Tiger, Tiger, Burning Bright

I have to say that I am nonplussed by the commentary on Tiger Woods that has been published and broadcast since Thanksgiving Day of 2009. A man cheated on his wife. Whoa, stop the presses. Hey - I think President's have done that! A man cheated on his wife again and again and again. Whoa - news at eleven! And six and five and seven and ten and repeat ad infinitum. And you know? I think a President has done that too.

So this story is not about a man cheating on his wife. And if Michael Bloomberg can be a divorced father of two kids and still be the three time mayor of NYC, then it's not a story about money either. What is this story about? Why is a golfer - for God's sake, a golfer! - being spoken about in such a manner that leads well meaning idiots like Bret Hume to utter - on air, two nights in a row - that this young Buddhist needs to convert to Christianity; that the very act of saying the blessed name Jesus Christ - out loud - will rectify all of the past misdeeds of a golfer (??!!!!) and wash his sins away.

And no, its not a story about religion, because this is an American story and all American stories are about race - that most fictitious of all elements and yet imbued with such artifice that it has been allowed to enslave father, mother and child for centuries and ensnares their progeny even down to this day; such that some of us - and now, TIger knows he is one of us - pretend they can think of themselves as, "Cablinasian". At times, we allow ourselves to wander through a looking-glass and begin to adopt the rationalizations of the Master; that but for our nature as full-blooded Congo, mulatto, quadroon, octoroon, or whatever the hell a one-sixteenth black is called (besides, nigg- (hey-o! This is a family show), we would be accepted as the full brother of humanity that we are.





I am too old to buy that particular line of cock-and-bull today. You gotta dress that stuff up in evening wear if you think I am going to take that out on the town.

This story - the unfolding drama that is the rise, then fall (and rise again?) of Tiger Woods, is one big, old-fashioned, American party of:"I knew we couldn't trust that negro!" Tiger has been tarred and feathered and run out of town by almost every single one of the corporate sponsors who used to wait on him hand and foot (and some of them probably introduced Tiger to one or two of their female friends, you know - just how the recruiters at USC still do.) So, yes: I'm angry. I'm angry that yet one more Charlie Brown stepped up and tried to kick that football. But I'm even more upset at myself for allowing myself to ever buy into a portion of the hype that was Tiger Woods. He's a man. Men do as we have always done - and if evolution is to be believed, then we are the men women have selected us to be. Do I feel bad for Elin and the children she and Tiger had together? Sure, but this story is not about one man and one woman; it's about one more black man who had to be taught the hard way that he cannot make the same mistakes as other men - other white men.

Not in this country.

Not today.

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