So there he was, dropping the final put on the 18th at Augusta to a standing ovation from thousands of fans. Had they forgotten his antics? Surely not. Yet, as we see in so many ways, ever so many times, people love to forgive and forget, sympathize and console, especially when those at the center are so damn enjoyable to cheer for. And let us not kid ourselves, Tiger simply does it for us.
Why ? What is it about this guy and his socially hazardous ethics that makes us so entwined an enamored with his success ? Imperfection. Tiger blends two worlds. More so recently than in the past but that is besides the point. He brings sandpaper to the shiny, glossy glamour of pro golf. He is cold, cutthroat, and utterly and completely asphyxiated with winning. He curses, javelins his clubs, dons the glorious red every Sunday and fully expects himself to win "Every time I enter an event." Nice guys are great, they really are. The Mickelsons, the Vijay Singhs, the Tom Watsons, and golf as well as any sport will always be better with every new addition. But Tiger is the sports car, he's the pissed off horse in the stable, the rogue, a cold blooded bad ass on the links, in short, the dude's a beast. He's cool, and cool will never wear out it's welcome in the hearts and minds of the global sports fan.
Remember Kobe Bryant? Remember his "situation" five years ago? Hardly. The saying is that Time heals all wounds. Winning heals them a hell of a lot quicker. We devote ourselves to admiring athletes and professional sports for one reason, winning. Consequently, those who perfect the art, and do so with style, no matter how brash, always rise to the top of our psychological ranks. Everyone wants to win, some simply are more clever in masquerading their true desires with eloquent politically correct dialogue than others. When a Kobe, or a Tiger loses, restraint and composure is not in their repertoire. They are pissed and everyone is about to know it. We love that and they are brilliant for it. Anger incidentally fuses beautifully with passion, desire too. "The guy cares so much" we might tell ourselves and in doing so, our projected aura of respect and envy slowly expands around these individuals.
To the victor goes the spoils. It's black and white. Cut and dry. If we can't very well be out there ourselves, raising the cups in our hands, we may as well jump on the back of the figure most likely to bring us that elusive sensation of victory. It's playing the odds. The fan knows what they are going to get from the Bryants, or the Woods of the sporting arena and that's a no holds barred pursuit of winning. We all want to drive the Ferrari for the adrenaline rush and it's wickedly cool aura. But what if it came with a scratch? Even a dent in some instances, are you telling me you would not get in that baby? Of course not. And thus is the story in sports, as it will forever be. The human mind has a way of blissfully separating athletics from reality and spinning the outcomes in the most positive, comfortably numb directions. Tiger is merely the latest recipient of this incredible cerebral act and is sure to not be the last. Tiger is yet another drug, complete with his side effects but also that sweet sweet high of winning that we as a people can never get just quite enough of.
Again, time heals all wounds. But why wait when you can simply knock your competition aside, grab the prize and be on with it. Go ahead, we won't mind.
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