[img]1|left|||no_popup[/img]I have let my family down and I regret those transgressions with all of my heart. I have not been true to my values and the behavior my family deserves. I am not without faults and I am far short of perfect. I am dealing with my behavior and personal failings behind closed doors with my family. Those feelings should be shared by us alone. — Tiger Woods, via Breitbart TV
Nailed.
That is what Tiger (I Feel So Darned Dishonest) Woods was this afternoon.
He had no choice but to peek out from beneath the stylish skirts of his gorgeous wife and grudgingly admit, on his website, that he has been a liar and a wife-cheater while masquerading as sports’ quintessential altar boy.
Not that Tiger Baby suddenly got religion.
Or that he remembered all those sportswriters genuflecting to him actually thought that he was remotely, generically ethical.
Turns out he was a rumdum slug.
Tiger Baby is no cleaner than the greasy neighborhood alcoholic who parks at the low end of the beer bar every night and brays about his serial conquests.
By the hour this was written, about half of the women in America under 51 1/2 years old had queued up to assert Tiger Baby had taken them to bed in the last few years.
No wonder Tiger Baby did not win a major golf tournament this past season.
Hopefully, being the sporty type, he did not charge the nifty ladies for overtime.
As a good liberal, instead of sheepishly crouching under his wife’s apron strings, Tiger Baby should have dialed 1-800-Hillary for advice on how a cheating cad should address the public.
On second thought, perhaps not.
Hillary, who always has had trouble controlling her temper, used to throw dishes and small furniture at Billy Boy when he slinked home from the affairs she learned about. If she had known about the rest of them, Billy Boy’s brain would be boiling in the same bedpan as Muhammed Ali, which is why you only confess on a need-to-know basis.
In Olden Days
I was an uncommonly green 20-year-old covering a big league baseball team the first time I encountered a wife-cheating player.
There wasn’t anyone in the entire town more naieve than I. I never had met a wife-cheater, all of whom I thought resided in Hollywood.
The gentleman in question was the regular left fielder, the father of 6, and he shined with so much gold that the pillars of his small country church looked up to him — instead of the reverse.
His wife Pat was regularly hoisted up as a heroic model for mothers across America, stoutly raising 6 children singlehandedly while her deeply dedicated, religious husband supported the family by playing baseball day and night. Only it was not widely known that his notion of night baseball involved just 2 people, and the girl’s last name never was the same as his.
Did You Hear the One…?
It is a Sunday morning in mid-summer, hours before gametime. The handsome, popular, incredibly wholesome left fielder, honored at least twice as Father of the Year, was regaling teammates with the lovely young lass who had accepted his invitation the night before to dream alongside of him.
I have told this story before. It was a huge number of decades ago, and the details remain as vivid as this afternoon’s beautiful skies over the Westside.
I was shocked, disappointed, and kicked hard in the stomach as he unfurled his lurid tale. I did not know he knew those words. How could he have cheated and then so brazenly bragged to anyone who happened by?
I get the groupies. They are non-judgmental. Indiscriminately, they hound ugly athletes and married ones.
These years later, I never have understood why a man married to a woman as ravishing as Tiger Baby’s wife not only cheats on her for years, he lies, as if that were honorable.
I never have cheated on a wife.
And until my present marriage, none of my wife’s predecessors would have won a beauty contest unless she had been allowed to shoot all of her rivals.
