Tiger Woods, we owe you an apology.
We deeply regret whatever it was we did, said or blogged that compelled you to put on your serious face this morning, and ask our forgiveness for "dating" cocktail waitresses.
It wasn't worth it—for us, that is.
There was no satisfaction in hearing your grave pronouncements about "irresponsible and selfish behavior," or in serving as witness to your Buddhist reawakening.
There was just a really big feeling of really.
As in, really?
For whatever reason, the whole time you were up there—behind the podium, in front of the drapes, on a set fit for a national-security briefing—we kept thinking about Mick Jagger.
Would Mick Jagger apologize for being Mick Jagger? And in front of his mommy, no less?
Tiger Woods, the only thing we ever felt we had a right to know was your version of the post-Thanksgiving blowout—a matter of public incident. And while we're still waiting for you to addresss it, we give you points for calling out the report that wife Elin Nordegren practiced her golf swing on your face, and even more points for calling out that action for what it would be: domestic violence.
But the rest? The head-hanging? The dewy eyes? The solemn promise to head straight back to therapy? All for little ol' us? Really? All we can think is, dude, you must really miss starring in TV commercials.
How about this? You rest your weary head, and we'll do the apologizing for a while. Here goes:
We're sorry you don't have the courage to celebrate your inner rock star.
We're sorry you don't have the will to tell corporations to keep their strings-attached sponsorship deals.
We're sorry you're sorry. And, frankly, where we, the public, is concerned, we suspect and, for the love of all that is Mick Jagger, hope you're not.