I was once a huge fan of Tiger Woods. I, like many others, was drawn to his determination, drive, and singular pursuit of excellence. He was changing the face of golf, and I cheered him on, fully invested in his growing legend. His sordid behavior, then, was a betrayal and a stunning fall for a tragic hero.
Since then, I’ve tuned everything Tiger-related out, but now that he’s the favorite to win the Masters, I’ve had to confront my lingering distaste for Tiger. I know I won’t ever cheer for Tiger again, but I can’t quite account for my active desire to see Tiger lose—something about cosmic justice I think. Thankfully, I came across this excellent GQ article which articulates the feeling a good deal better:
When he ultimately returned, what I think we wanted was a sense that he felt fortunate to be back out there. Blessed, maybe. Instead, Tiger seemed to act more entitled upon his return than he had even during his ascendance. At that first tournament back, the 2010 Masters, it took him just a few days to explode a promise—that he’d try to tone down his negative outbursts—by coming as unthreaded as ever, shouting into a tee-box microphone (“Tiger Woods, you suck! Goddammit!“) to the salivating joy of the Internet.
We expect those given second chances to learn, grow, and repent. Yet, Tiger has proven constitutionally unable to do any of them. The Masters are his to lose, and I hope he does.
