July 7, 2010
Posted by Wyatt
Tiger Needs a Tug
What is wrong with Tiger Woods? Tiger's 2010 results are as follows: T4, Cut, Withdrew, T19, T4, T46, T24. Sure, he's still number one in the world rankings, but this isn't the Tiger we know. Or at least the Tiger we thought we knew. Let's take a closer look.
In 2009 Tiger had nine wins. Out of 22 starts. Hot damn. His last win? November 15 at the JBWere Masters in Australia. Then, the world's most famous athlete, on the fast track to being the greatest golfer of all time, plants his Escalade into a tree and starts dodging both rumors and 9-irons at the hand of an angry (albeit freakin' hot) wife. Then came silence, sex clinics, press conferences, a break up with Hank Haney, a divorce (yes, they're different), and the 2010 results. By any other golfer's standards those links results might be perfectly acceptable, if not down right dreamy. But this isn't any other golfer. This is the man in red. The Sunday surgeon. So, what is wrong with Tiger Woods?
The answer, my friends, is the mojo. He's all out of whack. Bottled up. A caged, well, tiger. Back in high school our starting point guard refused blow jobs from his girlfriend before games, fearing, I'm not sure what he feared. Maybe that's between his and his long gone girlfriend. Perhaps he thought it would throw off his groove (dumbass). Maybe the same applies to Tiger. He's out of sync, and he needs a tug job. Yup, I said it, the man needs to pop one.
Tiger: Go find a bleached blond with double Ds, all the appropriate skills, and get your ass back on track. We're counting on you.
Last year the man in the dry fit polos (do you think Nike takes them in around the pecs, or he's just that studly?) was getting all the ass a man could want. The wifey kind of ass, the porn star kind of ass, even the Perkins kind of ass (does that come with a mammoth muffin on the side?). The man was rolling it smooth on the short stuff, and hitting it long and deep with the driver. We, his drooling fans, saw past his hat head and balding hair. Turned away when he gleamed those beaver teeth at the cameras. Didn't care that inspecting the texture and viscosity of our boogers was more interesting than his on camera interviews. He was winning. He was living the dream–professional athlete, supermodel wife, billionaire. Heck, he wasn't just living his dream, he was living our dream.
So, dammit Tiger, get back on track. Don't be ashamed of who you are. You're a player. And a playa'. The sooner you accept who you are, the sooner you can get back to winning and take back some of Roger Federer's Gillette sponsorship, 'cause we all know he isn't earning it. Do whatever it takes to get that swagger back. Just keep your paws off my wife.




