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As more info on Tiger pours in, it appears that the Worlds’ Greatest Lover had women stashed all over the place. The Wood Man played the field the way you or I play the game of Risk, globally. Typically I don’t allow my children to watch the news, but I’ve let them in on this story since it’s a great lesson in geography. It started with a couple of girls, in a matter of hours there were ten; at the rate he’s going, we’ll save more time just mentioning the women with whom he did not have sex with in the past. As the list continues to grow, I’m starting to wonder if maybe I’m on it. I did cross paths with the Wood Man at the Country Club in Brookline a few years ago, and I have to say the rest of the day is blurry. All I recall is being in the woods, my hair getting yanked, and then driving home wondering where I placed my pants. Probably just a coincidence though.

The latest rumor is that Tiger impregnated a female golf reporter over in England. I can imagine what that voicemail sounded like before the ##@! hit the fan and Elin discovered his secret life. “Hi, it’s Tiger, my wife might be calling you. You have to change the name of the baby, it’s too obvious. Tiger Cub is going to blow the lid on the whole thing, do me this huge one please. No, I think Tigress is not going to work either, and Tigerling is pretty much the same thing. How about Lefty, that’s a nice name, or Jesper, yeah that’s good, let’s go with Jesper. Okay, gotta run, Elin is coming up the stairs with another golfing tip.”

The latest police report on the “car accident” states that Tiger’s wife informed police Tiger had consumed alcohol, and was also on Vicodin; no doubt to eliminate the pain from the golf clubbing. The cops cited him for careless driving. Are you %$$ kidding me? Careless? I drive carelessly every time I get behind the wheel, yet somehow I don’t leave a swath of destruction behind me. What would the cops have cited him for if he killed someone, not using his turn signal? Driving with the radio too loud? Look at his entire evening, and tell me where careless fits it. His wife assaults him with a deadly weapon, so the sex craving clown inhales a vial of pills, sucks down a vat of Chivas, and then proceeds to careen around the neighborhood plowing into a utility device and a tree; at which point the cast of Reno 911 shows up, finds the idiot passed out face down on the pavement, and says, “That’s gonna cost you fifteen dollars Mr. Woods. You can pay that when you come to. Very careless.”

Can you imagine what would have happened if you or I pulled off a stunt like that? The cops would have arrived, awoken us with a flurry of kicks, jammed a bag of coke up our rectum and then exclaimed, “Well looky here boys, we got ourselves a dope peddler.” Meanwhile our club wielding wife would have been subdued with a taser gun, knocked to her knees with a blackjack to the skull, and left lying naked on the front porch while vultures pecked at her cerebellum. Careless woman!

I feel bad for Tiger’s wife, but I also feel bad for the golf writers who have to follow this guy on tour. When Tiger gets in front of the mike after his next tournament, and says “I got lower on the shaft and tried to get the ball to spin and dip like I did in Tulsa last year,” the writers are going to be jotting down and wondering, “Is he talking about the golf match or are we still on that other thing?”