Saturday, February 20

Forget It, Jake

A) Young, good-looking, famous, and incredibly wealthy guy bangs cocktail waitresses two at a time.

B) Fame and wealth are courtesy legions of teevee viewers, synods of teevee executives, and bordellos of advertisers paying homage to his ability to hit a ball with a stick, provided it ain't raining and no one sneezes.

C) Accidental discovery of his abilities swinging a different kind of stick, a circuitous revelation via a goddam nation of full-time celebrity window-peepers, leads to a country in shock, advertisers in apoplexy, and innocent ESPN writers discovering that athletes sometimes have illicit sex, though, thankfully, such seems to have been limited to just this one case so far as they're aware.

D) Discovery of human failure of the sort which occurs in approximately 40% of all the sacred marriages in this country--where over 50% end in divorce for one reason or another--causes sudden realization in prime teevee-commercial-viewing demographic that lifeless celebrity testimonials provided any paying advertiser--be they financial shenanigan specialist, child-labor exploiter, or producer of unsafe, crappy, carbon-belching suburban Panzers--might be something less than heartfelt.

E) Withdrawn endorsement income and possibility that impressionable young golfers might try this sex business, find it enjoyable, and therefore give up golf compels weepy-assed (though still utterly affectless, proving all those commercial pitches really were his best efforts) "confession" of poon addiction to large teevee audience and brutally confined friends and family, thereby leading both print and teevee punditocracy to ponder how this played vis-a-vis the national catharsis required before golf fans will be able to enjoy watching him chip onto the manicured green at some restricted country club ever again.

And maybe it's just me, but the thing that came immediately to my mind was "We only demand psychological purgation of (A), when it's the one thing any of them did which is halfway understandable."


StringonaStick said...

GOLF: Gentlemen Only, Ladies Forbidden. Until the game is over, then get your freak on as many times as humanly possible.

Anyone else catch a little whiff of the scary black penis issue/Mandingo subtext from the national media? Or is it just me?

James Stripes said...

In golf, a guy uses a stick and balls to get inside a spot surrounded by a skirt. Why is sex problematic here?

Narya said...

His Big Public Statement (or Pubic Statement, as the case may be) was interesting, in that, he had to say exactly the same thing no matter whether he genuinely regretted his behavior and was attempting to choose a new path or he was trying to woo back the sponsors. That is, we-the-viewers cannot actually tell which of those things is true. Having read the transcript (though, in general, this whole episode is none of our goddamned business, we not being his family), I actually thought it was the former, i.e., he was trying to protect his family and friends from further intrusion and pain, he acknowledged that it will take time for his wife to decide whether she can forgive him and he'll have to show rather than say that he sees the error of his ways, and he basically told the rest of us to butt the fuck out of his bidness, or, at least, not stalk his kids and the rest of his family. But, back to the other point, it's not any of our damn business what he does with his dick. And I still don't like to watch golf.

Kathy said...

I was amused when I first read about Tiger's wife (maybe) chasing and wacking him with a golf club. I imagines a re-make of Hepburn & Cary Grant's "Philadelphia Story" coming soon. Well, it *could* still happen.

MR Bill said...

"Golf is a good walk, spoiled..."
-Mark Twain

At least Mr. Wood has returned to the devotion to the savior of his youth. The Buddha smiles..Take that, Brit Hume.

heydave said...

I like golf; beats the hell outta work (except on good days) and is a nice exercise of me against myself.

That has fuck-all to do with Tiger, however. His staring at the camera routine, telling me it's none of my business when I couldn't care less, caused me to laugh out loud. (Yes, I see the irony. Jeez, you couldn't help but see that crap on teevee.) It also reminded me of the impassioned delivery of Raphael Palmiero's emphatic stab that I did not take steroids!

Good times.

Plinth said...

Nyuck nyuck,

Aaron said...

I always wondered what the collective adjective for "advertisers" was, and now I know. Thanks, Doghouse!