We've all heard a lot about Tiger Woods' "transgressions" since the now-infamous accident and hospital visit around Thanksgiving. He recently announced his comeback to the tour, but in between, he was "rehabilitated" in a sex addiction clinic. I can't help but put my two cents in.
First off, if there is such a thing as sex addiction, Tiger and his dozen or so floozies do not define it. Wilt Chamberlain claims to have "had relations" with over 10,000 women. Now, I'm not sure how that's even physically possible, but the man did amazing things on the court, so maybe he replicated those feats in other places. If sex addiction is real, his face is the one that should be on the poster. Linking Tiger and his admittedly sad situation to sex addiction because of a handful of infractions is like claiming he's an alcoholic because he had a second beer while Wilt went for a swim in Budweiser's 100,000 gallon tank. They're not even in the same league.
In fact, the very idea of sex addiction to me is laughable. You say "sex addiction", I say "being a guy". Potato, potaaato; tomato, tomaaato. Tiger only did what his male animal instincts told him to. (Ironic that he's nicknamed after one of the sluttiest animals.) Playing the field (or the whole stadium, in his case) is what guys are programmed to do. It's just that most of us aren't professional athletes and celebrities with hundreds of millions of dollars, so we don't have to worry about ladies throwing themselves at us (at least those of us who would actually go in for that sort of thing). Somehow, millions make a man more attractive, regardless of his actual appearance.
Fortunately, I have neither the green nor the looks of a Greek god (the admitting of which somehow makes me more attractive … You women from Venus should stop by Mars sometime … It's a cool place … Things actually make sense in Man Land), so it's easy to say I've been faithful "because I'm such a great guy." Maybe that's part of it, but it's also a heck of a lot easier when you don't have supermodels falling down around you like a Nor'easter in rainy season.
The only thing Tiger is guilty of is being married. If he was going to drop his pants like they were eight sizes too big and drenched in concrete, he shouldn't have ever said his vows. It leaves his wife and kids in a terrible spot, and him in a clinic, trying to figure out how to say with a straight face: "I'm Tiger, and I'm addicted to sex."
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