Tiger Woods, the philandering golf player, was the first to try to get out of the rough, and this week Ben Roethlisberger, the Pittsburgh Steelers' quarterback whose idea of romance is apparently a ladies room in a bar, tried to recover from fourth down and long humiliation.
As acts of debasement go, the modern American version of remorse is arguably preferable to the old-fashioned Japanese practice of ritual disembowelment, but at least someone self-disemboweled offers real proof of being truly sorry.
The American public isn't so reassured. The script for these events, now firmly established, is one disembowelment short of inspiring belief.
The Sorry One is paraded before the media and tries best he can to make a great show of insincere sincerity - or so those seeing the spectacle might conclude, figuring that it has only come to this because the gravy train has been stopped in its tracks and just needs a little regretful speech to fire up the engine again.
It is important for the Sorry One to express regret to multiple people (omit those not applicable) - his own kids, other people's kids, his own parents, other people's parents, wives, girlfriends, fellow players, coaches, the league, business associates, sponsors, the American people, pastors, monks and guys who might have the player on their fantasy team.
For those of you scoring at home, the golfer was more inclusive in his mea culpas than the football player was. Big Ben was a small man when he forgot to mention the one person most wronged in this sorry affair: the 20-year-old college student who had accused him of rape.
To add insult to injury, he did praise the "thorough investigation in Georgia" - you know, the one for which he never had a full interview - and the prosecutor's decision not to bring charges against him.
I know, I know. We live in the United States of Attorneys. You beat a bush in America and six lawyers fly out, and Big Ben had the best legal representation his money could buy. Unfortunately, the state of being lawyered up is rarely conducive to saying anything about the obvious matter at hand, lest you incriminate yourself.
So many legalities, so little wisdom. Rather than leave the plight of the young woman like an accusatory ghost in the wings, why could not the great legal minds come up with a sympathetic set of words for their client? Oh, such a statement could include disclaimers and caveats - why, they could just recycle a few old ones hanging around the office. But how self-incriminating could it be to say, "While I maintain my innocence, I deeply regret ever going to the bar that night and I hope and pray that my accuser will find peace and be able to put this behind her"? The court of public opinion would have appreciated that small gesture and surely it would have served the main purpose: to help get the gravy train moving again so it can roll along the track to the next station to pick up more gravy while the people cheer.
I don't hear anyone cheering now and rightfully so. During this silence, I wish to add a timely raspberry in service of a pet peeve of mine.
In his brief statement, Ben Roethlisberger expressed his wish to be "a role model for kids." Forget that. He has forfeited his right to be a role model for anyone.
Enough with this role model nonsense anyway. The idea of role models is a piece of jargon imported relatively recently from the study of sociology, apparently for the purpose of confusing clear thinking. In my view, no one who is a celebrity should be eligible for role model-hood.
Shocking as it may seem, when I was growing up, the term "role model" did not exist. Given the influence of parents and teachers back then, it did not occur to anyone that young people would model their moral character after those with a gift for football or golf. This is how far society has sunk.
Granted, Big Ben's present role as a self-centered meathead who throws a good pass is not the best example for kids. As the Georgia district attorney said, he needs to grow up. So grow up already. In the absence of ritual disembowelment, it is just too easy to play the un-persuasive Sorry One.
Reg Henry is a columnist for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.
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