Remember when we all rooted for Tiger because he was the greatest golfer in the world? Remember when Steeler fans watched Big Ben guide their beloved Steelers to two Super Bowls?
Remember when no one gave a second thought as to who was in bed with Tiger in his room at the MGM? When no one was concerned that Big Ben was going to pull a Mike Tyson on some college student on any given Sunday? When no one was writing death threats to the face of football for fighting dogs?
Well, I hardly remember the good ol' days.
I, for one, could not care any less if Tiger is a good father, husband, or friend. I care about him being the greatest golfer in the world and chasing records.
If I were looking for a moral role model, then maybe I'd be at mass on Saturday or church on Sunday, but I'm not. I'm at home watching the Masters.
It was so undeniably painful to watch one of the greatest competitors the sport has ever seen be forced to play four rounds of golf without being allowed to show any emotions. It felt about as natural as the latest Playboy Bunny.
Anyone else notice how many times those sunglasses came on and off his head? Go ahead, Tiger W...
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