I have to admit, I love a good train wreck. When you’re driving down the freeway, and traffic is at a standstill because there’s a five-car pile up on the OTHER side of the interstate, I’m the guy who’s slowing everything down, taking it all in. My top two priorities on my DVR are Beverly Hills 90210 and Hoarders. I was more turned on by the sweats-wearing, frappucino-guzzling late-2007 version of Britney Spears than the one in the old Pepsi commercials.
Yeah, I’m that guy.
So you can only imagine the tingle that went down my spine when details came out (as murky and manipulated as they may be) about Tiger Woods’ inadvertently turning his cul-de-sac into an obstacle course gone awry this past weekend. For years, basically since the time he showed up on The Mike Douglas Show as a precocious, club-wielding two-year-old, Tiger’s image has been carefully crafted by him and his handlers. The message? Tiger is the a hypercompetitive, well-spoken, family man who happens to double as the messiah. (And oh by the way, he’s available to speak on your behalf if you manufacture cars, clubs, shoes, clothes, really any durable good…hell, even the credit card people will use to charge these items! Best $10 million you’ll ever spend!)
Other than the occasional cuss word at clueless camera jockeys with the nerve to CLICK during his backswing, we’ve never really seen a chink in the Tiger Armor. No semi-comatosed, drunken pictures on Facebook. No solicitation of a tranny prostitute at four in the morning. No illegitimate kid from a dalliance in the library after hours at Stanford. In short, for someone like me, who would rather see Tiger make a run at Travis Henry’s record of 11 kids with 10 women instead of Jack Nicklaus’ 19 majors, Tiger Woods has been BOOOOORING.
Well, there appears to be a light at the end of the tunnel.
As we all know over the weekend, there was an incident. These things we
know:
At around 2:45 a.m. Tiger Woods abruptly left his house in his Escalade
(That sound you heard was Buick shitting themselves) and proceeded to
drive into a fire hydrant and a tree.
His wife had broken the back windows of said Escalade with a golf club.
Tiger had various bruises, cuts and abrasions on his person, and was
barely conscious when people found him.
The National Enquirer reported last week that Tiger Woods was
having an affair with someone named Rachel Uchitel.
Somehow, amidst a 911 call that may offer evidence to the contrary,
Tiger and his people managed to cobble together the story that a
world-class athlete was just routinely leaving the house at 2:45 in the
morning, and despite athleticism and coordination that have allowed him
to soar to heights heretofore unseen in his sport, he couldn’t manage
to get out of his neighborhood and its crazy 25 MPH speed limits
without nearly killing himself.
Thankfully, his heroic wife was still wide awake at 2:45 a.m. as she
was able to smash in the back windows of the SUV with a golf club and
rescue her husband in the front seat. All righty then…..
Whether Tiger’s version of what happened is true or not is up for
everyone to decide on their own. At this point, Tiger’s behavior since
the event (canceling multiple police interviews, canceling his
appearance at his own tournament in California this week) has not
exactly given his backers much ammunition to dispute the rumors of
domestic violence and adultery that are swirling around Windemere.
Diehard golf fans probably are hoping Tiger gets this whole thing
straightened out. Fellow golfers are DEFINITELY hoping Tiger gets this
whole thing straightened out because he’s their meal ticket. Because of
Tiger, golfers are getting paid a lot more to get slapped around by him
than they would if they were winning Tiger-less tournaments. John Daly,
the voice of reason on any confluence of golf, boobs, and controversy,
said as much this week: “Tiger’s the biggest asset the tour’s had in a
long, long time. Whatever happened, as long as he’s okay that’s all
that matters. Golf needs him badly… no doubt.”
So here we are — we now live in a world where Tiger Woods has turned his Florida mansion into an aristocratic version of Cheaters and John Daly is the go-to guy for the media to get soundly reasoned
takes on issues that transcend the sport of golf. I’d be shocked except
I’m only a few months removed from simultaneously rooting for Michael
Vick in his comeback and despising Brett Favre like…well, like he’d
been running a dog fighting ring.
Sadly, Daly is actually migrating off of my Train Wreck radar screen.
I’m not sure if you’ve seen Daly, but he’s dropped about 100 pounds,
has given up booze (at least for now), and has a hot girlfriend who is
actually in management at Hooters! Clearly, Daly has learned the age-old lesson — the waitresses at
Hooters don’t give you the stability you need; if you’re going to truly
turn your life around, you need someone in management at Hooters.
For me, a train-wreck enthusiast, John Daly becoming “straight-laced,
boring guy” is a lot like how Bulls fans probably felt when Michael
Jordan retired — you realize you’re seeing the end of greatness, but
there’s always a glimmer of hope that he’ll come back.
Here’s my problem, as a L.O.T. (Lover Of Trainwrecks) — if Daly goes
over to the side of “grounded, professional, and humble” (or as I call
it, “the dark side”), where does that leave me? I’m left with no reason
to even pay attention to golf — that is, unless, this latest incident
with Tiger is the beginning of his transformation. Is God that kind to
where he’s going to give me the greatest gift I could ask for? Tiger
Woods becoming John Daly?
PLEASE, TIGER DO IT!!
From now on, any decision, ask yourself, WWJDD…What Would John Daly
Do! (Not the current, pussy-whipped version either. I’m talking about
the John Daly that licks chicken gravy off of girls’ boobs behind his
trailer.)
Tiger, don’t just cancel your appearance at your tournament in
California this week. Go out there, choke down a pack of heaters on the
course, eat twelve bags of M&M’s, and then quit midway through the
second round. That’s what Daly would do!
Trade in the lear jet, Tiger. That’s how snobs travel. Go get yourself
one of them there recreational vehicles, and travel the countryside.
Open the windows and let ’em hear WILLIE NELSON, BITCHES!! That’s what
Daly would do!
Start drinking a fifth of Jack Daniel’s a day and when you do need to
fly, understand that the flight attendants are there not only to serve
your drink, but to give you a place to put your non-drinking hand. Daly
loves groping waitresses in the sky!
Set aside at least $50 million to $60 million for gambling, because
golf isn’t competitive enough. Sometimes it helps to take out your
frustrations on slot machines and Pai Gow Poker.
Above all else, don’t get worked up about this whole Elin thing. She’ll
be the first of many to call herself “Mrs. Tiger Woods.” In fact, a
good reminder is that when the Ryder Cup rolls around, it’s time to get
married again. Got it?
For years, golf purists have said “If John Daly could just have a
little bit of Tiger’s work ethic, he’d be one of the best.” Train wreck
purists (like me) have said “How great would it be if Tiger started
acting like John Daly??”
Is it possible we may all end up happy? Is there a Santa Claus?
This article appears in Nov 26 – Dec 2, 2009.
