I don't know this guy, but he's so wrong he makes pastrami-on-angel-food look right. The last thing Tiger Woods needs to do is give us no more of himself than he did this week in addressing the finalization of his divorce.

Compared to his ex-wife, Elin, whose interview in People reminded us all that there were actual human beings involved in the burlesque that has been Woods' life these past nine months, Woods came off like human titanium, soulless and antiseptic. Watching him speak fluent Press Release in answer to questions about the most wrenching episode of his life was like watching a lawn implement answer questions.

Commander Data seemed more human.

And, OK, maybe human isn't what we need out of Tiger; maybe we just need him to start putting up red numbers again and resume chasing Jack. I have to think, though, that it would help his public rehabilitation, and his legacy, for him to unbend a little bit. Otherwise he goes down in history as nothing more than a sweet backswing and a nerveless putter, more machine than man.

Instead, watching him the other day just made me sad, and perilously close to pity. And he doesn't deserve our pity at this point, only our scorn.

Unfortunately, to feel scorn -- or, conversely, anything warmer than bloodless awe for his simple mechanical skill -- you have to see him as human, and he makes it impossible. Too bad, because surely in his heart of hearts Woods would prefer a greater public epitaph than this: "Tiger Woods. He lived. He was really good at golf. He died."

Right now, that's about all he's got for us.