Tiger's Tale

So, on Friday, Tiger Woods became the latest in a long line of rich, powerful and/or famous men to apologize for being found out for indiscretions of the flesh brought on by temptations made available to them by their wealth, power and/or fame.

Tiger wasn’t the first. He won’t be the last.

He’s had congressmen, governors and preachers go before him. He’s had a sitting President. (Babe Ruth and Warren G. Harding lived at a time when philanderers didn’t have to say, “I’m sorry.”)

Who will be next to sidle up to the Podium of Shame? Glantz-Culver should issue a line, right below the sport spreads and right above the Oscar odds.

It makes for must-see TV. No doubt you heard Tiger live, for it seems all the free world stopped at 11 a.m. Friday. No doubt you’ve watched and read punditry’s take on Tiger’s degree of contrition.

But none of that jabber, this column included, means jack. The only opinion that matters — and I agree with Tiger here — belongs to Elin Woods. But it doesn’t look good for Tiger on that end because Elin wasn’t in the Audience d’Apologia on Friday.

His mom was. I felt for that woman. Kultida Woods had a front-row seat for her son’s abject admission. She kept her eyes glued to the floor — until the end, when she embraced her boy.

And that, I’d say, was the only moment in Friday’s production that was fraught with genuine emotion, with genuine contrition and sorrow and a desire to make right. The rest came off as completely staged, so you can’t help but wonder how sincere Tiger is.

It smacked of so much damage control, just like back in late November, after the early-morning crash, when Tiger declined to talk to the police and retreated behind his gates because, well, he’s Tiger Woods.

Look, the day will come when Tiger Woods is back playing pro golf and making god-zillions. Whether he ever returns to his family’s embrace is their affair. Their pain or their healing: It’s the only game that matters. You hope he truly understands that.

But he’ll be back playing golf because Tiger is the game’s cash cow. And those sponsors that ditched him while the slime was oozing will eventually sign him back up and peddle new-and-improved products with a new-and-improved Tiger.

Just another round in the American art of image construction, destruction and resurrection. A lucrative pursuit, with plenty of room around the Podium of Shame if you can act a good game when the curtain and/or your pants are caught down.