The Return

I was brushing my teeth and listening to CNN the other day when I heard an announcement.

Apparently, something of monumental importance would be revealed within the next hour.

I finished my morning routine and was almost late for work waiting for this announcement from who knows who.

Was the president going to unveil some new stimulus package? Did Japan finally admit they’d forced Amelia Earhart’s plane form the sky decades ago? Were Oprah, Alicia and Taraji going to simultaneously announce their unrequited love for me?

No.

Tiger Woods is going to play in the Master’s.

“Tiger Woods's Masters return 'as big as Barack Obama's inauguration” London Telegraph

Yeah. Two half Black guys showing up in places everyone knew they would go. That’s news.

I mean, wow. Tiger broke camp after the whole “My Wife Beat My Ass for Cheating” thing hit. He’s been gone for what? Four months? Summer vacation plus Winter and Spring Break? Tiger’s been gone the length of a full school break. He considered that time away? Tiggy better talk to some nine year olds about how much time away from the grind is REALLY time away from the grind.

I am not going to go into the whole, “His marriage is his business” thing.

I got tired of reading about it.

I will say, “I told you so!”

The only comment I really made about the incident was, ‘When the golf ratings go down, he’ll be back.”

I hate to use this example, but I liken it to OJ (before the stupid Vegas thing) and Ben Rothenberger and other athletes who screw up.

Too many other people are sending their kids to college on these fools’ money. How many agents, attorneys managers and PR folks' kids Ivy League tuition is paid in full because Mom and Pops work for the golden goose?

“Tiger’s coming back!” folk exclaim in hushed tones.

You think? Better yet, where did he go?

Four months on your yacht and in sex therapy isn’t exactly monastery time.
Eldrick Woods is no dummy. Stanford is not a safe haven for idiots.

He probably loaded up his boat thinking, “Let me do a bit of fishing, check myself in somewhere just so I can say that I did, sit back and wait.

He probably had the same smug look Edie Kendricks and David Ruffin had when they laughed, “They need us. We the voices.”

“They need ME. I’m the winner.”

This whole thing makes me laugh.

I mean, come on now, golf?

Even this silliness makes it the golf of athletic shenanigans.

We have basketball and football players being convicted of murder.

Paternity suits are considered as common as signing bonuses in professional athletics.

Sexual assault? Many of us learned exactly how the law defines it because of athletes. (“So if she let me do it THERE, but said no AFTERWARDS, I’m clear?” ‘Yes, Kobe.”)

We have a man who had consenting sex with a bunch of mediocre women. He was no playa. “Uh, this Tiger. No, not the stripper. You know…the athlete? You don’t…(sigh) No, golf…yeah, that one. Can you not answer your phone…”

A real playa would have let this roll and had the ‘Wasn’t me” defense, a la Eddie Murphy circa 1986.

A real playa would have been caught with women that other men would be like, “Dayum!…Well, you know what it is, right? It’s the money…”

This is a Black guy who favors my younger brother who swears he isn’t Black. To quote Tracy Morgan, “Your father's name is Earl. Woods. And he drove a white van. He's black.”

This is as exciting as it gets? Some confused guy has sex with some okay looking women gets caught his wife gets mad he takes a quick break we see him next year? A couple of inches taller missing some teeth and in a new Ernie ‘n’ Bert shirt?

So he’s come back.

He never really left.

Dude was just on summer vacation.

You really didn’t want him to leave anyway.

Ya’ll know better.