“There was a time, so long ago, there was a time, but here we are again, in the calm before the storm.”

Those are the words of Panamanian-born singer/guitarist/actor Ruben Blades, and they echo in my mind as a I read about the latest episode in the pathetic saga of Hawaii’s Michelle Wie. Pathos, after all, is that moment “of pity, sympathy, tenderness, or sorrow.” As human beings, we should not feel pride, happiness, or glee over the suffering of another. Let’s remember that Michelle Wie never gloated over her successes, nor ridiculed those who placed behind her. Her major crimes were to register for tournament judged beyond her ability, to take spots arguably owed to professional golfers, and to renounce her amateur status at a stage in her career judged too far too soon.

Why do we feel such passion, such anger, such frustration, over the spate of recent events involving the former glory girl (now apparently, the gory girl) of golf? Perhaps because she brought us so close, allowed us to dream, then apparently betrayed us with ungoddess-like behavior.

After Annika Sorenstam so nearly made the cut at the Colonial, Wie took up the challenge and nearly survived a pair of Men’s tournament cuts. Along the way, she won a USGA title at age 13, at which point she became convinced (or someone convinced her) of her own superiority. The path of hubris was swift: a courtship by Nike, a proclamation of excellence, a renunciation of amateur status, a large-money contract. What was missing along the way were victories.

Comparisons to Tiger Woods were inevitable. Tiger’s dad, however, was a military guy who was savy beyond his education. Earl knew enough to resist the seductive come-ons of the equipment companies and agents, fighting them off as his son acquired six USGA titles. Not runner-up finishes, not top-ten placements, but titles. In contrast, B.J. Wie and his wife allowed the seduction to take place, replacing testimony of achieved victory with optimism for predicted success. A second USGA title was lost in the final match, and since then, not a single trophy for first place has found tether in the Wie household.

In this uncharted territory, where does the adrift Wie find herself floating? Convinced of a wrist injury that may or may not be true, finding herself on the outside of college golf looking in, with no hope of representing Stanford in NCAA competition, the girl is lost. The hope for success on the PGA tour is dashed, the dreams of rewriting the LPGA record books are gone. What is left is a damaged competitor, badly in need of rest and recuperation.

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