Late in 2009, and late one night, Woods ran over a fire hydrant near his driveway, was rendered unconscious, became the subject of a frantic 911 call from his hysterical mother and rushed to a hospital. Almost overnight Woods’s private life became a public joke. It should be obvious to all that Woods is a reckless and dangerous driver and it seems obvious to me that he has abused his body with his huge appetite for weightlifting and practice but (to borrow a phrase) . . . .

included lurid, vulgar (and now disputed by Mickelson) details about Mickelson’s alleged unwanted personal overtures to Ashley Perez, former wife of the professional golfer Pat Perez. I fired.

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The book, from my vantage point, tries to make the case that the rich and famous have a fundamental right to a private life but that the public at large, always on the prowl for blood in the water, has run out of patience for that world view. I know my own thinking was shaped by Nicklaus. After Woods’s sex life became an SNL bit and the rest, Nicklaus maintained that Tiger’s private life was not his business. That carried the day for me, even though a wise late friend of mine, Fay Vincent, the former baseball commissioner, had another view. Vincent felt once you used your good standing to sell Buicks and the rest, you forfeited your broad rights to privacy. In [People]

Nicklaus has said more than once that only a fool would bet against Tiger Woods. He was talking about Tiger Woods the golfer. Is there going to be another scary roadside event with Woods at the wheel? Is he ever going to tell us about. . . What is it like to be Tiger Woods? Was this most recent rehab stint done mainly to appease a judge who was going to require it anyway? Has Woods found new and better ways to address the pain in his life, physical and psychological? I certainly have no answers here. I doubt Woods does, either. Because the questions are hard.

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