None So Blind

Famous people wriggle their way into our consciousness. Take this Tiger Woods person, an allegedly skilled golfist.

Sidebar: Let’s get this straight. He is a grown male whose centi-millionaire status derives from using sticks to hit a small ball into a hole. Yeah, this is an example we can emulate.

End sidebar.

Mr Woods’ wife and mother of his two small children divorced him sometime within the last few years. Throughout his marriage he undertook sexual assignations with women not his wife, both away from and at home. Famously – even I know this – he had sex with a waitress who worked his local breakfast joint, right under his wife’s nose.

We need not resort to amateur psychology here; he figured he could indulge any of his sexual whims at any time. This is not “sexual addiction”. This is lack of character. It is also a life lived without self control.

Then along comes another woman, Miss Vonn. She sees something in Mr Woods, and takes up with him. Does she:

a) Think he was wrongfully accused of being a cheat?

b) Believe his character is improved after his divorce?

c) Consider herself better able to keep his attention?

d) Blinded by fame, money and attention?

e) All of the above?

No-one but Miss Vonn can answer these questions, but one thing for certain is that she figured she was different from all the other women. Exceptional. Special. Able to make Mr Woods a better man. She was the one to tame him.

Once a man of bad character, always a man of bad character. No-one can change that but the dude.

2 Replies to “None So Blind”

  1. Good point. Just like in Macbeth… the rise and fall of power… ousted by another man… that will rise and fall… ousted… and… Until the dynamic is changed in Tiger, another woman will just come in and fill the role. And, most probably experience the same fate… This can repeat itself many times in a lifetime. Maybe one day, like some drug addicts, he will say… I need to stop this! It is spoiling my life, and just might seek out help.

    1. Ah, yes, the entire yarn is positively Shakespearean. The audience sees, the players do not, and they are doomed to repeat their folly.

      I see Tiger as Hamlet, wandering the battlements of his Floridian castle, haunted by the ghost of lost golf championships.

      Wait. That makes it more of a comedy than a tragedy. Which, now that I think about it, is about right.

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