I admit it. I was rooting for Tiger Woods. I wanted him to win. I’ve secretly longed to see him hoist another championship trophy for the last 924 days. It’s true.
Not the icon.
Not the tabloid image.
Not the red shirt.
Not the machine.
Not the argumentative, pretentious, rehearsed image.
The man. The broken, fallen man. The human being.
The guy who stood sadly alone for his post-win interview. No smiling wife or excited toddlers to run clumsily across the manicured green into his open arms. The guy who blew it. Who gave it all away. Who thought he was bigger than life. Who tested gravity and found that even he was subject to it’s pull.
It’s weird, and I’m undoubtedly a hypocrite (I kind of enjoy watching a guy pay for his transgressions if he wears a Patriots logo or plays Major League Baseball) . Tiger hurt a lot of people, and their pain deserves some restitution. A piece of me loves see a guy get what’s coming to him. I’m human, too.
But maybe that’s the point. I’m human, too.
The older I get, the less I want to throw stones (don’t misunderstand, I’ve still got a great arm). The more I want to celebrate unabashed grace (even if the guy getting it may not even know he needs it). The Bible soberly reminds us “we are utterly incapable of living the glorious lives God wills for us” (Romans 3:23 MSG), and that even my most righteous acts are nothing more than “filthy rags” (Isaiah 64:6 NLT).
Tiger Woods deserves to be exiled. Abandoned. Shamed. Anonymous. Finished. Hoisting another PGA championship trophy is far more than he deserves.
And maybe that’s why I enjoyed it so much. Isn’t “more than we deserve” what we’re all desperately hoping for?