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Another day, another sordid chapter in the Tiger Woods scandal. This can’t be happening, can it?
I was among the legions of golf fans who never failed to tune in when Woods was in contention. There was something mesmerizing in the way he played, in how he made his competitors self-destruct whenever he was lurking.
He seemed to combine an indomitable will with unbreakable discipline and other-worldly talent. The best ever at that, I thought. In any sport.
I was thinking he just wasn’t like the rest of us who succumb to normal human feelings under pressure.
Turns out, he hardly has any feelings at all.
How else do you explain all those alleged infidelities? He could fool us with his public persona, but how was he able to live that way in private without having given his conscience a pretty good shot of novocaine?
I once wrote in this space that he belonged on the Mount Rushmore of the greatest sports figures of all time. I need to take a mulligan.
I wanted Tiger to bash Jack Nicklaus’ records, to be able to say I lived during a time in history when an athlete of Babe Ruthian proportions was in his prime. Now, I’m not sure I’ll even watch when Woods makes his comeback.
He may be able to rehabilitate his image, and sports fans, a normally forgiving lot, might embrace him again. But I’ll never be in awe of Tiger like I once was.
He’ll probably shatter Jack’s record of 18 majors, but it’s Nicklaus who deserves that spot in the pantheon of all-time greats. Right next to the home run king, Hank Aaron.
Contact this reporter at (937) 225-2125 or dharris@DaytonDailyNews.com.
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