Tiger Woods

Tiger seems to have captured our national attention.  He is everywhere.  In magazines.  On the internet.  In the papers.  On television.  His exploits have been studied and dissected from every conceivable angle.  Of course there is the obligatory distancing angle.  This is when the media, in an attempt to save face, shakes it's head and wags it's finger at all the media attention.  They perfunctorily put on disapproving faces, complete with furrowed brow and slightly downturned lips in a mask vaguely resembling human concern, and wonder aloud about the toll all this attention might be taking on Tiger Woods and his wife; how having cameras shoved in their respective faces could be psychically damaging.  They do this while showing us footage of them having cameras shoved in their faces.  The media washes their hands of any seeming impropriety by covering the coverage, not the story.  

It seems this circular logic serves two purposes - two obvious purposes.  The newscasters get to pretend that they are removed from the feeding frenzy - that they are somehow above it.  At the same time it allows them to propagate it.    The signal this sends is that they know they've got actual stories to report on, but they're going to spend their time, and ours, on the whereabouts of Tiger Woods' dick.  Health care reform?  Later in the hour.  Two wars.  Later.  The economy.  Later.  The global warming extravaganza in Copenhagen.  Boring - but wait, there's some violence.  So that's a little better.  But still later.  Despicable.  

Why are we so fascinated?  

I think that the root of our fascination lies in the fact that we think we know Tiger Woods.  We have come to know him on the golf course and in thirty second commercial snipets.  We've seen his picture myriad times in magazines and on billboards.  They all repeat the same basic mantra:  Tiger Woods is a stand up guy - honest.  He may not be our friend, but he would be if he lived next door to us - if he weren't arguably the greatest athlete of all time.  We may not have ever met him, but we have come to believe that we know him nonetheless.  And that is the definition of fame - the people who know you outnumber the people that you know.

But we don't know him.  We know his image - his carefully crafted image.  He looks young and wholesome.  He's attractive, but not in an off-putting way.  He's seems open and friendly.  He looks kind.  In no way does he look like a cheater.  Of any sort.  His eyes convey a sense of honesty.  Add to that his comportment on the golf course.  In control.  Together.  Classy. 

All of these variables have been skillfully whittled and harnessed.  Ads were created and words were put into his mouth.  Words that we would believe coming out of this pure, honest looking guy.  And they were repeated.  Over and over.  And over again.  Until we began to think that this two dimensional figure - a creature of publicity machine magic - was a full and complete human being.

We were sold the idea of a man who would never cheat.  On the golf course or in his marriage.  And we bought it.  We live in an age where marketing is truth.  And we're fascinated when we peek behind the curtain to discover that these cartoon characters don't exist.

I think that is why we're so fascinated by how many women Tiger Woods has slept with.  Would we be half as fascinated if it were a pre-Annette Bening Warren Beatty?  I doubt it.  His stock in trade was his dick - which he supposedly happily shared with every woman in Hollywood.  Except for Shirley MacLaine.  The interesting story there would be if he actually didn't sleep with all those women.

Iconization doesn't lend itself to subtlety.  It is borne of repetition and gets its traction with broad strokes.  It is, by nature, simple.  Iconization shatters under the weight of the complex or complicated.  And certainly can not withstand the pressure of human contradiction.

Clearly we didn't know Tiger Woods.  Of course now we think we do.  Most of us still haven't met him, but we have this new piece of information which, once digested, will give us the impression that we know him now.  But the truth is that most of us will never meet him and will never know the slightest thing about him.  The truth is that it takes a lifetime to know friends.  A lifetime to know lovers.  A lifetime to know ourselves.  So how can we possibly know someone we've never even seen in person?

And lest anyone think that I've gotten so wrapped up in the felling of Tiger Woods that I've momentarily stopped being an angry gay male, consider this: his marriage is perfectly legal.  In all fifty states.  I've yet to hear even one of the "defenders of traditional marriage," one of the clergy who fight so virulently to ensure that my marriage remains lesser, one of the leaders of the National Organization for Marriage voice concern about teaching Tiger's marriage to young children.  I've yet to hear even one of them condemn his marriage or challenge it's sanctity.  Or legality.

He's fucking the right people.