What a week to be home.
I picked last week for my first annual (yes, it can be both first and annual if I promise to do it again next year) post-Thanksgiving vegetation.
This was a special week for me to sit at home in my recliner and really let those Thanksgiving calories simmer. I don’t think I’ll get much argument that actual physical movement is the antithesis of what Thanksgiving is all about – gaining too much weight and falsely promising to do something about it in your New Year’s resolution. Especially, if your New Year’s resolution is, like mine, to gain more weight.
But even I, sprawled out on the floor as I fell trying to reach the television remote control, couldn’t have asked for better entertainment than the enthralling soap opera “All Tiger’s Women.”
Truthfully, never been a big fan of golf. I’ve never seen the athletic value of hitting a ball, getting in a cart and driving to the ball so you could get hit it again. I’ve always thought the redneck sport of destroying mailboxes from a moving car offered much more excitement, not to mention criminal repercussions.
But, as it becomes readily apparent that Tiger had a post-season workout regimen unrivaled since the likes of Wilt Chamberlain, I think I can at least draw a little more appreciation for his sport.
I can appreciate the physical stamina needed to outrun an angry wife wielding a golf club. I actually medaled in the 200-meter toaster throw dash. But in the throws of the end of “Jon and Kate Plus 8,” watching another celebrity marriage simultaneously implode on eight different channels was the perfect antidote.
What still perplexed me as I flipped between the tabloid television shows and Maury Povich (the topic last week was “I didn’t know he was my Dad but now he’s my Baby Daddy”), I was struck by one pesky, unshakeable thought.
Who cares?
Why was it so paramount for a Denver television news station to start its 5 o’clock broadcast with the latest on the Woods non-investigation? Was there a public safety threat? Did Tiger’s Escalade happen to be careening towards a home in the Denver area? Two local drivers did plant their vehicles in houses last week but, alas, neither was a professional golfer.
Maybe Tiger was in town, hosting auditions for his new reality television show “So you think I can drive?” Nope.
It’s that herd mentality. Remember that scene from “Airplane!” where the group of reporters toppled over a row of phone booths as they run into them all at once? Same thing.
The purveyance of pop culture dominated headlines is sickening. Do I really care that Adam Lambert kissed some guy during the American Music Awards? No. Am I glad it wasn’t me? Well, sure.
But the media gives us what we want. We weren’t subjected to six hours of Falcon Heene coverage (As My Balloon turns) against our will. If people ate lima beans at a buffet, there would be lima beans at the buffet.
The media is a consumer-fed beast. Sure, after a few days, we scream we’ve had enough. But it’s too late.
And yet, here I am. Playing into the game. Giving a story with no worldly or wordly value even more ink.
But I’m hooked. I can’t help it. I’m dying to know the difference between a golf ball and an Escalade.
