I'm going to briefly dip my toe into the Superfund site that Tiger Woods' life is quickly becoming and I'm going to do it for a simple reason.

I write about sports.

In case you hadn't noticed, Tiger Woods is sports. It's kind of hard to write, think, talk, or ponder on sports, the nature of sports, the meaning of sports or the implication of sporting culture without talking about the guy who, just recently, was acknowledged as the first billionaire athlete.

It's sort of like talking about cars and not touching on engines. Doesn't work.

So just because Tiger and his many supporters don't like the topic, it doesn't mean they get to look down their noses at the people whose interest is piqued. They don't get to choose in what context people refer to their boy.

Who created the interest in the first place?

Who crafted the image?

Who happily climbed up and sat on the pedestal?

So the interest has turned nasty, and the questions are tougher and the glare of the spotlight is starting to burn. That's what happens. Deal with it.

Tiger and his handlers, his employees and his friends, and every one of the sycophants who wanted to be in Tiger's circle of trust, they're all just as guilty for allowing this to happen.

Tiger deserves his privacy? Sure. But so do I and so does everybody else, and we've been force-fed a 24-hour-a-day Tiger diet for about a decade now. I'm hooked. I'm a Tiger junky. Don't hate the addict for wanting his fix; hate yourself for giving him his first taste.

I'm not judging Tiger, mind you. Let's be perfectly clear. Absolutely no part of me is dumb enough to play the moral blame-game. I'm not perfect. But, surprise, surprise, neither is Tiger. So we have something in common after all. And I didn't have to spend thousands of dollars on fancy watches or millions of dollars on fancy consulting contracts, I didn't have to switch mobile-phone providers, I didn't have to swaddle myself in swooshes and I didn't have to drink my weight in energy drinks. Heck, I didn't even have to shave.

Do I feel sorry for Woods? That's a harder question than I think most realize. These were his actions, and his alone. Nobody forced this behavior on him. I feel sorry that he seemingly put so much at risk for so little reward with so little regard for the possible consequences. I think, for now, I reserve my sorrow, my pity, and my hope for something better to come of this for Tiger's wife, Elin, and their two children, Sam and Charlie.

Will I forgive Woods for his transgressions? That's really not up to me. Woods isn't looking for my forgiveness. He's looking for the forgiveness of those who matter infinitely more, his family first and then his friends.

Will I look upon Woods with the same slack-jawed awe ever again? Probably not. And not because he screwed up. My jaw won't drop to the ground anymore because now I know he's human, as human as I, and he's just as fallible as the rest of us.

This was a case of hubris, of disregard for others and of ego run amok. It's nothing new. It's happened before and it'll happen again.

Tiger will be back, I'll bet. Lord knows he could disappear forever, sequestered away somewhere and never go wanting, but I don't think that same ego will let that happen.

No, he'll be back and his pursuit of 18 will again be what everybody talks about, but he'll never be the same.

And maybe, just maybe, that'll be a good thing.