Recently a few of us, heroes all, were arguing about Tiger Woods and his absence from the Payne Stewart memorial at Pebble Beach. A majority of the gathering of six felt that staying away in the name of focus was the right thing for Woods to do. Two of us felt it made him a smaller person.

Ever since I've been thinking about heroes and wondering how, after following Woods around Pebble Beach for what was one of the landmark performances in the history of sport, I still don't find him vaguely heroic. When I think of Tiger Woods I can't get the little Woody Allen guy out of my head.

So, meet the little Woody Allen guy.

It was just before Christmas last year that we found ourselves on the road to Arizona. We have allergies, so, not wishing to be caught out like that whiney couple in the bible, we took the precaution of booking a room in the world's second largest hotel, the MGM Grand in Vegas.

It doesn't have the charming, neo-rustic decor of the standard stable with kingsize manger and deluxe straw, but substitute wiseguys and goodfellas for those dorky wisemen and shepherds and you're still coming out ahead at the MGM - especially if you avail of the allyou-can-eat-buffet after a long day.

Anyway, the point is that after checking in we were participating, en famille, in that great American pastime, Standing in Line, when Mike Tyson and his entourage ambled past like a belligerent herd of buffalo.

Seeing Tyson in the MGM Grand was a little surprising. The MGM was where Tyson made an all-you-can-eat-buffet out of Evander Holyfield's ear; it was also where Mike's maladjusted supporters ran amok, firing gunshots in the lobby.

Nevertheless, the line we'd been standing in dissolved in the presence of celebrity, and, along with the rest of Nevada, myself and my two daughters pressed forward to get a better glimpse. Finally the little crossroads in the MGM Grand where the lifts are was jammed with rubbernecking people like us.

And suddenly words of acid good sense erupted from this little bespectacled guy with a Woody Allen voice. "Jeez people," he honked, "you all want to see this animal? This rapist? This bully? That's what you want your kids to see? Your daughters? This savage? This goddamn psycho? Aw c'mon. He's disgusting. Where's you're respect for yourself?"

We turned and started to move on. The little guy was furious and he was right. Tyson is appalling and disgusting and probably too sick for veterinary intervention. His continued celebrity debases us all. It's one thing to write that in a column, though, another thing to shout it while Tyson is standing right behind you.

And in the MGM that night Tyson stood behind the Woody Allen guy, glowering as he watched him make his brave little speech. Tyson could have picked him up and bent him around like a pipe-cleaner and none of us could have done anything about it, yet, as we turned away in quiet shame, so did Tyson. Watching the little man's outrage, I couldn't be sure if I'd seen anything quite so right and so brave in a sports arena in the previous 10 years. Of course, it insults Tiger Woods to associate him with the Tyson mob, but the connection is made only to kickstart a little argument on Heroism in Sport and to enumerate those things which, as the little guy might have said, we would be happy to show our daughters.

Maybe this is being perverse, but if I'd brought the kids to Pebble Beach last week I'd have shown them Padraig Harrington instead of Tiger Woods. Leave Harrington's perspective and work ethic aside: his unassuming honesty in calling a penalty shot on himself in the gloaming of Saturday morning was what we'd want sport to be all about. His gesture makes him the anti-De Bruin, the antidote to cynicism.

In the scheme of things Tiger Woods isn't a bad guy, but (and maybe, again, this is being picky) as the top chap in his business he has other broader responsibilities. Human stuff.

In the aftermath of the Ryder Cup last year he was one of those who gushed about the friendships which had blossomed on the American team that week. Not long later Payne Stewart, who in halving a hole with Colin Montgomery provided the single most generous act of sportsmanship that week, was dead.

There were services and memorials at the time (to which Woods went), and some of the mourning for Stewart was certainly overdone and mawkish. Pebble Beach was different though. Early in the week they held a short, dignified ceremony to mark the passing of the title holder and to commemorate a man whose personal growth reached a summit when he embraced Phil Mickelson on the 18th green at Pinehurst and told him there were other things more important than golf titles.

While Stewart's colleagues were remembering that generous sense of perspective in the fallen US Open champion, the heir apparent was playing a practice round and "did not want to be thinking about that".

When you play like Tiger Woods played at Pebble Beach you pretty much put an end to all argument. His excellence there will always be remembered and celebrated. What he had to do to achieve it will become the primer for those who "refuse to lose". In the name of "focus" Tiger has turned the ratchet up another notch and winning remains more important than the Stewart legacy of just doing the right thing.

Which is a pity, because when you are the best by such a margin there is some space left for grace and generosity. Tiger could have gone to South Africa when Nelson Mandela asked him to, he could take an interest in the conditions under which Nike make the clothes which bear his name, he could realise that remembering a colleague is more important than working.

That's what it boils down to. Tiger Woods at Pebble Beach was a wonder, and Michael Jordan anytime I saw him play was a wonder too; but neither of them have that old-fashioned heroism.

When you go, it's the warmth and the class and not the dollars and the deals that allow you to endure as a hero.

I don't know Padraig Harrington, but if I catch the kids in the garden swinging a stick and solemnly intoning "I Am Padraig Harrington" I'll be happy enough with how they are progressing in the right and wrong department. And that's all you can ask from a sports hero.