It's a bit of a read, but interesting.
The Tiger Zoo
The biggest sports story of the decade? It was unclear until Tiger
crashed his Escalade
<http://search.espn.go.com/bill-simmons/> By Bill Simmons
ESPN.com
Archive <http://search.espn.go.com/bill-simmons/>
With five weeks remaining in the aughts, pre-teens, double zeroes or
whatever we end up calling the 2000s, the title for "Biggest Sports
Story of the Decade" was up for grabs. Michael Vick? Tim Donaghy? The
Mitchell report? The Artest Melee? Barry Bonds? Pat Tillman? Eagle,
Colorado? Roger Clemens? Andre Agassi's admission that he won Wimbledon
with a weave? You could have made a case for any of them.
And then ... Tiger happened.
Game over.
I'm calling it the "Tiger Zoo" instead of "TigerGate," only because we
have to break the habit of slapping "gate" after everything. But the
Tiger Zoo nailed every gotta-have-it component for a big-time story with
legs. First, it involved one of the most famous living athletes. Second,
it started definitively with a specific incident -- and not just any
incident, but something that made us say, "Wait, this seems fishy, I
wonder what really happened here ..." and quickly became more complex
than we imagined. Third, it built steam over the next week, crossed into
the mainstream and dominated conversations, e-mails and tweets. Fourth,
it transformed our collective perception of a famous person and made us
re-evaluate every opinion we had about him. Fifth, it grew so enormous
so quickly that everyone with a forum (radio show, column, blog,
whatever) felt obligated to come up with an angle on it.
Sixth, it doesn't show any signs of slowing down; if anything, it's
gaining steam like a hurricane plowing toward Florida. Seventh, it
involves three of the gotta-have-it basics in any gigantic story: sex,
(possible) violence, and a (possible) cover-up. Eighth, there's an
unanswerable question looming over everything: Even if Tiger did cheat
on his wife, should it matter to anyone other than them? (My answer: It
shouldn't. But that's the rub of being a public figure. If you don't
want to be a public figure, don't do commercials, don't cover yourself
in Nike logos and don't sell a video game with your name on it.) And
ninth, it's a conspiracy-friendly saga that lends itself to all kinds of
inventive angles, an absolute must for any story to maintain dominance.
That last point cemented the Tiger Zoo as an iconic story. Maybe Michael
Vick's fall from grace was mildly incredible on paper, but there were no
real layers to it. The facts came out, Vick's reputation was tarnished,
he paid a price, and that was that. People across America weren't having
arguments at cocktail parties about Vick, nor were they spending dinners
breaking down facts and spouting opinions like Mel Kiper and Todd McShay
debating the NFL draft.
But Tiger? Put it this way ...
You will attend a holiday party this weekend. You will start talking
about Tiger with one or two other people. A few others will drift over
saying, "Are you talking about Tiger?" Within a few minutes, the circle
will be eight-deep. Conspiracy theories will be flying as Elvis' "Blue
Christmas" plays in the background. Somebody's girlfriend or wife will
say, "If that ever happened with [my man], I'd go after him with a golf
club." Everyone will laugh. Eventually, you will start talking about
Obama or the Saints or something. And then an hour later? The same
conversation will happen in another part of the room.
In a way, that's been the most unfathomable part of this story. Tiger
Woods dominating the conversation at a holiday party??? For years,
nobody had an interesting take on him other than, "Wow, that guy's
great." I even wrote an entire column in 2002 titled, "Tiger: What Can
You Say?" He designed it that way, avoiding the media other than generic
news conferences and cream-puff interviews designed to promote himself
or a product. (Like this "10 minutes with Tiger" piece
<http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/061012> I
wrote in 2006.) We knew little about his personal life beyond "married a
Swedish nanny, lives in Orlando, has two kids." Not since DiMaggio had
an athlete managed to stay this famous and this private at the same
time. Hell, he named his yacht "Privacy." He relished it.
[+] Enlarge
<http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/091211#>
Kyle Terada/US PresswireA few weeks, what did we really know about
Tiger? Not much other than his skills on the golf course.
Of course, he also relished the spoils that came with his immense fame
... and that's where it became a problem. On Thanksgiving night, the
superstar who controlled everything suddenly had something he couldn't
control. The subsequent two weeks illustrated, in ugly detail, every
problem with journalism right now. There are no lines anymore. There is
no middleman or filter. Stories change constantly, sometimes four or
five times per day, and the accuracy of those stories doesn't totally
matter as long as there's a story in the first place. Yesterday, three
different friends forwarded me a clip of a porn actress bragging for 90
seconds about an alleged tryst with Tiger six months ago. Not exactly
the most credible source.
Did I watch the clip? Of course. I couldn't help it. The source of
information no longer matters, just the information itself. We all do
it. We all send the e-mails and texts, and we all read them.
Watch this, this is probably not true but still crazy.
Read this, might be a kernel of truth in here.
This would be so funny if it's actually true.
In the pre-teen double-zero aughts, these mega-stories are like Maximus
in "Gladiator," covered in blood after a fresh kill and screaming at
everyone sitting in the Colosseum, "Are you not entertained? Are you not
entertained? Is that not why you are here?" We don't want to be crammed
into the Colosseum, but we can't help ourselves. We also never imagined
that Tiger would be wearing the Maximus outfit, and maybe that's the
bigger issue here.
See, we spent 12 years following a guy we didn't know at all. We had
little to no connection to someone who was better at golf than we were
at anything. We checked tournaments on Saturdays and Sundays thinking
one thing: "How is Tiger doing?" We invested an inordinate amount of
time supporting someone who made it clear that he didn't care about us
unless we were buying one of the products he endorsed. He was fine with
the arrangement, and so were we. We got to watch him play golf. He got
the trophies, the trophy wife and the spoils. Everyone was happy.
And yet ... we wondered about him. Little stuff. Why couldn't he learn
how to successfully high-five his caddie? How did he end up with a
Swedish nanny? What did they have in common? What were his hobbies? How
did he spend his time while recovering from knee surgery? Why did his
temper keep bubbling to the surface this year? Who were his friends?
Could he hold a conversation during dinner? What mattered to him? You
wonder these things when someone you don't know -- someone you can't
even get a feel for -- keeps popping in your life for big chunks of
time. By shutting himself off and stripping himself of anything that
could be perceived as interesting, Tiger inadvertently made himself
interesting. He also opened the door for a feeding frenzy if anything
ever went wrong.
Something went wrong. The feeding frenzy happened. And I was one of the
feeders. I digested this story whole, every morsel -- true, untrue or
half-true. I discussed it with my friends more than anything happening
with my four Boston teams combined. I tossed out as many conspiracy
theories as anyone. I found myself fascinated not by his alleged
cheating, but by his arrogance that none of his misdeeds would ever
surface ... because, after all, I am Tiger Woods. I couldn't believe how
badly his "team" handled things these past two weeks. I got a kick out
of talking heads and writers arrogantly dispensing life advice like Dr.
Phil wannabes. I practically drowned in all the perspectives being fed
to me from different people "in the know." Like this exchange from three
days ago ...
Guy In The Know: "Tiger's biggest mistake was not having a cleaner."
Me: "A cleaner?"
Guy In The Know: "Yeah, someone who cleans up messes."
Me: "Like the Wolf in 'Pulp Fiction'?"
Guy In The Know: "Kind of. Like, he shouldn't have been the one making
that call to Jaimee Grubbs. It should have been made for him."
It's right out of a movie. Literally. A cleaner. That's just one of the
reasons why this story won't stop being interesting any time soon. It's
the biggest sports story, but also the weirdest, and the one that makes
me feel the worst about myself.
I wish I didn't care. I wish I wasn't gossiping about it like a
10th-grade girl. I wish I could say, "You know what? It's between his
wife and him, we need to stay out of it." But there are just too many
wrinkles to this baby. The biggest star of this decade ended up in the
biggest sports story of the pre-teen double-zero aughts.
Are you not entertained?
Sadly, I am. And so are you.
The Tiger Zoo
The biggest sports story of the decade? It was unclear until Tiger
crashed his Escalade
<http://search.espn.go.com/bill-simmons/> By Bill Simmons
ESPN.com
Archive <http://search.espn.go.com/bill-simmons/>
With five weeks remaining in the aughts, pre-teens, double zeroes or
whatever we end up calling the 2000s, the title for "Biggest Sports
Story of the Decade" was up for grabs. Michael Vick? Tim Donaghy? The
Mitchell report? The Artest Melee? Barry Bonds? Pat Tillman? Eagle,
Colorado? Roger Clemens? Andre Agassi's admission that he won Wimbledon
with a weave? You could have made a case for any of them.
And then ... Tiger happened.
Game over.
I'm calling it the "Tiger Zoo" instead of "TigerGate," only because we
have to break the habit of slapping "gate" after everything. But the
Tiger Zoo nailed every gotta-have-it component for a big-time story with
legs. First, it involved one of the most famous living athletes. Second,
it started definitively with a specific incident -- and not just any
incident, but something that made us say, "Wait, this seems fishy, I
wonder what really happened here ..." and quickly became more complex
than we imagined. Third, it built steam over the next week, crossed into
the mainstream and dominated conversations, e-mails and tweets. Fourth,
it transformed our collective perception of a famous person and made us
re-evaluate every opinion we had about him. Fifth, it grew so enormous
so quickly that everyone with a forum (radio show, column, blog,
whatever) felt obligated to come up with an angle on it.
Sixth, it doesn't show any signs of slowing down; if anything, it's
gaining steam like a hurricane plowing toward Florida. Seventh, it
involves three of the gotta-have-it basics in any gigantic story: sex,
(possible) violence, and a (possible) cover-up. Eighth, there's an
unanswerable question looming over everything: Even if Tiger did cheat
on his wife, should it matter to anyone other than them? (My answer: It
shouldn't. But that's the rub of being a public figure. If you don't
want to be a public figure, don't do commercials, don't cover yourself
in Nike logos and don't sell a video game with your name on it.) And
ninth, it's a conspiracy-friendly saga that lends itself to all kinds of
inventive angles, an absolute must for any story to maintain dominance.
That last point cemented the Tiger Zoo as an iconic story. Maybe Michael
Vick's fall from grace was mildly incredible on paper, but there were no
real layers to it. The facts came out, Vick's reputation was tarnished,
he paid a price, and that was that. People across America weren't having
arguments at cocktail parties about Vick, nor were they spending dinners
breaking down facts and spouting opinions like Mel Kiper and Todd McShay
debating the NFL draft.
But Tiger? Put it this way ...
You will attend a holiday party this weekend. You will start talking
about Tiger with one or two other people. A few others will drift over
saying, "Are you talking about Tiger?" Within a few minutes, the circle
will be eight-deep. Conspiracy theories will be flying as Elvis' "Blue
Christmas" plays in the background. Somebody's girlfriend or wife will
say, "If that ever happened with [my man], I'd go after him with a golf
club." Everyone will laugh. Eventually, you will start talking about
Obama or the Saints or something. And then an hour later? The same
conversation will happen in another part of the room.
In a way, that's been the most unfathomable part of this story. Tiger
Woods dominating the conversation at a holiday party??? For years,
nobody had an interesting take on him other than, "Wow, that guy's
great." I even wrote an entire column in 2002 titled, "Tiger: What Can
You Say?" He designed it that way, avoiding the media other than generic
news conferences and cream-puff interviews designed to promote himself
or a product. (Like this "10 minutes with Tiger" piece
<http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/061012> I
wrote in 2006.) We knew little about his personal life beyond "married a
Swedish nanny, lives in Orlando, has two kids." Not since DiMaggio had
an athlete managed to stay this famous and this private at the same
time. Hell, he named his yacht "Privacy." He relished it.
[+] Enlarge
<http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/091211#>
Kyle Terada/US PresswireA few weeks, what did we really know about
Tiger? Not much other than his skills on the golf course.
Of course, he also relished the spoils that came with his immense fame
... and that's where it became a problem. On Thanksgiving night, the
superstar who controlled everything suddenly had something he couldn't
control. The subsequent two weeks illustrated, in ugly detail, every
problem with journalism right now. There are no lines anymore. There is
no middleman or filter. Stories change constantly, sometimes four or
five times per day, and the accuracy of those stories doesn't totally
matter as long as there's a story in the first place. Yesterday, three
different friends forwarded me a clip of a porn actress bragging for 90
seconds about an alleged tryst with Tiger six months ago. Not exactly
the most credible source.
Did I watch the clip? Of course. I couldn't help it. The source of
information no longer matters, just the information itself. We all do
it. We all send the e-mails and texts, and we all read them.
Watch this, this is probably not true but still crazy.
Read this, might be a kernel of truth in here.
This would be so funny if it's actually true.
In the pre-teen double-zero aughts, these mega-stories are like Maximus
in "Gladiator," covered in blood after a fresh kill and screaming at
everyone sitting in the Colosseum, "Are you not entertained? Are you not
entertained? Is that not why you are here?" We don't want to be crammed
into the Colosseum, but we can't help ourselves. We also never imagined
that Tiger would be wearing the Maximus outfit, and maybe that's the
bigger issue here.
See, we spent 12 years following a guy we didn't know at all. We had
little to no connection to someone who was better at golf than we were
at anything. We checked tournaments on Saturdays and Sundays thinking
one thing: "How is Tiger doing?" We invested an inordinate amount of
time supporting someone who made it clear that he didn't care about us
unless we were buying one of the products he endorsed. He was fine with
the arrangement, and so were we. We got to watch him play golf. He got
the trophies, the trophy wife and the spoils. Everyone was happy.
And yet ... we wondered about him. Little stuff. Why couldn't he learn
how to successfully high-five his caddie? How did he end up with a
Swedish nanny? What did they have in common? What were his hobbies? How
did he spend his time while recovering from knee surgery? Why did his
temper keep bubbling to the surface this year? Who were his friends?
Could he hold a conversation during dinner? What mattered to him? You
wonder these things when someone you don't know -- someone you can't
even get a feel for -- keeps popping in your life for big chunks of
time. By shutting himself off and stripping himself of anything that
could be perceived as interesting, Tiger inadvertently made himself
interesting. He also opened the door for a feeding frenzy if anything
ever went wrong.
Something went wrong. The feeding frenzy happened. And I was one of the
feeders. I digested this story whole, every morsel -- true, untrue or
half-true. I discussed it with my friends more than anything happening
with my four Boston teams combined. I tossed out as many conspiracy
theories as anyone. I found myself fascinated not by his alleged
cheating, but by his arrogance that none of his misdeeds would ever
surface ... because, after all, I am Tiger Woods. I couldn't believe how
badly his "team" handled things these past two weeks. I got a kick out
of talking heads and writers arrogantly dispensing life advice like Dr.
Phil wannabes. I practically drowned in all the perspectives being fed
to me from different people "in the know." Like this exchange from three
days ago ...
Guy In The Know: "Tiger's biggest mistake was not having a cleaner."
Me: "A cleaner?"
Guy In The Know: "Yeah, someone who cleans up messes."
Me: "Like the Wolf in 'Pulp Fiction'?"
Guy In The Know: "Kind of. Like, he shouldn't have been the one making
that call to Jaimee Grubbs. It should have been made for him."
It's right out of a movie. Literally. A cleaner. That's just one of the
reasons why this story won't stop being interesting any time soon. It's
the biggest sports story, but also the weirdest, and the one that makes
me feel the worst about myself.
I wish I didn't care. I wish I wasn't gossiping about it like a
10th-grade girl. I wish I could say, "You know what? It's between his
wife and him, we need to stay out of it." But there are just too many
wrinkles to this baby. The biggest star of this decade ended up in the
biggest sports story of the pre-teen double-zero aughts.
Are you not entertained?
Sadly, I am. And so are you.
