Tiger Woods certainly knows that the object is to get out of the bunker in one stroke, not to stay in it as long as you can. By hunkering down in his mansion without explaining how he rammed his truck into a tree, why his wife took a mashie to his back window, and why he appeared to have facial injuries consistent with having been scratched and pummeled, Tiger and his handlers have committed the cardinal sin of public relations; they have left the story for others to tell.
Tiger's no comment, it's a private matter does not rise to the level of "I did not have sex with that woman, Miss Lewinski," but
You learn in the first few hours of Public Relations 101 that when something bad happens, you define the story -- you don't let it define you. Tiger has let the 24-hour media and blogosphere conjure all sorts of stories that are likely much worse than the truth. Really, how much worse can it be than the current conclusions that he cheated on his wife and she came after him with one of his Nike irons? If three days ago, he and Elin had simply said something that smacked of the truth, only the tabloids would be obsessing this week over the story. ("Madonna Adopts Woods and Cocktail Waitress Love Child?")
As of this writing, Tiger has ignored three attempts by the Florida state police to interview him and his wife; state law doesn't require the interview, but the court of public opinion will think Tiger believes he is above the law. Tiger is right; whatever happened a few hours after the Thanksgiving turkey was put away is a private matter. But he is the most public of persons, and the media is a hungry beast. By hiding behind a phalanx of handlers, Tiger is trashing his aura of modesty and redefining himself as a dilettante.