The Tiger Woods that was constructed for corporate consumption was spotless and smooth, an edgeless brand easily peddled to sheikhs and shakers. The perfect marriage with the perfect kids slipped so easily into the narrative it seemed he'd been born married.He's the Cool Hand Luke of the links who makes advertisers (and girls with bounded career ambition) curl their toes. But for a Stanford man, it would appear Tiger's not well versed in the ways of keeping sins of the flesh under wraps. Sexting? With a girl so desperate for US Weekly stardom that she went on an MTV reality show that millions of tweens haven't even heard of? Clearly Earl didn't teach Tiger about everything. But then it shouldn't be too much to ask with $1 billion sloshing around in Cayman Island bank accounts and the G-strings of random Vegas strippers, for someone in Tiger's IMG entourage to drop a little knowledge on how not to get caught cheating. Twice. In one week.The golfing press became aware that stories about Tiger's temper, say, or about his ties to unsavory corporate grifters, would mean the end of access to the only golfer in the world who matters. There is a quick way to tell now which journalists have made this devil's bargain and which ones haven't — the ones insisting that this "accident" is somehow "not a story" are the sopranos in the chorus.
Some will shrug and say that he simply thought he was untouchable. He was bulletproof. Please. It's always less power-tripping and more bootylicious-addled stupidity. There's a lesson here that extends from Bill Clinton's Oval Office to Larry Craig's favorite stall to Tiger Woods's wild rumpusing. And that lesson is this: pay for it. Yeah, it might be easier and perhaps in better "moral" taste not to cheat at all. But who are we kidding? And so if you're a famous dude with an image that matters and are dead-set on ignoring the fine standard set by Derek Jeter—who has remained single while shagging anything that moves within the 212 area code (and getting appropriately named Sportsman of the Year for his efforts)—then it's best to make your "transgressions" a business transaction. No late night phone calls. No tabloid interviews. No girls parked outside of your house waiting to run off to Mexico or wherever the hell it was Don Draper was promising. The trailer park drama is more likely to be contained when you're dealing with professionals.
There is also a corollary provided by Jerry Springer and Eliot Spitzer. If you're going to cheat with high priced talent then don't make taxpayers finance the deal or go for the $10,000 hottie when the $5,000 girl will do (besides we all know Amber and Tiffany are one and the same).
But don't feel too bad for Tiger. Sports Illustrated is eager to write the redemption story. And there's no doubt Tiger can quickly gain back the ephemeral adulation from throngs of salon-sniffing corporate yahoos when he wins the Masters in a few months by holding off a cadre of challengers while keeping one eye on the gallery for his wife's impactful swing.
(Editor's note: Ms. Noonan, if you're reading, this is all conjecture.)
