7312: Eye Of On The Tiger.

From The Chicago Tribune…

Tiger in the rough

What happens in Tiger Woods’ driveway doesn’t stay in Tiger Woods’ driveway. That much is obvious. Everyone on the planet knows that the world’s No. 1 golfer was injured in a one-car, low-speed collision in the very, very early hours of Friday. Casualties included a fire hydrant, a neighbor’s tree and both of the Cadillac Escalade’s rear windows, which were shattered by a golf club wielded by Woods’ wife.

The only safe conclusion to be drawn is that Woods isn’t the only member of the household who swings a mean 5-iron. And if Woods had his way, which he won’t, then that would be the end of it. The golfer doesn’t have to talk to the Florida Highway Patrol or the National Enquirer, but both are investigating. Reporters are swarming outside the gated community of Isleworth, near Orlando. It seems everyone is either demanding answers or making them up.

Where was he going? How did he lose control of his car if he wasn’t even going fast enough to deploy the air bags? Why did she have to break both windows? Why won’t he talk?

The curiosity is fueled by the tabloid rumors that were published just before the crash and the celebrity lawyer who was hired just after. An Enquirer story alleged that Woods had been seeing a New York bar hostess, who also lawyered up after the crash. It doesn’t take much imagination to pencil her into the driveway script. It wouldn’t take too many words to deny it either. But Woods isn’t commenting. “This is a private matter and I want to keep it that way,” says a statement posted to his Web site.

But the reporters won’t go away because the questions won’t. With few fresh details coming out, the weekend news reports focused on Woods’ silence, complete with serious expert commentary about the relative value of stonewalling versus full disclosure as a means of damage control. Pundits and their audiences argued over whether the public’s right to know trumps a celebrity’s right to privacy—none of which gets us any closer to understanding why Mrs. Tiger needed to bash out both windows to help her hubby from the car.

We’re not sure which is more misguided: the public’s sense that it’s entitled to those details or Woods’ expectation that he can successfully withhold them.

An athlete, even a superhuman one like Woods, isn’t accountable in the same way as, say, the president. He doesn’t need public approval to do the part of his job that involves running circles around everyone else on the golf course. If that’s all he did for a living, he could afford to tell his fans to mind their own business.

But Woods’ fame and fortune are tied inextricably to the carefully managed image behind those mega-million-dollar endorsement contracts—Nike, General Motors, American Express, you name it.

Maybe that image would be better protected if Woods came clean about his behind-the-wheel adventure. Apparently he believes otherwise.

He owes us all nothing. He’s under no obligation to provide answers just because we watch him play or because we buy the products he shills. If disillusioned fans can’t bring themselves to root for Woods or buy his Nike shoes, they can vote with their feet.