A match made in heaven.
The last time something like this happened to someone who had an ambiguous relationship with the African American part of their heritage, it was 1984.
Nude photos of Vanessa Williams surfaced in Penthouse, pictures that would barely raise eyebrows today with all the internet porn out here. Up until then, Miss America had played down her ethnicity. Then the sanctimonious sponsors and pageant backers abandoned her.
The next thing you know, she is on the cover of Ebony Magazine.
Tiger's people need to call Linda Johnson Rice, CEO and daughter of Ebony founder John H. Johnson. Her magazine could use the attention, because there aren't enough of us buying subscriptions at those Fashion Fair fashion shows to keep it coming off the presses much longer. And black people will support anybody (see R.Kelly) who looks like he's in trouble, even if they have held their African Americanness at arms length (see Michael Jackson).
JoJo Dancer, Your Life Is Calling.
I'm really just killing a little time here until that other bad boy athlete, Michael Vick, makes his first appearance in the Georgia Dome since his conviction.
The thing about this Tiger Woods story is the way in which it is being reported, as if, in a world where we sell practically everything with sexual innuendo, and celebrate the memories of our old playboys like John Kennedy and Frank Sinatra, we really are all aspiring to attain a degree of purity that never even existed.
I actually got a little disgusted with one of my buddies the other day when he started wondering what Tiger should have said to "control this thing."
"Dude, you're the only cat I know who thinks the be-all and end-all in life is to be a British gentleman. Once you put that image out there, then you've got to live up to the hype."
When I told him that people were going to get squeamish when the hoochie count reaches double digits, I couldn't believe his shocked response, as if we'd never ever stepped foot into any of Atlanta's many, many strip clubs.
The conventional news helps us to keep fooling ourselves about the kind of society we really are.
Which is why, since I'm really just killing a little time here until that other bad boy athlete, Michael Vick, makes his first appearance in the Georgia Dome since his conviction in about ten minutes when the Eagles play the Falcons today, if I were you, I would check out two of my blog roll buddies today who have done a much better job than me of giving a real-life response to the Tiger Tail Trail.
My "Dense & Intense" recommendations for today:
What About Our Daughters has a post titled "I Am NOT Tiger Woods Mistress: Where Is My Press Conference Confession Non-Confession".
"I mean isn’t a mistress supposed to have her own separate household which the man maintains? isn’t she supposed to enjoy certain mistress benefits? Or is all it takes now to maintain a mistress a famous name and a couple of Louis Vitton purses? I don’t know, I’m not an expert on mistresses, but shouldn’t you be getting more out of the relationship? I mean, can’t you form a mistresses union so you can receive better benefits than 15 minutes of fame and a topless spread in Playboy? Can you get some health care. A college fund. Debt forgiveness? Credit Counseling? I mean Steve McNair’s poor mistress was up t0 her eyeballs in debt!"
And my girl Danielle Belton, The Black Snob, gives it to you straight with "Tiger Has A Big Ego. Can't Stand His Ego. But I Love How He Plays Golf."
And after his parents sacrificed and labored for him, the world opened up and did the same. The PGA lives and dies by how Tiger is playing. The networks live and die by whether or not he is winning. Nike lives and dies by whether or not he is selling. He is unequivocally and for all intensive purposes – the man. And you get the fuck out of the man’s way. And if the man wants to drown himself in fake tittles and champagne and Vegas poker chips the man WILL HAVE his fake titties and champagne and Vegas poker chips because this is Tiger, Tiger Woods Ya’ll! Tiger Woods, ya’ll! Not Phil Mickleson or some other aspirant who will never, ever be THE MAN