The flip side

Yesterday, penning an ode to Phil Mickleson came as easily as savoring this evening's sunset.  How can you not stand back, drink in the cool breeze, and glory in the wonder crafted by Almighty God?  No, no, no.  I'm not equating Phil with deity but tipping my hat to the colorer of sunsets and the maker of man.

I watched with wonder each time they cut to Phil, but at the same time, when the camera caught hold of Tiger, I winced.  Triumph and Tragedy.  Each one achieved through the purposed choices of the men who walked the same fairways yesterday but with far different expressions and emotional burdens.

Two camps greeted Mr. Woods this week.  The first camp encompassed CBS and most of the folks at Augusta National.  They just wanted to see good golf.  What happened to Tiger the man does not affect my impression at all of Tiger the golfer.  They wanted to see their hero ascend back to his throne as the Titan of the Tee.  Let's not talk about the past months except to note what he has overcome to get to where he is.

And that is true.  It is a testimony to his focus and his work ethic on the course that Mr. Woods could come off the bench after sitting out the first quarter of the season and nearly take the crowned jewel of golf.  Amazing. 

But that takes us to the second camp.  Camp Two loathes Mr. Woods.  Sure, there were a few Woods detractors before his philandering came to light, but many who once held their breath with wide-eyed wonder at his every waggle now spit in his general direction.  They lusted for his demise.  They shrieked with glee for every shanked tee shot. They bubbled-up over every bunker found.  They thrilled his every three-putt.

I found myself in the haters' camp.  I couldn't believe the coddling he got from the announcers at CBS.  Not a single comment of disdain for what he had done to soil himself, his family, his comrades, and his game?

My loathing for what Mr. Woods had become turned to profound sadness for him when he rushed his par-putt on 14 after missing a six-foot birdie and made bogie.  No, I wasn't sad that he missed his putt.  I was sad for him.

He is the best to play the game.  Amazing.  Gretzky.  Jordan.  Woods.  None better in their era.  Nowhere close.  None better ever?  Arguable.  Probable.  But we can't just focus on the game.  Behind him is a wake of devastation.  Tiger Woods soiled his father's name and his heritage.  He dragged the investments made in him by his parents, his trainers, his caddies, his wife and his children through the sewage ditch.  And from his "I only enter tournaments to win" interviews to his inability to discipline his antics and his tongue in front of kids who idolize him when he fails to meet perfection off the tee, it would seem Mr. Woods still doesn't get it.  The measure of a man extends much further than tee to green and much deeper than the pot bunkers of Scotland.

I wonder if he saw Phil clench Amy in the aftermath as though she meant far more to him than any major championship.  Did he see the single-tear run down Phil's cheek as he held in his arms the most precious thing to him in the whole world, and it wasn't a claret jug nor a green jacket?

My prayer tonight for a man I have never met (and will never meet) is that he will turn his focus and his passion to that which will last when he's no longer able to hoist his putter, his bride, the one chosen especially for him, that he would come to know her better than the intricacies of his swing and read her better than the greens at Augusta, and that he would become the kind of man he would like his children to emulate, not perfect, but a man of honor and character nonetheless.  Nuts to the short game.

More than that, though, along with Brit Hume, I pray for his redemption, not on the course (though no longer wish him ill), and not in his marriage (though I pray that healing will come), but from the only One who can forgive his sin and the One who has provided for him that which will wash him white as snow.
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(NOTE:  After writing the above post, I came across this article noting the displeasure of CBS announcer Jim Nantz  toward the conduct of Eldrick T. Woods.  Refreshing to see someone (with a microphone) call him on it.  Nantz makes great points.  Many in positions of prominence today try to argue that they are not role models.  That's a pile of fertilizer!  Each one of us is a role model to everyone we meet.  You never know how far the ripples will extend.)