LOS ANGELES — At times my loyalty to my chosen profession of journalism cannot be taken as a given. This is one of those times.
To put the matter in a quite unrefined way, the Tiger Woods psychodrama makes me sick, and besides turning my stomach, it is turning me into something close to a double agent. I am in danger of becoming a career journalist with such cavernous doubts about the values and virtues of journalism as all too frequently practiced in America that I am almost ready to spy for the enemy.
Yes, this is because of Tiger Woods. The transcendently great golfer let it all — or at least a lot of it — hang out in his public confession of serial sinning at an appearance more than a week ago before the so-called news media in Florida.