Lyin' and Tigers and Mulligans, Oh My!

It did not take me long to give up on golf, a game for which I have little aptitude and the attention span of a flea. A decent shot off the tee might, occasionally, inspire me sufficiently to get all the way to the green before picking up my ball in disgust, but after four holes, no matter what, I was desperate for lunch. 

There were lots of good things about my brief foray into golf (unflattering outfits notwithstanding).  There are worse ways to spend a sunny summer morning than strolling down well manicured fairways with friends who take neither you nor themselves seriously, but love you all the same. There are valuable life lessons to be learned from the foot wedge that reliably catches the close but not close enough putt, the Mulligans, the true meaning of "I'll take a six" (as in, I don't have enough fingers and toes to count any higher). I learned how to overlook a minor, harmless cheat. I learned the beauty of second -- and third, and fourth -- chances. And I learned that the honor system may well have its flaws, but when the stakes are low, who cares? 

And now, out of the woods, comes Tiger. Inhumanly perfect, robotic, actually, until all of a sudden he wasn't. Tiger was unattainable perfection, so much so that it was always difficult to see him as a role model. Sure, I admire greatness as much as the next gal, but it's the chinks in the armor that impress me most. The patently human need for a foot wedge; the yearning for a Mulligan; the urge to embellish the successes, or soften the failures. The admission, sometimes too long in coming, that we are, by nature, deeply flawed. 

I find myself rooting for Tiger, no longer the golden child pushed to greatness by relentless parents, but the aging and battered icon who has clawed his way back from a precipitous fall from grace (and gracefulness) to seek and, just maybe, earn redemption. Even if he doesn't end up wearing the hideous green jacket, I like his story, now, much more than the story that was created for him all those years ago. He is far from perfect, and I mean that as a compliment. 

As Tiger goes, I hope, so will go our country. We were supposed to be a near perfect union, and for a couple of centuries, with a few Mulligans and missteps and maybe a little bit of spin, we held ourselves up to that standard. Until we didn't. Somehow, the things that could never happen here have happened and continue to happen. With a little help from corporate media giants and far away enemies who want to take us down a peg, lies have become truth and truth is mocked. We have elected and sustained a president who denigrates all that makes us great -- not perfect, but great -- and who continues to abuse his ill-gained power to ruin all that we have built. He is the master of the Mulligan, the king of free passes -- for himself. I have no doubt in my mind that, for him, there is no hope of redemption. How can there be, when a person is unaware that he needs it. 

What worries me, though, is whether we, as a nation, can be redeemed. In our own eyes, in the eyes of our children, in the eyes of the world, in the eyes of our imperfect but well-intentioned founders who are turning over in their graves. We may be well served to keep our eyes on Tiger. His redemption may or may not include another Masters, but, most importantly, it appears to include a return to humanity, to decency. To respect for others, to a renewed ability to smile, to a new realization that we are deeply flawed but can, more often than not, take that Mulligan and do better, for everyone.