mammy. First of all, you discover your pride and joy has been running around with cocktail waitresses and porn stars, unbeknownst to the mother of your grandchildren. And you only know this because he got caught and every sordid detail of your son's sex life has since been played out over the international media. It's far from such philandering the little rip was reared, I'm sure.
But just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse, he invites you to attend his public apology. A public apology, with you in the room. You and a few other friends. Oh, and some journalists, to make sure it’s picked up by every media outlet on the planet. Morto.
So, it’s going to last for a good 14 minutes, this elaborate mea culpa, and he has saved you a front row seat. What? You’d rather stay home and throw Doritos at Judge Judy? Don’t you realise that millions of people would give their eye teeth to be in that front row seat? Alright then, Mammy Woods, take your pew. And watch with the rest of us while your son spends 14 excruciating minutes saying he’s sorry for something that’s actually none of our business. Nor any of yours, for that matter.
In fact, it’s only really his wife’s business, and that of the various other women involved. Which, as it turns out, is quite a lot of people, but surely he could reach most of them without an international broadcast being required. So why is he apologising to everyone else too? Wait! Is Tiger Woods, Golf Messiah, apologising to me? I peer at the screen and wonder whether I’m ready to forgive.
But of course not. He’s apologising to the people in the room (Mammy Woods, CNN), to his friends, to his fans (sorry guys!), to his employees (oops!) and to his business partners – the latter no doubt suffering most acutely from his dramatic fall from grace. Curses. Turns out I don’t fall into any of those categories. But hey ho, I’m still glued to my screen, mainly for the public humiliation part.
Which, sadly, fails to materialise. In my mind, that’s where Tiger really lets us down – at least those of us geared up to witness a multi-squillionaire eat 14 minutes of crow. Instead, it’s kind of light on the humility and heavy on the hubris.
Sure, Tiger admits to being selfish and a bit of a cad, with that look-the-camera-in-the-eye-and-pause scripted delivery that bears the imprint of a highly paid sincerity coach. I may have done wrong, is what he is saying, but the media done wronger. Course, there’s something to be said for some kind of sorry. After all, we seem to be sorely lacking such acts of contrition in this country, particularly from elected officials when public apologies to the constituents they represent might be fitting. Former defence minister Willie O’Dea eschewed the whole apology format and went instead for what he termed “an explanation”.
Then again, sincerity coaches are thin on the ground in Dáil Éireann.
It’s clear that Woods is clearly from the Bill Clinton rather than the Willie O’Dea school of sorries. Course it’s when Tiger Woods starts harping on about his core values that I start to nod off. I’m finally ready to concede that an actual game of golf would be more interesting than this turgid spiel.
“I cheated,” says Tiger. At golf tournaments? Caloo, calay, maybe there is a story here after all. But oh, no. “I had affairs.” Wow! Wait, we already knew that, right? It’s his fault, and no one’s fault but his, although he would like to point out that the fame and money might have had a little something to do with his “transgressions”, FYI.
And lo, the arc of the Tiger is complete. The mighty has fallen, but the mighty has said he was sorry, so the mighty is redeemed. None of which has much to do with his golf game, after all, so it’s hard to know why anyone would really care, unless they’re actually buying Tiger’s ten-steppery.
“I don’t get to play by different rules . . . The same boundaries that apply to everyone apply to me . . . Character and decency are what really count.” These are the kinds of astonishing truths revealed before the Deepak Chopra of golf admits that the real, special apology goes to the kids he has let down. Because he was a role model, you know. Which was fine as long as he kept to endorsing such scandal-free, squeaky clean stalwarts as Nike and Pepsi. Although, now that he has had sex with someone he’s not married to, he’s suddenly morally compromised.
All is not lost, however. He’s in treatment for his unfortunate impulses around women who fancy him. It’s like an illness, see, rather than a personal defect! And how long does it take to say “I’m sorry”? Tiger Woods doesn’t owe me an apology. He owes me my 14 minutes back.
You can even see the chosen few in the audience getting a bit shuffly as it all drags on, glancing around for distraction and looking like they’re only dying for it all to be over. “Can’t believe Tiger made us do this. Scarleh. Ooh! Is that a door opening? No? Sigh. Are we there yet? Yippee, it’s over. Must try not to look relieved. Should we applaud? Yeah, guess not.”
And finally, Tiger winds up with a bit of religious rebirth thrown in for good measure, and strides over to his mammy for a hug. She gives him a few pats and whispers lovingly into his ear. “Just wait ’til I get you home . . .”