By nature, sports enthusiasts are a selfish lot.

We extol moments of singular brilliance, demand high levels of consistency and critique those in the breach with an unyielding sense of condemnation more appropriately reserved for matters of great significance. For lack of a better word, American sports fans are mercurial. We appreciate the spirit of excellence and have the developed ability to readily identify its presence – or, more notably, its distinct absence.

Enter Curtis Strange. In 1982, two poor decisions by the former Wake Forest All-American could have forever etched a dreadful image of him in our conscience. Following a less than spectacular shot at Doral, Strange so fiercely kicked the bottom of his golf bag – while still on the shoulder of his caddie, no less – that Gene Kelley ultimately filed a lawsuit against his boss.

A week later, Strange compounded that mistake by lambasting a volunteer scoring official at The Bay Hill Invitational. In addition to Peggie Berry filing official grievance paperwork with the Tour, Arnold Palmer – also a member of the prestigious Demon Deacon golf fraternity – helped Strange decide to embrace a more accommodating professional disposition. In each case, the 17-time Tour champion issued an apology and paid corresponding fines. The changes discussed with Palmer had merit, and in just three years, he would use them to begin the process of becoming a two-time U.S. Open champion.

Curtis Strange moved forward.Most importantly, Strange was allowed to do so. Had those incidents happened in today’s society, he might not have had the chance. At last week’s SAS Championship in Cary, NC, those changes were on complete display. To no surprise, Strange appeared at peace with his place in life and the game he still loves.

Despite an opening round 74, he was accommodating, genuine and warm. Strange was communicative with his gallery, and took obvious pleasure in speaking with its members.  He waxed about attending this season’s remaining home football games in Winston-Salem, and with great anticipation, his plans to hunt mule deer later this fall. If a missed 10-footer ever bothered him and caused his blood to boil in a former life, it was not evident last Friday.

I have to think this is the man Palmer so desperately wanted to emerge from his troubles as an ambassador, not the antagonist. But had Curtis Strange made his mistakes in the sharpness of today’s living color, would we have allowed him the space necessary to explore, locate, and implement change? It now seems our collective tolerance lasts no longer than a garden variety mouse click. At our fingertips exists a litany of forum, information, and pundits. Quite naturally, the world of technology – its many conveniences understood – has enhanced our sense of timing. But has it eliminated our patience. It is human nature to second-guess the decisions of those we admire. Even amongst our greatest teams, we isolate the weak and assign blame accordingly.

Ultimately, our sports heroes walk some of the most explosive livewire in American popular culture. In an ever shrinking global community, it has become less difficult – and, in many cases, easy to place ourselves closer to the action. Given such a notion, one might think it easier for us to maintain a complete understanding of our athletes. But with our pride at stake, reconciling a blemish on their scorecard – personal, professional, or otherwise – has become a significant challenge.

I am glad some of our greatest performers missed this era of familiar contempt. Leaving something to the imagination is a vital cog in the wheel of the heroic athlete. In days past, our brightest stars were very much an ample mixture of perspiration and lore, not a box score and grainy cell phone video footage.

Can you imagine Hogan on Twitter? Mantle on Facebook? Unitas on Instagram?

Impossible.

As I walked the fairways of Prestonwood Country Club last week with my childhood hero, I remarked more than once how glad I was that he was given the necessary latitude to evolve; the results speak firmly for themselves. Curtis Strange, 2.0 – dedicated husband and father, hall of fame touring professional and quality advocate for our game.

In a 1996 interview with Tiger Woods, it was Strange who – less than a year removed from the intense scrutiny of his wildcard selection to the 1995 United States Ryder Cup team – advised the Tour’s new focal point of curiosity that winning championships and adjusting to defeat would not be an easy task.

“You’ll learn,” Strange quipped.

He was right; I am just glad we let him.

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