The story of Tiger Woods and his alleged affairs contains all the elements for a perfect tabloid story. An apparently flawless highly-paid sports star, a model wife, three other beautiful women, a car crash and rumours of domestic violence. Sure enough, tabloids in the US and Britain have gone to town with their news coverage, but when it comes to having an opinion on the whole matter, they are strangely silent – even the Daily Mail, which exists in a perpetual state of outrage, manages only a meek piece on the names of the women involved.
This means it is left to some of the more august media institutions then to dissect the affair (giving them scope, of course, to cover what would normally be purely tabloid fodder). Much of that comment centres on the justification for reporting the story at all, helping deflect accusations of prying into the golfer’s private life.
Richard Williams in The Guardian says: “Woods’s sheer visibility renders him susceptible to an unusually public form of moral accounting.” That might seem a weak reason for crawling all over the story, but Williams also points out the inconsistency in Woods’ indignant pleas for privacy: “When his babies were born, he was not above satisfying the public’s appetite by releasing idyllic photographs of the young family.”
James Lawton in the Independent rejects the theory put by Jim White in The Telegraph among others that Woods’ self-promotion as a flawless role model leaves him open to criticism when he is found not to be. Lawton says:
Of all the allegations against Tiger Woods, the one with least substance is that until now he has carefully built an image designed to please the sponsors who have helped make him the richest sportsman in history.
Michael Tomasky goes one step further in the Guardian, rebutting the idea that the media has a right to pry into Woods’ personal lives. “Stop groveling before these jackals,” he tells Woods (who may or may not be an avid Guardian reader, of course).
Even the New York Times has a view, with Gail Collins arguing that Woods has done the US a favour by taking people’s minds off what she argues has become the “winter of discontent”.
But the best, most fluent, most poignant and well written piece undoubtedly comes from Ed Smith, the former England cricketer, in The Times. The Woods story does matter, he says, because it is symptomatic of a sporting culture obsessed with the idea of untouchable geniuses who are devoid of character.
He says such a culture is both false and damaging to the individuals involved, commenting: “Sporting exceptionalism — that sport is a special realm populated by a superbreed — is a myth sold to gullible fans to boost TV viewing figures.”
But he also makes the claim that it makes professionals play worse, saying:
When I was captain of Middlesex, I used to dread seeing overkeen young cricketers reading Tiger Woods books. The Tiger approach, by legitimising introspective obsessiveness, nearly always made them play worse on the field.
Smith here has taken his point too far – perhaps the Tiger approach did not work for his cricketers, but one thing we do know is that it definitely worked for Tiger. Maybe it is just that golf works for those devoid of character, while cricket needs a certain je ne sais quoi.
Why the broadsheets love Tiger Woods
The story of Tiger Woods and his alleged affairs contains all the elements for a perfect tabloid story. An apparently flawless highly-paid sports star, a model wife, three other beautiful women, a car crash and rumours of domestic violence. Sure enough, tabloids in the US and Britain have gone to town with their news coverage, but when it comes to having an opinion on the whole matter, they are strangely silent – even the Daily Mail, which exists in a perpetual state of outrage, manages only a meek piece on the names of the women involved.
This means it is left to some of the more august media institutions then to dissect the affair (giving them scope, of course, to cover what would normally be purely tabloid fodder). Much of that comment centres on the justification for reporting the story at all, helping deflect accusations of prying into the golfer’s private life.
Richard Williams in The Guardian says: “Woods’s sheer visibility renders him susceptible to an unusually public form of moral accounting.” That might seem a weak reason for crawling all over the story, but Williams also points out the inconsistency in Woods’ indignant pleas for privacy: “When his babies were born, he was not above satisfying the public’s appetite by releasing idyllic photographs of the young family.”
James Lawton in the Independent rejects the theory put by Jim White in The Telegraph among others that Woods’ self-promotion as a flawless role model leaves him open to criticism when he is found not to be. Lawton says:
Michael Tomasky goes one step further in the Guardian, rebutting the idea that the media has a right to pry into Woods’ personal lives. “Stop groveling before these jackals,” he tells Woods (who may or may not be an avid Guardian reader, of course).
Even the New York Times has a view, with Gail Collins arguing that Woods has done the US a favour by taking people’s minds off what she argues has become the “winter of discontent”.
But the best, most fluent, most poignant and well written piece undoubtedly comes from Ed Smith, the former England cricketer, in The Times. The Woods story does matter, he says, because it is symptomatic of a sporting culture obsessed with the idea of untouchable geniuses who are devoid of character.
He says such a culture is both false and damaging to the individuals involved, commenting: “Sporting exceptionalism — that sport is a special realm populated by a superbreed — is a myth sold to gullible fans to boost TV viewing figures.”
But he also makes the claim that it makes professionals play worse, saying:
Smith here has taken his point too far – perhaps the Tiger approach did not work for his cricketers, but one thing we do know is that it definitely worked for Tiger. Maybe it is just that golf works for those devoid of character, while cricket needs a certain je ne sais quoi.