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In Bill Plaschke’s latest column for the Los Angeles Times, instead of delivering a succinct and informed opinion on Tiger Woods’ leave of absence, we get a self-serving treatise on humanity. Below are some of the highlights:

So, it turns out, somewhere beneath those strippers and hookers and pancake-house waitresses, there is a soul.

Tiger Woods officially joined the human race Friday when, mired in the thickest rough of his life, he did the one thing he never does.

He acknowledged his mortality. He surrendered to his frailties.

“I am deeply aware of the disappointment and hurt that my infidelity has caused to so many people, most of all my wife and children,” the statement on his website read.

Not to pick nits here, but it was curious how Woods mentioned “so many people” ahead of his “wife and children,” as if his family ranked behind his public.

And, c’mon, Tiger. Infidelity? Singular?

After all, when you think about it, Friday’s announcement that he is disappearing is really no big shock.

The Tiger Woods we knew was already long gone.

To be fair, you should really read the whole piece — some of it at least sounds humble. I do agree with Plaschke in his hope that Tiger recovers from all this. He’s leaving his profession (an extremely profitable one) primarily to patch things up with his wife. I understand it’s also a way to avoid the public eye, but it really is the wisest move.

Maybe I just hate bad puns. No — never mind — I can handle them more than the average person, even if “mired in the thickest rough of his life” is completely embarrassing. I actually gagged on my bagel when I read that. I just get annoyed by all this heavy writing about Tiger’s complex and tortured inner being. As Bill Simmons recently pointed out, we didn’t know much about the guy until this bonanza began. Really, we still don’t know much other than what’s on Tiger’s Wikipedia. He has a wife and two kids. He cheats on his wife. He’s good at golf. He’s filthy rich. That’s about it, right?

So, I don’t want to hear about Tiger Woods’ “soul” or how he “surrendered to his frailties.” Statements like that require proof of a legitimate righteousness before the turmoil. Fact is, we don’t have that evidence. I always looked at Tiger Woods as a genuine dork, fancy paper around an empty box (thanks, John Lennon). He’s not a representative of the human condition — he’s a representative of the godly athlete. Plenty of morally admirable ones exist, I know, but Tiger Woods helplessly fits the unsavory prototype.

How can we honestly care that the “Tiger Woods we knew was already long gone” when he decided to temporarily leave the PGA Tour? The only Tiger Woods we knew was a billionaire golfer. We’ll miss his dominance on the course — nothing more.

Like everyone else, I’ve been eating up this story. I’m interested in all the details, sordid or otherwise. But these are leads, facts, hunches, and lies. They simply revolve around the story at hand. As far as examining Tiger’s mortality, let’s leave it alone.