Confronted with a legion of low-rent opportunists, these treacherous, sugar-frosted bimbos his nether regions convinced him to trust, Tiger Woods finally copped a plea: downlevel descriptionThis video requires the Adobe Flash Player. Download a free version of the player. "I have let my family down and I regret those transgressions with all of my heart. I have not been true to my values and the behavior my family deserves. I am not without faults and I am far short of perfect. I am dealing with my behavior and personal failings behind closed doors with my family." His bylined statement ends five paragraphs later, with this: "I will strive to be a better person and the husband and father that my family deserves. For all of those who have supported me over the years, I offer my profound apology." There. Was that so hard? Just as I finished the statement, I received a text from a sportswriter friend, another imperfect man who's seen his share of very late nights. "I like Tiger more now," he said. Me, too. He's an idiot. But I kinda like him better this way. This peculiar place where we ply our trade — that ever-blurry border between sports and celebrity — has plenty of pathologies. It's voyeuristic, simplistic, and deceitful. But it is not unforgiving. You don't want to be lied to. You don't want to be BS'd. Beyond that, though, there are few transgressions for which the star cannot be absolved. Tiger Woods isn't Bill Clinton or Gary Hart. He's not even Michael Jordan (though, in a few years, he might've been). What's more, Woods has all he needs to earn his eternal redemption. That would be an abundance of talent. Ask Kobe or A-Rod how that works. Maybe Woods should've showed up at his own invitational tournament on behalf of his foundation. I'll even grant him his sanctimonious sermon on privacy and media ethics. I feel authorized to issue these passes on behalf of our brethren. Welcome home, Tiger, you poor shmuck. Welcome to that most flawed fraternity of all, the race of men. I can understand redoing the prenup, even assuaging your guilt with a seven-figure sum. But this report of marital counseling "sessions several times daily"? You really are an idiot. Feel free to wallow with the rest of us. Nurse your self-pity at the bar, if you must. Just get a designated driver this time.
