We all know the routine by now, right? Tiger Woods will be sitting there, his wife at his side. He’ll apologize to his fans, his sponsors, the golfing community at large. He’ll take a few softball questions from the assembled stenogr—er, reporters. And, of course, at some point he’ll get weepy-eyed. But wouldn’t it be refreshing if he just spoke the truth...
Good morning. As a nation, we’ve been through this drill a thousand times now, right? Someone famous, usually a politician, gets up in front of a bank of microphones and pours his heart out in the hopes of restoring an image. Well, fuck that. What do you know about me? I’m young. I’m a good-looking guy. I’m world-famous. And I’m crazy, over-the-top, you-have-no-idea rich. I mean, I could buy a state. Maybe not California or New York, but I could certainly put a respectable offer on the table for, say, North Dakota or Kansas.
Oh, and here’s one more thing about me: Like most people, I love nothing more than a good fuck. And being super rich and famous, I get to do things you schmoes could only ever dream of.
Now, to answer the obvious question: Did I hurt my wife, Elin? Or, to ask the incessantly treacly question that’s on the tip of your lips: What about the children? Okay, geniuses, in case you couldn’t figure this out, Elin knew who she was marrying. Do you think I wanted to get married? Do you have any idea how much fun a rich, famous, young guy can have in this world? But my advisers pleaded with me. "Tiger," they said, "women like golf. They like to watch you. Think of the possibilities if we can package you as a family man. Articles in Better Homes and Gardens, with pictures of you grilling and playing mini-golf with a couple of adorable kids. Trust me. It’ll kill."
So I listened to my advisers and got married to a beautiful woman. But, as you know, I am a competitive and determined man. One woman? That’s like winning one major. Nice, but there’s oh, so much more to be attained.
And the kids? They’re very young. They have no idea about what I do. And when they’re old enough to know, Daddy will buy them ponies or clothing stores or whatever the hell they’re into. And all will be forgiven.
So there. That about covers it, no? I’ll be resuming my career shortly, much to the chagrin of Mickelson and the other assembled losers and much to the delight of the networks that show golf. To quote Eminem: It feels so empty without me.
In summation: rich, handsome, famous, North Dakota. See you on the links.
Now, I’d love to answer your dumbass questions, but the makeup woman was damn cute, and I’d hate to deny her the experience.
Oh, and one more thing: Do you really think I drive a Buick? Are you serious? I wouldn’t vomit in a Buick, let alone drive one.