I never thought I’d find myself defending Tiger Woods. But, alas, I am here.
By now, we all know the details of Tiger Woods’ storied career. He has re-written the PGA record book and is the world’s highest-paid athlete. And he is Black. I mean, Cablinasian.
But, I digress.
Legend has it that Tiger’s black Cadillac Escalade hit a fire hydrant, outside his driveway – between midnight on Thanksgiving and the dawn of Black Friday – and collided with his neighbor’s tree, leaving him lying on the pavement unconscious and bleeding. A neighbor called 911. His wife was said to be frantically cradling him when paramedics and law enforcement arrived.
He was rushed to the hospital and released a few hours later. Fortunately, Tiger’s injuries are reportedly superficial: facial lacerations.
Disaster averted, right? Yes, for the vehicular crash. But that is not the collision I want to focus on here, for it has become secondary. The real story, as I see it, is Tiger’s head-on crash with the Florida Highway Patrol (FHP) – and the vicious, vampire press, or as I call them herein, the tiger.
His fate was sealed when the news surfaced that his petite wife smashed the rear window of his sport utility vehicle with a golf club, purportedly to pull the 6’1, 185-pound specimen from the SUV. Although, the blogosphere is rife with rumors that his wife flew into a jealous rage and went off on him, like Jazmine “I Bust the Windows Out Your Car” Sullivan.
