Monday, March 28, 2011

Tiger. Tiger. Tiger. Where did I go wrong?

Dear Tiger

The stuff that you've won.
I hope it was fun.
Because now you're done.
In more ways than one.

Once upon a time you were the Dale Earnhart of golf. The Intimidator. Anybody that was ahead of you on Sunday, and saw you  "coming hard" in the rear view mirror rightfully got nervous, because if you got in the lead -- forget about it -- it's over. Nobody could pass you on the last "lap". Like the 3 car, you closed the deal.

Along the way, you racked up the wins, trophies, countless endorsements, bazillions of dollars, and worldwide admiration. You had it all. Then you messed up.

If I told you once, I told you a thousand times not to let this go to your head. Big heads are for politicians, police chiefs, and game show hosts. Even that Bonds guy, and you see what kind of a mess that got him into. But did you listen? No.

These days I can't figure out what kind of screwy rating system still has you ranked as one of the top 10 players in the world. A few of my retired buddies would likely empty your wallet in a skins game, and though a tricky disc in my back made me give up the real deal, even I could beat you on a putt-putt course. Bring on the windmills and I'll spot you a stroke a side.

Remember, I tried to tell you how all that cussing and throwing clubs wasn't cool. Ignoring adoring fans and having an arrogant caddie didn't help either. When I mentioned working on your swing, I was talking about golf clubs -- not the thing with the bimbos. Maybe you misunderstood that. At that, you became a "whale" in Las Vegas. When you walked into a casino, they knew serious money was involved and they would cater to your every whim. There were others, like MJ, or Charles, and it was rumored maybe even a great white whale was in your company occasionally, though to this day it remains unclear whether that was Moby Dick or Rush Limbaugh. Something about feasting on plankton and blowholes. No matter. Guess I forgot to tell you the wise-guys in Vegas have harpoons. Sorry. Ask Chuck about that.

Then somehow, you got this crazy idea to get married. What were you thinking? That was the most bone-headed move since I thought of making millions writing for this newspaper. Sure, she was a pretty girl and all, but you had your choice of the finest cuisine from Dubai to Pebble Beach at your service whenever you hit town. No strings. Vegas ain't too shabby either. There's some seriously good-looking babes that hang out there. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas -- at least until high-priced investigators and divorce attorneys start snooping around. Money has a way of loosening up lips. If you'd have stayed single and stuck to the game plan involving balls, holes, bunk hers, fair ways, flop shots, or even plugged lies, then done a high fade while getting out of Dodge on your Lear, you might have set records that nobody would ever surpass. Maybe even on the PGA tour as well. But no, you just had to "I do" it.

Now look at you. You're lucky to make a cut, let alone win a tournament. Since you've been declawed, I've decided not to call you Tiger anymore. You're Eldrick. That's how you used to sign your checks, remember?
If you get much worse, it will become Ellie. Go down from their and it becomes Ellie Mae.

Maybe it should have been that way all along. It's all about woods. Your name is Woods, she grew up in the woods, you hit your woods in the woods, and another kind of woods got you in this mess to start with. You both had a fondness for critters, some with 2 legs and some with 4, and some cuter, not to mention more manageable, than others.

Here's wishing you well, and be glad you did what you did to a Swede. They're a peaceful sort. Yeah, she cha-chinged you for a few mill, but it was nothing you couldn't afford, and you had that coming. Your kids are in a far-away country where nobody likes you, but maybe you got off easy. Had you pulled that with, say, an Irish girl, you might be talking to Dale right about now. They're not much into Mulligans when it comes to that sort of thing. Of course, everything has it's upside. You could look up Uncle Jed and finally get that looooooong talking to you always needed.

See you at the putt-putt course. You can wear your red shirt, bring your caddie with 14 different putters in the bag, cuss, and throw all the clubs you want, but I'm gonna whomp you like Grannie did Jethro.


  1. You're right he did have it coming, I think as a punishment he should have to clean the cement pond and if he doesn't do a good job, get sent to bed with no vittles. signed the asparagus queen

  2. Interesting. He should which to the Gridiron. He would learn a few life lessons there. Vespers.

  3. Tiger, Tiger burned so bright
    glad someone turned off the light.

    your Friday night queen