Forget the fractured family.
Forget the lost endorsements.
Through all the media frenzy swirling around the world's greatest golfer amid his admittance of extramarital affairs, one thought stands out.
How is Tiger Woods going to play once he steps behind the tee boxes in tournament play?
This is a guy who demands silence and minimal distractions when he's on the golf course.
Woods is notorious for asking fans to "shhhh" and to move out of his peripheral line of vision.
He stares icily at photographers and seems annoyed when leaves bristle in the breeze.
Can you imagine how the galleries will react going forward?
Golf, unlike most sports, is set in a cathedral-quiet setting. You play in the NFL? You can't even hear yourself think. Major League Baseball? It's constant catcalls and drunken yeowls. Basketball and hockey? Sing along to the roar of the crowd.
But golf?
One obnoxious comment is amplified tenfold, like a wet baby crying on a JetBlue flight.
And Woods is going to hear plenty of comments. The marshals, holding their "Quiet, please" signs, may as well change them to read "C'mon, be nice." There is no way Woods will benefit from a whisper-hush gallery.
Woods' mental toughness, his ability to filter out noise and distractions, will be put to the ultimate test next summer and you can be sure his female fan base will take part in the heckles and jeers.
No one is perfect. Many men (and women) cheat. But they're not the most recognized sports figure in the world. They're not Tiger Woods.
Jack Nicklaus' record of 18 major titles seems pretty safe right now.
Unless Woods finds some high-tech earplugs.
"You da man!"
Woods will miss those mindless frat boy yells.
Packers 41, Lions 17
Sentimental holiday pick can't match up here.
Cowboys 24, Raiders 21
"Just win baby" is kind of a faraway rally cry.
Giants 28, Broncos 19
Manning has NY back on track for final stretch.
Regardless of your political affiliation and views, the Newsweek Sarah Palin cover is a dagger in journalistic integrity.
As a former reporter and editor, it's Journalism 101 to use photos consistent with the story. No editor in his or her right mind would agree to using a photo from another publication on its front page or magazine cover to represent a story.
This week's Newsweek cover is misleading and, to me, convinces me that Newsweek should go out of business.
When my Newsweek arrived, my spouse said, "I can't believe she would pose for the cover of Newsweek like that."
Well, she didn't.
Palin, in her running outfit, posed for Runner's World, assuming this would be used as a feature for a running magazine. For Newsweek to purchase this picture (and shame on Runner's World and its photographer) for its cover is a journalistic sham.
Newsweek has been veering left over the last year, its haughty self-important writers and editors wearing kneepads when covering the current administration. It's been difficult to trust a once-objective news magazine for the real story.
A news magazine should not slant left or right. Journalism, as it's taught in esteemed universities, is about who, what, why, where and when.
Good journalism is based on facts. Good journalism inspires trust.
Newsweek has officially jumped the shark.
My subscription can't run out soon enough.
Happy Friday.
You could be in Denver today.
We went to the Jack-O-Lantern Spectacular last weekend at the Roger Williams Zoo in Providence, R.I.
There were more than 5,000 pumpkins on a trail through the woods and on the water, many with themes set to music.
Here are some of the more memorable pumpkins:
Michael Jackson.
John Lennon and Paul McCartney.
Kurt Cobain.
Dom DeLuise and Farrah Fawcett.
Shine on.
We live in the best country in the world.
Let's keep it that way.
Somehow we knew it would end early.
In a life that transitioned from untouchable pop star to curious circus attraction, Michael Jackson checked out before closing time, leaving an empty dance floor and a weathered broken crown in his wake.
He was arguably as big as Elvis for a few short years and, like the King, took his last breath too early but well beyond relevance.
Images of a grown man's Neverland, Joseph Merrick's bones, a dangling baby and purple PJs replaced images of the Top of the Pops, the moonwalk, a confident swagger and sold-out arenas.
If you're over 45, you remember the first time hearing "I'll Be There" and the wonder and amazement of the little tyke with the big afro on lead vocals. You remember when the upstart "ABC" and the gentle "Ben" dominated the airwaves.
Tiger Beat magazine seemingly could not go to publication without the round, smiling face of Jackson on the cover. The legend was literally in its infancy before surging with the vehicle of MTV.
Jackson, with apologies to Madonna, dominated the cutting-edge music channel in its early days. His work with John Landis on the "Thriller" video was groundbreaking and received heavy rotation despite its 13-minute length.
The "Thriller" album shot to the top of the charts and, to this day, is by far the top selling album of all-time with more than 100 million copies leaving the shelves.
In the mid-'80s, once "Thriller" had been tasted and consumed by just about everyone with an ear for music, Jackson created a swoon just by flashing his white glove from behind the stage curtain.
He was untouchable. Until he was accused of touching.
Accusations of sexual relations with children, a premise deemed unforgivable by even most hardened criminals, tarnished his reputation for life.
We could accept the white skin and Teflon-chiseled facial features. We could accept the quirky mannerisms. We could accept that he had more money than he knew what to do with. We could accept his fascination with Liz Taylor.
But the Neverland sleepovers we could not accept. Even if we never knew the complete truth.
No one could listen to his music the same way anymore. It was no longer chic to spin "Beat It" and "Billie Jean" without someone commenting about the source of the rhythm and the negative connotations that came with it.
It was sad.
And now it's over.
The King of Pop has left us.
But it really feels like he left us long ago.
