Tiger Woods is back!


In the spotlight!

On the greens!

Playing before millions of people!

Which means on thing: He can’t be having sex.

I mean, he can be having sex. Just not while he’s on the greens. Playing before millions of people.

Because I don’t particlarly care for golf, Tiger’s return means little to me. That said, it offers up some riveting societal commentary. Not about Tiger or golf or sex, but about us. Why, as a people, do we care whether a sports star is having massive amounts of sex with people? How does it impact our lives? The only reasonable explanation I can conjure is that we care because we are bored. It’s the reason reality TV is so huge; the reason celebrity magazines sell like hotcakes; the reason a book about John Edwards’ sexual adventures continues to linger on the NYT best-seller’s list. We always think the grass is greener (or stronger) on the other side; that the rich and famous and powerful lead these existences that blow ours away.

It’s a lie.

Was just reading a recent issue of the Sporting News the other day. Was a small box featuring Kevin Durant, and what the Oklahoma City hoops star does with his day. To describe is life as dull would be to delve in grave understatement. He wakes up. He brushes his teeth. He plays video games. He goes to practice. He takes a nap and eats lunch. He plays a basketball game. Then he does it again. And again. And again. Truth is, the famous lead extremely patterned lives. They repeat themselves over and over again, whether it’s playing 162 games of a baseball season, uttering the same lines over and over in a Broadway show or attending one club opening after another.

Personally, I like my life. Kids crying, dog shitting, coffeee hot, phone calls unreturned. I like the lack of any real pattern; the mystery of day-to-day randomness.