Last weekend, what better way to spend an evening than watching iconic role model and 2010’s Father of the Year candidate, Tiger Woods, compete in the final major championship of the season, and root for him to complete the Grand Slam, adding the PGA to his victories at Augusta, St. Andrew’s and Pebble Beach.
Oh well. This might have come to fruition, if not for an errant iron shot across the back of his car, and a talkative gallery of friendly women. As it was, I still watched some of the PGA Championship, but the thrill was gone. I am like many fans out there. I liked watching Tiger before his descent. When he is on his game, anything can happen, and that makes for exciting television. His dramatic fall from grace has tarnished the viewing experience, perhaps forever.
I have lived through some of my heroes falling from grace before. 1969 Mets star Cleon Jones was arrested for assaulting a young woman in the back of a windowless van. I waited along a parade route in NYC on a sunny afternoon in late October 1986, hoping for a glimpse of the sensational Doc Gooden, only to be disappointed. He and Darryl Strawberry were off abusing drugs and sleeping it off instead. Both ended up Yankees (that alone crossed them off my “hero” list). Gary Hart tempted the press in 1987, and tripped over his own ego.
My son, Thomas, has his heroes already. He worships Alex Ovechkin, the Great 8. He has a poster of Ryan Zimmerman, the Nationals’ best player, on his bedroom door. Every 5th day, he reminds me that it is officially “Stras-mas”, the day we collectively celebrate the gift of watching future Hall of Famer, Stephen Strasburg, pitch for the Nats and add to his 2 month old legacy. I try to warn him about getting too attached. I fear that the only way he’ll learn is through an assault charge against OV, a hit-and-run DUI charge against Zimmerman, or Strasburg accepting NY Pinstripe cash 4 years from now. I can’t stop it from happening, and I can’t temper his enthusiasm. I’m not even sure I should.
In June, a smaller than expected crowd of 500 showed up at Michael Jackson’s grave on the anniversary of his passing. Maybe hero worship is becoming passé. For some, that could be a good thing. We need to focus on the real heroes in our lives, not the celluloid ones who end up in rehab, or the uber-athletes who lie to Congress. How about a shout out to all those awesome teachers in the audience, huh?
For my son’s sake, and all those other gullible and naïve youths out there who worship their favorite players and buy their posters and bobbleheads, I hope hero worship survives. There are heroes left in this world, heroes that can impact our lives in dramatic ways, as evidenced by this clipping from The Week magazine:
“Superman has saved the day again, this time in real life. An unidentified family facing foreclosure on their home was going through some old boxes when a family member came across a copy of Action Comics No. 1 – considered the holy grail of comics because it marked Superman’s first appearance. The comic book is expected to fetch about $250,000 at auction. Auctioneers reportedly spoke with the bank, which has agreed to allow the family to remain in their home until they receive the money from the auction to catch up on their house payments.”
Thank you, Superman.
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