Here we are again, watching the mighty stumble and fall.  Tiger Wood’s admission today that he disappointed his family with “transgressions” that were not consistent with his “values”, all but validates the rumors of an affair with a 24 year old cocktail waitress.  He says he will now work out his problems in private.  Good luck with that.

Until now, is there anyone who didn’t wish they were Tiger Woods for at least a day?  That gorgeous physique with the killer golf swing and a billion dollar bank account?  What guy doesn’t think Wood’s wife is hot?  Or what woman even?  It was so perfect, it had to go, at least for a little while as the world adjusts to the reality Tiger Woods is really just a guy.

Like so many powerful men it is the people who have the most who risk the most. They approach the game of life as high rollers in Vegas prepared to lose it all.  Is it power?  Greed?  Entitlement?  Could Bill Clinton not have known he would be impeached for infidelity when he had sexual relations with that woman?

Former New York Governor Eliot Spitzer, the lawyer crusader with the smart and pretty wife who was elected in a landslide, lacked enough inside that he needed a call girl too.  It cost him his job and his political future.  I wonder if he wanted it in the first place, or he found himself on a train which was not going to stop until he derailed it.

And here was Tiger, just two months ago playing in the Notah Begay benefit golf tournament at Turningstone.  According to the alleged mistress, Tiger was involved with her for two years.  I watched him eat a sandwich out of his golf bag as another player teed off on the 15th at Atunyote.  He seemed absorbed in the play, but looking back, maybe he was daydreaming about the next liaison with Jaimee Grubbs.

Tiger hasn’t run for office and he doesn’t owe us any explanation about his behavior.  He’s just a hero.  I don’t know any teenager who lamented the folly of President Clinton or Eliot Spitzer but my teenager announced tonight he doesn’t like Tiger “so much anymore”.  Older folks who’ve endured the knocks of marriage and others who didn’t survive and moved on probably have more sympathy for Wood’s situation, but children still believe in perfect marriages along with perfect golf games and cool product endorsements.

Is there a person in the land who would trade places with the guy right now?  He’s probably spending his fifth night on the couch;  no more special than any other guy who strayed from his marriage.  Infidelity has a way of recalibrating socio-economic scales.  A dog house at the trailer park is probably not very different from the dog house at the mansion; they’re cramped places on the outside of everything, the house, the wife, the kids, the respect.  There’s no promise of ever being allowed back in.

Remember the awkward stroll to the Presidential helicopter that first weekend after the news broke about President Clinton’s affair with Monica Lewinsky?  First daughter Chelsea Clinton literally had to hold the marriage together for the planned vacation to Martha’s Vineyard.  She stood between her parents and held their hands.  We all watched and squirmed.

We squirmed while watching Silda Spitzer, tailored and composed with her Hermes scarf circled round her neck and bags beneath her eyes two feet behind her husband as he held a news conference about his “transgressions”.

And now we will watch the uneasy repair of the Wood’s marriage.  On his website he said he couldn’t believe the appetite for details of his personal life with the tabloids.  He ain’t seen nothing yet.  It’s one thing to attract attention with a dazzling smile, a perfect swing and a long list of sponsors.  But produce a soap opera in this Age of Reality TV, and you’ll find viewers you never knew existed.

I mean that figuratively of course.  If you actually come up and pinch me I might have to slap you, unless I’m in a real good mood and then I might invite you to do it more.

OK.  I’m in a great mood.  I’m still wondering how the heck I landed this most plum assignment of a career that isn’t even a career anymore.

My son Harry and I were Honorary Observers for the PGA Turning Stone Resort Championship on Saturday.  This is an experimental program begun three years ago by the Pro Golfer’s Association, essentially to reward big donors with a walk inside the ropes of a twosome.

All I’ve donated is my broad smile and enthusiasm, but so far it’s been enough to get me back to the Empowerment Fund each year, the Charity Arm of the Tournament, which has raised one million dollars for Central New York non-profits since its inception three years ago.

Harry and I were assigned to follow players Jimmy Walker and John Senden who politely understand this is designed to build the PGA and they go along with things, but essentially we are nobody to these guys.   After teeing off, Jimmy approached Harry and me, introduced himself and offered his hand.  That did it.  We rooted for him from that moment on.  That simple gesture was all it took to sway our collective energy his way.

We followed the PGA rules carefully.  Honorary Observers are to walk along with the other spectators, only we are just inside the ropes instead of just outside.  After nine holes our PGA liaison wanted to give us even better access, suggesting we stick with the scorekeeper, the man who carries the sign behind the players.  Are you kidding?  You mean follow him right up the center of the fairway?  We won’t get arrested?  Or shot?  OK!  We’re in.

So if you want to know what it’s like to follow PGA players as they approach a tee with spectators all around I’ll tell you it is major thrilling.  You feel like you’re in an ocean of green and there are eyes in the distance, everywhere.  It’s so cool and you feel real proud.

Except on the 15th hole when we weren’t standing in the right spot.  You see, you can’t get ahead of the players on any shot and they always get a head start to the next shot.  Plus their legs are six feet long and they walk fast anyway.  Harry and I looked like Olympic speed walkers trying to keep up because we’d look goofy actually jogging along the fairway like there’s some emergency.  We did well pretty well with our speed walking until the 15th when we just couldn’t get to the other side of the tee on time.

At that moment we learned players have eyes in the back of their head because as Harry and I discreetly moved far behind the tee to get to the regulation side, John Senden turned around, singled us out and asked us to stand still.  OK.  You know how you felt when you were 12 and the teacher told you to deliver something to another classroom and the Principal was walking in the hall at the time and scolded you for being there?  That’s how we felt.

No sweat.  When Jimmy Walker stepped up to take his turn, aware Harry and I had been singled out to freeze, he motioned for us to continue to our place.  Way to go Jimmy.  We knew we loved you for a reason.  Later Harry and I joked how our friends would want to know if the players said anything to us, such as “give me your phone number and let’s go out for a beer after the round is over”.

“Oh yeah” we mocked, “They talked to us.  They told us to get out of their way”.

So the next day I was in my house in Syracuse, staining my living room windows when the call came from Turning Stone.  There was a miscommunication at the course and could I please come right out to be Mistress of Ceremonies for the Award Ceremony in just two hours?  You kidding?  H- – l  ya.

As if my Empowerment Fund credentials and parking pass to Lot 5 were not enough, I got clearance to drive directly to the Clubhouse, like where the PLAYERS AND THEIR FAMILIES HANG OUT.   I generously avoided the “Player Parking” signs and took a spot in the back corner, just as the head of security arrived to apologize for missing me at the gate to escort me in.  Ann Spencer, the Tournament Director, pulled up in a golf cart and suggested we take a seat in the dining room to discuss the five sentences I was scripted to say for the ceremony once a winner was determined.

We walked past State Troopers and Oneida Security and into the dark paneled dining room overlooking the 18th hole and the setting sun and the Golf Channel setup on the porch outside.  The Golf Channel coverage played on a big flat screen TV over the buffet spread of prime rib, pasta salads, bread, and baked potatoes and just over the little pumpkins painted and signed by the player’s children.

The service is world class, just like home I thought, only I provide the service.  After our meal and a quick chat it was time to walk to the V.I.P tent, adjacent to the Clubhouse, also overlooking the 18th green and a magnificent amber sunset, to find Oneida Nation Representative and Turning Stone CEO, Spiderman, Superman,  Genius visionary Ray Halbritter in the V.I.P tent.  Instructed to stick by Ann, I stood way out of my league at Ray’s corner with his mother and top echelon of the Turning Stone.    All dressed up for an Award’s Ceremony I was important but not that important.  I thought I should be indoors with fellow Empowerment Fund Committee Members watching from behind the glass.  Tim Petrovic walked outside after his tie for third place to thank Ray for a well-run tournament.

You probably heard what happened next; players Matt Kuchar and Vaughn Taylor ended the competition tied for first.   A playoff began with both players repeating the 18th hole, but they tied again.  They went to the next hole but ran out of daylight.  Everyone, including the exhausted Turning Stone staff, was told to return for an 8:30 am start today.  Asked once again if I’d be willing to return in the morning I said “H – - l ya” to myself and nodded in the affirmative.

Another day, another buffet meal in the Clubhouse.  Matt Kuchar’s wife and two little children ran around the carpeted dining room as increasing numbers of Turning Stone staff sought refuge from the deteriorating weather conditions to watch the six-hole marathon on the Golf Channel indoors.  Kuchar won the duel; his reliable smile reminded me of Carmelo Anthony’s Championship season with the Syracuse University basketball team in 2003.  In a match of equals a smile can sometimes give you the edge.

So I’m still smiling now, several hours later, after a dignified ceremony recognizing the Oneida People and props all around for the best field of players and most dramatic outcome yet,  Matt Kuchar even taking the microphone from Ray Halbritter at the end to add words of appreciation to the Atunyote grounds crew for doing everything they could to manage the course in unmanageable weather conditions.

A crush of photographers shot everything that moved and I was asked to pose for a photo with Ray Halbritter and Matt Kuchar.  When I get the photo I’ll frame it and send it down to my 20 year old son Charlie who’s on the golf team with the University of Tampa, so he can tell all his friends “yeah my mom hangs out with Matt Kuchar”.

I’m smiling at all of it.  Smiling so broadly you might even get away with pinching me.  Literally.

The third annual PGA Tour event at Turningstone begins this week.  For the second year in a row the forecast calls for great golf and not great weather.  This is a terrible shame because Central New Yorkers tend to put off outdoor events until the weather improves but it’s a long way until May so I say put on every piece of clothing you own and come anyway.

Oneida Indian Nation President and CEO Ray Halbritter and his top notch staff worked years to get the PGA to consider our region.  It is testimony to his enormous skills and the fact that you just can’t say no to this quiet but brilliant man that Halbritter succeeded.

The first year brought weather from the Gods.  It was sunny, sparkling, warm and brilliant every day of the tournament and Halbritter had a sore back from all the pats congratulating him for not only bending the PGA, but the jetstream too on that inaugural event at Turningstone.

But last year the Oneidas were not so lucky.  Nearly every day was chilly or wet or both at once.  A few intrepid fans stood by the ropes, watching the pros make the most frustrating game on the planet almost look easy, but Halbritter had to be disappointed if not sympathetic to the turnout.  The PGA was watching too.  If we can’t show up to the most beautiful golf course within a hundred miles to cheer on the players and support this event, we’ll lose it.

Now it’s happening again.  The forecast calls for chilly temperatures and plenty of rain.  It’s understandable that with all the fear about unemployment, diminishing bank accounts and swine flu running amok and ending the world this winter, many moms will put their foot down and say Dad and the kids are prohibited from standing outside in the cold.

Well this mom has some other advice.  There is no evidence that standing in the cold brings on a cold.  Just go.  It’s a thrill.  You can’t watch these men whack a little ball all over the place and not marvel at how quickly they convince it to go in the little hole over and over again.

Bundle up.  Bring a hat, bring your most weather- proof walking shoes, gloves.   Let’s show the PGA and the players we’re grateful they selected our beautiful little corner of the world for a few days of golf.

The play begins at Atunyote Thursday morning.  You can get ticket information at the turningstone website.  I hope to see you there.

The greeting at the door of Lava at Turningstone read “No Cameras.  No Cellphones”.  That took care of that.  A blog about this region’s most beautiful golf course, a buffet dinner that made Vegas look like cooking school and four of the most talented and ripped men alive, with no photos.  Sorry about that.

I don’t golf, but I recognize the sport as perhaps the most dignified on the planet.  It’s well-mannered and gentlemanly, even among women.  The rules are serious.  If Tiger Woods can be fined for questioning the call of a PGA official as he was a couple of weeks ago, a lot worse things can happen to me for trying to sneak a photo of the players.

In golf, spectators are quiet.  Players are respectful.  Fist pumps don’t come at the expense of other players, but at the course itself.  Who could deny a man the joy of victory over a path of crazy perfect grass?

For the third year in a row I am pinching myself for my good fortune at being named a member of the Empowerment Fund of the PGA event at Turningstone.  Twenty Central New Yorkers who represent politics and government, business, athletics and media, serve at the pleasure of Oneida Nation C.E.O. Ray Halbritter, who also happens to be my business hero.   You can’t be in his presence for five minutes and not realize the man has something.  My fellow committee members, all impressive in their own right, speak of Ray in the same universal way.  The Empowerment Fund is the charity arm of the PGA event at Turningstone and in just the first two years, the Oneidas turned over nearly $800,000.00 in ticket proceeds to various Central New York charities.

Ray summoned all his skills, smarts and connections to land Tiger Woods for a game of golf today at the stunningly beautiful Atunyote course.  Everywhere you walked, the talk was about Tiger.

But in fairness, today was really about a lesser known pro golfer named Notah Begay III, another quality guy with an economics degree from Stanford University and the only full-blooded native American on the tour.  Notah has a Foundation dedicated to helping Native children through golf and soccer, and a longtime friendship with Tiger Woods,  one that precedes their famous roommate assignment at Stanford.  In a question and answer session at the reception at Lava last night, Tiger said of Notah  “He took care of me and he didn’t take care of me.  I killed a lot of brain cells”, which provoked laughter from the invitation-only 300 in attendance.  Did the best athlete in all the world and the greatest gentleman and role model too just suggest he smoked weed?  No!  Tell us you wore the same socks for two days in row why don’t you?  And now stick a fork in our eyes.

In typical pro golf fashion, the four players: Tiger, Notah, Mike Weir and Camilo Villegas all spoke of how impressed they are that Notah has this cause and it’s a pleasure to assist him at Turningstone.  For his part, Tiger said, “anything Notah needs, and I’m there”.  Quite a promise from the person most in demand in all the world since Princess Diana.

After the intimate gathering at Lava last night today’s skins game seemed anti-climatic except for the 3000 fans who stood ten and fifteen deep at each hole, and the media that was finally granted access.  At one point, my son Harry and I stood within eight feet of the players because we skipped ahead two holes and secured a spot at the rope at the fifth tee.

The four players collectively earned one million dollars for the Notah Begay III Foundation.  I’ll bet no one was more grateful than Ray Halbritter who envisioned top notch play on his golf course rolled from native land, where wetlands met limos and pampas grass sprouted bronze sculpture, and where a perfect late summer day saw four talented classy men turn the most accomplished Central New Yorkers into star-struck 12 year olds.