Isn't America great!? It's truly the land of Evelyn Wood-style public relations rehabilitation. In announcing his April 8th return to the Masters tournament Tuesday, golf legend Tiger Woods proved once again that, when it comes to money over morality, it's all about the Benjamin's, and always will be.
As "Wall Street's" Gordon Gekko famously opined, "Greed is good." And Tiger's comeback clearly demonstrates how quickly the greedy, bored, desperate golf industry--fans included--will welcome him back with open arms,
Americans have short memories, and debauching celebrities and politicians are all too happy to give the public what it wants. The scandal pages are littered with famous folk who've done the crime and seemingly not paid much time. Pervy back-biting sodomizing NBA announcer Marv Albert was "fired" by NBC yet back less than two years later. Uber-hypocrite slut-hound Eliot Spitzer, New York's former attorney general, returned to the spotlight after a two year absence and is now a broadcast political analyst and bizarre defender of hooker-cheating vs. cheating-cheating. And Woods' extramarital Olympics has taken infidelity to a whole new dimension. Yet, here he is, back after a measly four month self-imposed exile, ready for Main Street and Madison Avenue to fall in love all over again. What's next, John Edwards running for Congress this Summer?
I'm no PR guru, but it's become painfully clear that a high-profile fall-from-grace needs only to follow a very simple road to redemption: issue a quick website-based public acknowledgement of the scandal and ask for privacy for your family; stage a dramatic and controlled press conference a few weeks later to offer up your half-hearted mea culpa; spend a few weeks in rehab; tease the media-whores about a possible return; and then a few weeks later announce said return. Yes, Virginia, it's that easy.
So let's just stop all the dramatic death-knelling every time one of our beloved heroes is literally caught with his proverbial pants down. They'll come back. They always come back. Just ask the crack-smokin, hoe-bangin' Mr. 3-Hour-Motel-Room-Special himself, Marion Barry.