Tiger Woods Agonistes

By Alan Caruba

On Friday Tiger Woods will give some kind of talk to a select group of friends and close associates at the TPC Sawgrass Clubhouse in Ponte Verde Beach, Florida. The press will be permitted to sit in another room, listen and take notes, but most certainly not to ask any questions.

I have been a public relations counselor for more than four decades and, frankly, I think this is a bad idea. The sooner he answers all those embarrassing and annoying questions, the better. Clear the air!

Let the ink-stained wretches pursue the ritual blood-letting and then get back to hitting tiny white balls into tiny tin cups on some of the most finely manicured and managed pieces of land to be found anywhere in the nation or around the world.

Americans are so accustomed to men of power and acclaim getting into trouble for cheating on their wives or just running afoul of some woman who feels wronged (and it still takes two to tango) that if Tiger Woods just says something to the effect that he has carnally known more women than most men ever will, then we could all get back to more weighty issues.

And, oh yes, he must apologize (probably excessively) for cheating on his wife and repeat that he intends to be a good father to his children. End of story.

I, of course, will be able to return to checking TMZ every hour on the hour to find out if Brad Pitt will leave Angelina Jolie and return to the arms of Jennifer Anniston.

I worry that affairs of state will interfere with Barack Obama’s golf and pick-up basketball games.

I am concerned that, one day, Janet Napolitano will be found by a random Transportation Safety Agency search to be wearing exploding underwear.

While I welcome the Friday confessional, I am inclined to believe that it will not put a quick end to the tabloid and mainstream press (notice how the tabloids are doing a far better job of journalism these days?) as they fearlessly seek out the names of every woman whoever had sex with Tiger in the last decade. That could take a while.

Still, I note that few people are discussing South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford, former Governor Elliot Spitzer, former Senator and John Kerry running mate, John Edwards these days. In the age of the Internet and massive overflows of information, these dalliances rapidly lose their power to titillate beyond a month or more.

While I grant that golf is a sport that requires extraordinary skills, it is the element of tightly controlled risk-taking that ultimately makes us hold our breath as the little ball traverses the hills and valleys of each hole.

Transfer that element of risk to the multifold bedrooms where Tiger and his countless conquests have lingered in carnal bliss. When you do, forgiveness will fill your heart with the bright shining light of insight and understanding.

Roll over, Casanova! You have met your match!

I'm Taking Up Golf!

By Alan Caruba

I have a confession to make. I have never engaged in any sports activity demanding any energy. About as close to a sporting activity I ever got was shooting pool or as fancy folk call it, billiards. The English version is called Snooker. In my time I did a lot of leaning over the edge of the pool table to line up a shot, but it never tired me in any way.

I have another confession to make. I have never watched an entire baseball or basketball game in my life. Baseball is too slow for my attention span and basketball is too fast.

In my youth I attended the University of Miami football games, but that was mostly to prove my manly bona fides with dates who I suspect knew more about the game than I. Once a year I watch the Super Bowl, but mostly for the cheerleaders and commercials.

Poker is not a sport. It is a card game played by professionals and amateurs alike, often for mindlessly huge amounts of money in tournaments. I like poker because the professionals can get knocked out with a bluff or better hand.

One of the reasons I never took up sports was a father who I was told once played tennis long before I was born. My Dad was very smart. He brought my older brother into the world for the sole purpose of mowing the lawn and shoveling the snow. Later I inherited the job. The most strenuous thing I ever saw my Dad do was read The New York Times every day.

All of which brings me to golf. I have decided to take up golf. I understand you can hire some guy to carry your bag that’s full of clubs and/or you can rent an electric cart to avoid all that walking. I only walk to the local supermarket and back—and then only if the Sun is shining and the weather is pleasant.

Why, at this late stage of my life would I take up golf, I hear you say. The answer is simple: Tiger Woods. Not only is he an inspiration to anyone who plays the game, he has demonstrated that playing golf acts as an aphrodisiac on women. Apparently it triggers levels of lust.

Up to now, I have tended to make fun of golfers and I want to apologize. I frankly thought that wearing pastel colored slacks was silly. Little did I know that the affect of golf on women was such that condoms were necessary every time one stepped out on the links.

It occurs to me that I might skip playing golf and just show up in clubs with a club. Casually walking into the place holding a “wood” or a “putter” should be a guarantee of sexual dalliance such as I have not known in…in…quite a while.

So, here’s to you, Tiger Woods! You’re now the new standard for every cheating husband plus all the single guys looking for a quick way to get some gal into bed.

It must be the golf because I cannot think of any other reason.