Colin Sheridan: Puerile Tiger proves powerful men are rarely funny
OFFENSIVE: Tiger Woods passes a tampon to Justin Thomas as they walk off the ninth tee during the first round of The Genesis Invitational at Riviera Country Club. Pic: Cliff Hawkins/Getty Images
I wonder about Tiger Woods sometimes. Especially the new, improved Tiger. Dad Tiger. Bro Tiger. Nice Tiger. I am suspicious…was suspicious long before he tucked a tampon into Justin Thomas’s palm in an act of bro-ishness that was Trumpian in its puerility, that Tiger 2.0 was just a myth conceived from the rubble of his broken body, born in an attempt to elongate a career already so great it didn’t need a second act, but desperately wanted one. And we wanted one for him. So, when those two desires collided, Tiger 2.0 was born, repackaged for our palatability as repentant, grateful and (this is when I got suspicious) fun.
Fun Tiger should never have been a thing. You can understand Rory and Spieth and JT wanting Tiger in their lives. He was, after all, the guy who paved the way for them. He “grew golf” without ever meaning to. The growth was just an unintended consequence of his star power, more likely a business strategy than an act of sporting philanthropy. The first 15 years of Tiger was so incredibly great that, given the chance, how could these new guys not want the chance to hang with the GOAT, play videogames with him and share memes and GIFs. Swap zingerish banter. He was a goof, right? Just like them.
Wrong! Child prodigies find it hard to be “one of the guys” because, sadly, they were never allowed to be kids by their controlling parents. I do feel sorry for Tiger in this respect, but no amount of exchanged glances between Tiger and Rory, captured in slow motion and packaged by the PGA Tour accompanied by Jim Nance’s dulcet monologue will ever convince me that Eldrick Tiger Woods is anything but a hard hang.
Back to Dad Tiger. I wonder has this version of Tiger ever faced one of his children coming towards him holding aloft a Capri Sun, a paper straw disintegrating like the Shroud of Turin in their hands, a look of abject despair in their eyes as they wail like Medusa, demanding you, the parent, insert the flacid straw into the drink before their world ends. I wonder has he ever held that limp paper straw and, try as he might, repeatedly failed to break the skin of the drink with it, all the while taking kidney punches from young Charlie.
I’ve no doubt Tiger Woods resents Greta Thumberg, but not for the reasons I do. He resents her for calling out the carbon footprint of his GulfStream Jet, not for ending plastic straws. I don’t believe Dad Tiger because I don't for one second believe he’s had to do it like the rest of us. Nor should he, really. The greatest golfer of all time shouldn’t have to abandon his own dinner to stand patiently at the toilet door waiting to wipe a six year old's bum. He’s got comebacks to plot and swing speeds to regulate, so I will never believe in Dad Tiger however many times you show me a replay of him high-fiving his son.
We did this. We put the tampon in Tiger's hand. We couldn't let him be who he really was - an incredible golfer and a marginally shitty person - without trying to change him. Not really change him, that would’ve taken too much time, but change him into a more relatable, consumable man that made us feel better. We wanted Tiger to be fun the same way we wanted the Queen to read some Irish words to us so our then President could mouth a “WOW” and we could all believe for a second the old dear had secretly gone to the Gaeltacht in the summer, not just squint at some crap scribbled on a napkin by an opportunistic British civil servant, moments before she sat down to eat free steak.
The Queen was to the Irish language what Tiger is to comedy. His JT/Tampon joke was offensive, sure, because it was crass and lazily misogynistic, but also because it was so utterly terrible. “You hit like a girl, JT! Burn!!!!”. Imagine if it had been some spinach he handed Thomas? An equally shit joke, but one that would’ve been replayed over and over as an example of New Tiger. Fun Tiger, the Billy effin Connolly of the PGA tour. HOOK IT INTO MY VEINS!
If 25 years in the military has taught me anything, it is that men in power are rarely funny. People laugh not because they want to, but because they have to. Sport is just another example of that. And men are always worse. All fragile egos and countless insecurities.
I loved Tiger Woods the golfer. I miss him going on a Sunday charge, even now, with broken bones and shattered limbs. I understand he can never do that again, but also fully accept he doesn't have to do the jokes, either. We put the tampon in Tiger's hand. It’s probably too late for him to grow up, but in choosing not to mythologise the next Tiger, perhaps we can?
Just a couple of weeks after revealing they were adopting a “No Dickheads Policy”, Manchester United performed a remarkable U-turn by announcing they are entertaining the idea of state ownership in the guise of a Qatari chap called Sheikh Jassim bin Hamad Al Thani. A statement released Friday explained that the bid in question "plans to return the Club to its former glories both on and off the pitch, and — above all — will seek to place the fans at the heart of Manchester United Football Club once more”.
Finally! Billionaires who get it!! Under normal circumstances, the prospect of “debt free” ownership and the probability of unlimited money to spend would be bad news for rival clubs, not because of the myriad of moral quandaries state ownership presents (who cares!!) because big money means big ideas, but in this case you’d imagine Manchester City and Newcastle are especially excited at the prospect of United being bought by a vague cabal of oligarchs who just so happen to love English football.
Their excitement will not just stem from watching United and their supporters fall from the sanctimonious pedestals they erected for themselves, but also from the hope that, as uncomfortable an idea as state ownership is to countenance for a fanbase of a club of immense tradition, there will be nothing funnier for the likes of City and Newcastle than watching Manchester United - a club that recently looked on the verge of actually maybe perhaps becoming a little bit great again - becomes utterly derailed by a nefarious business model that only works (in a footballing context) if the owners understand how successful football clubs work and stay absolutely out of the bloody way. Whether Jassim bin Hamad Al Thani - whose family is reputedly worth £275 billion - is prepared to wash his money and walk away remains to be seen, but if you’re Erik ten Hag it might be best hang on to the flat in Amsterdam.
Christian Atsu was the player of the tournament award at the 2015 Africa Cup of Nations. The jewel in Ghana’s crown, he went on to play over seventy games for Newcastle United where his wife and three kids settled while he continued his injury interrupted career with Turkish side Hatayspor.
It was in the city of Antakya that his body was eventually pulled from the rubble of an earthquake we now know killed at least 45,000 people. Atsu, an immensely popular player at Tyneside, was a man devoted to his faith and to bettering the lives of countless Ghanaian children and families. He often said his footballing life felt like a miracle. What a tragic end for such a beautiful soul.
Mayo beating Kerry in a league match in February can seem very significant in the moment, but as Mayo manager Kevin McStay pointed out in the aftermath, there are always more important things. Ger Brady was one of those lads you remember when you're young as just being better than you at everything.
As a Mayo minor he made football look easy. In August last year, aged 42, Ger was diagnosed with Motor Neuron Disease (MND). You can read about Ger’s journey and donate to his fundraiser at https://www.idonate.ie/crowdfunder/togetherforger
