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"But I want to talk about context," I said feebly.

Yeah, right.

I felt sorry for Woods, until the publicity guy reminded me that he was attacking my professional credibility and lying to save his ass at my expense. Or maybe he genuinely didn't remember talking to me. Maybe.

I listened to the tape I'd made of our conversation. After Earl finished his Scotland rap, I heard myself mentioning that he was awfully plainspoken for someone who had done 20 years in the military. I think I even called him "sir."

"That's my biggest problem," was Woods' response. "I'm honest. I tell the truth. And people can't handle that." He actually went on about this for some time.

OK, I thought. Maybe I'm pissed off enough to ride this little PR pony out the gate. After all, I have a book to promote. About an hour later, I lobbed off a quote to USA Today. This one wasn't quite as dumb. Instead, it was revoltingly self-serving, and syntactically moronic. "Journalists tend to oversimplify race," I said. "This article didn't do that. It's unfortunate that Earl Woods, a guy who's paid a lot of dues, feels that he has to duck and cover because of a media feeding frenzy."

Whoa, baby. Block that metaphor.

The so-called feeding frenzy abated by afternoon, when the East Coast closed down. When I actually had time to think about it, the whole thing seemed farcical.

First, what Fuzzy Zoeller said was racist -- and it wasn't funny. What Earl said wasn't racist -- and it was funny. Earl wasn't saying anything bad about Scots. He was just saying that Scotland has lousy weather. Does anyone except for seagulls and lobsters consider this debatable?

If anything, Earl's comments stereotyped blacks. But Richard Pryor and Chris Rock have proved that blacks can say things about blacks that whites simply can't.

The tone of the Golf World story was that of angry white frat boys who blame affirmative action for their own mediocrity.

But the truly lousy part is that the subtlety in my conversation with Earl Woods was lost. Like typical strangers, we talked about the weather. Earl already knew from our conversation -- about New York, about jazz -- that like him, I wouldn't be caught dead playing golf in that freezing Scottish rain. I'd be inside listening to jazz and drinking rum. And, like him, I'd rather be in Africa, anyway. He was being charming by including me in the company of "soul brothers."

I was only slightly mad at Earl, even though he'd essentially called me a liar. I kind of liked the guy when I interviewed him. Plus, I thought his remarks were innocuous.

I also had the slightly uncomfortable feeling that I was benefitting from the whole thing by having my name splashed all over the media. My editors at Icon were even talking about sending me to interview a movie star. Hey, I thought, even a serious reporter can benefit from a good old-fashioned media shit-storm.

Of course, I hadn't completely abandoned my environmental roots. I had asked Earl if he thought golf courses should be urged to use reclaimed water, but his answer hadn't made it into the piece.

"Why not?" he answered. "Just don't put the golf ball in your mouth."

Right about now, I suspect that Earl may be wishing he put a golf ball in his own mouth, rather than make that joke about Scotland.
salon.com | June 17, 1999

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