I find I am, almost against my will, utterly delighted by the Tiger Woods crash-and-burn who-woulda-thunk slut-of-the-week pornstars-n-skanks flameout shockfest circus funhouse megaspectacle.
The following paragraph nails my own sentiments exactly.
It was not a quick realization. Fact is, I have never once cared the slightest bit about Tiger Woods or anything he has ever done, represented, embodied. I have zero interest in golf, don't care for insipid multimillionaire celebrity endorsements, gated Florida mansions or blinged-out Cadillac Escalades, and I have never once found myself remotely enchanted or bedazzled by anything Woods has said or done, largely due to the fact he doesn't appear to have much of a discernable personality or any spiritual fire to speak of, and his sole accomplishment seems to be making a mountain of cash by playing one of the world's most boring, nonathletic sports exceptionally well.
It's the same old story, really. Woods is now in the midst of nothing less than a classic, time-honored pattern that just might be one of our nation's finest, most insidious inventions of all time.
Do you know this pattern? I bet you do. It's the same one that's been followed, with varying success, by all sorts of rock stars, supermodels, actors, athletes, pastors and politicians since George Washington was caught indulging his gay fetishes in an opium den in Paris. It's a blueprint that appears to work best in a ruthless capitalist system, not only because this is where wealth, power and ego can explode out of scale so quickly, but because capitalism gave birth to the damn thing in the first place.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a crack appears. A dire mistake is made. An Escalade crashes into a tree, a line of cocaine is snorted near a paparazzi's hungry camera, a random drug test comes back positive for steroids, a gay prostitute proves he's had frequent meth-addled sex with a powerful homophobic televangelist Christian nutball. You know: same ol', same ol'.
You know what happens next. All sorts of delightful pop culture hell breaks loose. Celebrity has spectacular flameout, reveals self to be far more debauched, wicked, strange, stupid than gullible fans and followers ever wanted to believe.
I am confidently suggesting that Woods will crash, burn, be stomped into cultural oblivion in the coming months, only to rise again. It's virtually guaranteed. Unless Woods is revealed to have murdered a few hookers in Vegas or says something in a public microphone about his love of dog fighting and watching gay porn with Glenn Beck, his rosy future is a lock. Well, maybe.
[...] Let him win a few big tournaments and donate all the proceeds to the Las Vegas Skank Rehabilitation Fund, and he's all set.
So take heart, Tiger. Yes, it's about to get far, far worse. Yes, you will be America's punchline for many months to come. [...]
So play your transgressions right, Tiger, and they might just become, in the mangled gears of the American celebrity machine, a sublime asset. Your trespasses will be forgiven, your star repolished, your image reborn, your giant suitcase full of condoms replenished. Soon enough, you will again have all the lame car endorsements, ugly sweaters, and slutty party-girl waitresses you can handle. God bless America.
Fuckin' A and who cares? It's all nonsense.