If I were Tiger Woods, I’d handle this situation a
lot differently. By saying nothing, he is playing right into the hands of those
who will stop at nothing to destroy him, because that’s what vile,
self-loathing people do: they gleefully tear others down, and the greater the
target, the more they enjoy its destruction. (And as a friend mentioned, “the
American public loves to build black males up and then tear them down.”)
Here’s what I’d say if I were Tiger:
###
For immediate release:
“Ok, ok, you caught me. Well, she caught me first, but you’ve all blown this out of proportion.
But ok, the secret’s out. So I’ll face the music and tell you the truth.
I have my own motivations for doing so. Namely, because
while I was pushing par on the number of slutty chicks I was banging, it annoys
me to no end that the pictures you’re splashing up all over everything are not
exactly flattering, you know?
Give me a little
bit of credit. I’m the world’s most recognizable athlete, a billionaire, and I
did happen to bag a Swedish bikini model. So yeah, I was banging an $8 an hour
Perkins waitress in the back of my Escalade – why do you insist on using a
picture that makes her look like a special ed student from 1952?
But look, that’s not the point. What you all want to hear is
how sorry I am for what I did.
But I’m not, dumbass, or I wouldn’t have turned America into
a golf course with a front 9 named Rachel, Jaimee, Kalika, Mindy, Cori, Jaime,
Holly, and Joslyn. Yeah, I realize there’s only 8 there. Just wait – it’s
annoying as hell, but what can I say. Wilt didn’t have the internet.
Anyway, why should I be sorry? And what’s more, why the hell
should I apologize to the world? The only one that really matters at this point
is my wife. Oh, and I guess Jasper Parnevik. Somehow me copulating with his
former nanny gives him a right to encourage domestic violence.
I really don’t care what the rest of you think, because
while you love to tear me down right now, as soon as I crush the field in a
tournament next season you’re all going to sing my praises again.
Didn’t you just do that with A-Rod? Yeah, I thought so. To
start the season he was every negative adjective you could think of, he was a
womanizer and a steroid-user and a choker. After the World Series win, though,
suddenly you all forgave him.
Same goes for Kobe, MJ, Magic, Wilt – heck, the list is
endless. Even Bill Clinton got a pass.
And that is as it should be – you guys want to be
entertained, and we athletes who are simply better than everyone else do that
for you. You all love Lebron because he mesmerizes you with a basketball in his
hands.
You think he doesn’t have a few hot women passing through
his hands too? Oh, but you’re not all witnesses to that, so, out of sight out
of mind.
Until we fall, you worship us, but you expect that you can
have your hyper-competitive, killer instinct, ruthless, confident, victorious
leaders to entertain you and be idolized, but then you get mad if they’re not
as lily-white as David Robinson or as cuddly as Phil Mickleson.
Those guys get eaten for lunch by guys like me and MJ. Which
is why we became the faces of our sports, and they are simply bit players.
Remember, I’m best buds with Michael Jordan and Charles
Barkely, a couple of guys that know a thing or two about superstardom, public
image, and infidelity. I’m not too concerned about a bunch of prissy British
sportswriters trashing me and spouting their opinions on what I should do to
fix this.
Nor am I concerned about you, Rick Reilly, you two-faced
piece of shit – you love to get on my case about swearing and spitting in a “gentleman’s
game”, while your own book about golf
is filled with four-letter expletives, vulgar sex humor, and details about the
size of John Daly’s penis. Don’t preach to me, you second-fiddle hypocrite.
You’ll never be as big as Bill Simmons.
Anyway, I am finally out of hiding and fixing the situation,
by coming forward and giving it to you straight:
I am married, and I
have had many mistresses.
There, I said it. I admitted it. Now what? Now what can you
do? I let the air out of your balloon.
Whether it’s a sin or not depends on your worldview. Who
says it’s a sin? Based on what? Maybe I’m a polygamist – the Bible never once
condemns polygamy, or the men who practiced it.
Hell, the greatest men in the Bible all had wives AND
concubines, meaning chicks they kept around strictly for sex! And God never
zapped them. I’m not trying to justify my behavior, just posing the question – what are you basing your judgment of my
“wrong” behavior on?
Where I think I went wrong was to get married in the first
place. I should have followed George Clooney’s lead – that guy has a sex drive
like me, he understands. Well heck, most extremely driven and successful men
do.
But Clooney, he was smart. He skipped the whole married guy
image and does what he wants, and nobody cares. You all say “well of course
he’s sleeping with his forty-seventh actress / model in the past 10 months,
he’s a rich single guy.”
My PR firm led me astray on that one. They thought that
since golf is still an old-fashioned game, we’d do better if I had the perfect
beautiful family. I guess it worked, but you can’t expect a Tiger to change its
stripes.
And listen, this isn’t to knock on Elin whatsoever. I mean,
I really do care about her – she’s been a supportive friend, she’s an awesome
mother, and thanks to her beautiful Aryan genes and my hunky Cablinasian ones,
well, I mean let’s just say that our kids will have life pretty good.
But since I’m spilling the truth, look – marriage isn’t
always all that great, ok? That same sweet, gentle, quiet girl that is such a
good match for my obsession with privacy, the nanny who is so good with being a
mother, well, after a while let’s just say things have gotten kind of
predictable with regards to sex.
And after the wife has a couple kids, what American male
isn’t going to feel my pain here? Am I alone? You get my drift?
It’s not totally her fault, it’s just that it happens. A few
years, a couple kids, a girl who likes it traditional and in the same routine,
well…yeah. I liked my women before I got married, and I went back to liking my
women.
I’m not going to apologize for who I am. I’ll only apologize
for the façade I let my PR firm construct. (Although it did help with that
whole billion dolla
rs thing, I’m not going to lie. So I’ll admit I’m kind of
torn on how I feel about that.)
But of course nobody in America would know ANYTHING about
what I’m saying here. You know, with the whole 1 in 4 guys cheats, and 1 out of
2 marriages ends in divorce, with the reasons being sex or money. Yeah, I’m
soooo very all alone here.
I’m just the only freak on the planet that struggles with
the fact that I’m a highly sexed guy who doesn’t like it when his wife turns
him down for sex because she’s tired or has a headache. Repeatedly. Nobody else
can relate to that, right?
Listen, whether or not she was a bikini model or a nanny
before, neither of those professions get you what marrying a billionaire gets
you. Ok? All I’ve asked is that she put out, meet my needs, you know?
No, of course you don’t know, no other guy on the planet
knows anything about that.
So yes, I’ve been hooking up with porn stars, clubgoers, and
cheap cocktail waitresses. You want to know why?
Because I like sex, and so do they.
Oh sure, there were some dumb ones who thought we were in a
relationship, but I still enjoyed the sex and the game. And really, since it
was mutually enjoyable, what’s so wrong with that?
And now there are some emails out there splattering around the
deep feelings that – gasp – I’m actually capable of having as a human being,
and you all find it so funny. Really?
You have never wanted another person that you couldn’t have?
You’ve never met someone and wished you’d met them sooner? You’ve never felt
like you had a connection with someone, said really sappy things to them,
missed them?
Never, huh. I guess I’m the ONLY sappy person on the planet.
Now I see why you’re all so obsessed with what I had to say. Because, yeah, it
must be crazy reading what people text to their lovers at 2am when they can’t sleep
and have a hard-on.
None of you have EVER texted something utterly retarded and
regrettable after drinking or while laying alone in bed while aroused. No, of
course not. Only me. Tiger the freak, the abnormal sex fiend. Of course.
You, the society that is condemning me, you have espoused “free-love” and
casual sex for decades. You have made icons of porn stars and man-whores, made
them rich and famous and copied by youth as young as tweens.
And yet now you want to destroy my name and reputation for
simply LIVING BY YOUR STANDARDS?
That’s why I’m coming forward to say all this. You’re all a
bunch of hypocrites to throw stones at me. You hated me for seemingly being
better than you – “not human”, you called me. You loved what I gave you on the
golf course, but you secretly wanted to see my greatness fail.
Now you have your opportunity, and YOUR true colors are
showing through, not mine. Because art is as much about the viewer as the
creator, as the art itself. Your own values are on parade here just as much as
mine.
Is it funny I crashed my Escalade into a tree and then took
a nap in the street? Absolutely – listen, that IS some funny shit.
Even I’m amused at how the whole thing blew up. I mean,
angry Swedish nanny breaking car windows with a 3 iron and the great robotic
Tiger Woods driving – haha get it, “driving” – over fire hydrants, that’s pretty
damn funny, I’ve got to admit.
So make fun of that all you want. Go play the Tiger driving
computer game that popped up on the internet – hell, I played it while I was in
PR-imposed confinement the past week. (I scored better when I wasn’t sucking
down Ambien.)
But the fact that I had sex? Why do you care? Obviously I’ve
had sex, I have 2 kids. Did you think I was a virgin when I got married? You
probably are the person who once thought Britney was a good role model for your
kids then, too.
Here’s the deal – you’re tearing me down because it makes
you feel better about your pathetic, miserable, meaningless existence. Because
every single one of you would trade places with the pre-Thanksgiving 2009 Tiger
Woods – or Elin Woods – in order to be able to lazily indulge your sweet tooth
and unquenchable thirst for material things.
Don’t deny it, you know it’s true.
And many of you, while you would have traded places with me,
you hated me because of what I was – the best, the most successful, the most
famous, the most seemingly perfect.
You hated me because you know deep down that you don’t have the self-discipline or
mental fortitude to make the most of yourself, and I do and have done so.
Well, I hope you enjoy the destruction of my carefully
constructed palisade. Eventually, I will win again, and winning is the salve
that heals all wounds.
When that happens, you’ll be off to hear from the Perez
piper to find out what other successful person you can tear down to make
yourself feel better. And you’ll read their text messages, and listen to their
voicemails, and you’ll laugh and feel superior.
Nevermind your own regrettable text messages to a booty call
at 2am. Whatever.
I have to just be me, and quit with all this “squeaky clean”
bs. Because the reality is, I’m a golfer, and a damn good one, and that’s
really all anyone outside my family and close friends should see me as.
My buddy Chuck said it best: “I am not a role model. Parents
should be role models.”
My mistake in all of this was listening to my PR team who
tried to convince me I could be a role model, and should be. They were wrong.
It paid off in the short run, but the ugly, uncontrollable flipside of that
model is showing up right now.
I’m not a role model. I’m a really good golfer, I’m very
arrogant and I can be a total prick, and yeah, I’m a man-whore. Which for a
rich, attractive, successful guy in the prime of his life, is utterly shocking,
I know.
Maybe you’re naïve, but for every A.C. Green in the world of
celebrity, there are 9,999 guys like me that are knocking boots with groupies.
Yes, I’m going to pay for my mistake. But you know the only
one I’m paying? My wife. Will it
be worth it? Maybe, maybe not. But don’t believe the rumors that I’m quitting
because she said it’s her or golf.
If I do that, somebody shoot me. I was put on earth to play
golf at a higher level than any other human being in history. I have changed
the sport and will continue to do so. I’m not going to give my destiny up
because my own Lillian Rearden demands I do so. If I have to pay up in order to
be free, I will do it.
Will it be worth $80 million, or whatever the crazy numbers
are that you guys at TMZ are pulling out of your asses?
My freedom is worth that, but please. I’m friends with
Michael Jordan, remember? We like to compete with each other, but “biggest
celebrity divorce payout” is a title I’ll gladly let him win.
I realize it interests you – the guys because you’ll talk
about whether or not she was worth it, the girls because you’ll wish you were Elin
getting the payout. Don’t deny it. 99% of you women would get cheated on for a
few years for 9 figures in cash.
But in light of global poverty, the continued destruction of
the American economy, and the growing threat of nuclear war, I find it pretty
pathetic that so many millions of you are more concerned with the name of the
latest skank to come forward and claim she fondled my driver.
I don’t need to tell you anything, I don’t need to deny this
girl and admit that one, frankly I don’t need to say shit. Because when I say
‘I am Tiger Woods’, it’s true.
I am Tiger Woods. And you might enjoy vilifying me on your
nightly entertainment news programs for a while, but eventually I’m going to
play golf again.
And just like Kobe dropping 45 after flying to the game from
that bogus alleged rape trial years back, I’m going to be pissed off enough
about this that I’m going to be scorching golf courses all around the world. I
can’t wait to play Jasper, the whiny little euro prick.
You will cheer, and you will be amazed, and you will still
want my autograph, because that’s as close to greatness as most of you will
ever get.
And you know what? I’m not judging that. If it’s your lot in
life to toil in obscurity, well, then that’s the lot in life you live with. But
it’s not mine. I was born to be the world’s greatest golfer, and I will
continue to be that.
Here’s the only contriteness you’ll get out of me:
1) I made the mistake of loving privacy to the extent that –
with the help of a huge PR team – I built walls which I thought no one could
ever see through or break through. Obviously, this whole episode has brought
them down.
So I’m sorry for projecting an image which wasn’t totally
real. From now on, you’ll only get
the real Tiger. I know that won’t make you love me any more – look at how you
hated on Michael Jordan after his Hall of Fame speech – but I’ll sure feel a
lot better about being transparent.
Only now, it won’t just be cursing and spitting. I’ll admit
I like to party and have wild and crazy drug-filled sex too. Deal with it.
2) I’m sorry I listened to my PR team who told me I could
reach more fans and thus make more money if I catered to families. I went along
with it, because I hadn’t tried it, and frankly, I really do love my kids and
I’m a good dad. I can’t change the past.
But once again, I’m not a role model for anyone but Charlie
and Sam. Hopefully, by me being totally honest about why this all happened,
they’ll one day look at it and respect that honesty, and avoid the mistakes I
made – namely, trying to hide my true self.
3) I’m sorry that I hid out the past couple of weeks. Once
again, I have been heavily pressured by my handlers to do so. They didn’t want
to add fuel to the fire. Obviously, they themselves have now been fired.
From now on, Tiger Woods will be Tiger Woods’ PR guy. I am
Tiger Woods, and I will take responsibility for my actions, and I will face all
of you knuckleheads and answer your repetitive questions and I will be myself.
I should have done this long ago.
Because guess what? I’m a really fucking good golfer. But
I’m not a robot, I’m a human being. Humans like sex, they need love, they have
to interact with other humans.
I’m not the façade that you have seen for so many years. I’m
a real guy. I’m a lover, I’m a fighter, I’m a logical man who is a combination
of Nature and Nurture.
You want to know why my emotions have been bubbling to the
surface lately? Because the stress of leading a double life has been getting to
me. The pressure of being fake is wearing me down.
I don’t want to be fake. I hate fake. That’s why I don’t
like most news people, especially the talking heads. But I let myself be fake,
in order to let myself become a commodity, Tiger Woods, the great, unshakeable
golfer.
I am Tiger Woods. I am human. And from now on, you will only
see the real Tiger.
I don’t care if you revile me or worship me. I hope you’ll
continue to be entertained by my golfing, and I will remain committed to being
the #1 golfer on the planet. I owe that to myself, first and foremost. But you
will all benefit from the entertainment of that too.
In closing, I’m not going to apologize to anybody or pledge
I’ll change my ways. Why the hell would I change my ways? Right or wrong, it’s
who I am, and ultimately it’s between me and my Creator.
All I will say is thanks for the opportunity to break down
the façade that was so carefully constructed and which made me – cough – a lot
of money. All of it was earned fair and square. No laws were broken, no one
died. But it didn’t make me happy, because I wasn’t being real with myself or
with the world.
Thanks especially to the National Enquirer, to national
holidays, and to trees and fire hydrants everywhere. You were the launching pad
for the story of the decade, and I wouldn’t be standing here, a simple,
vulnerable, human soul bared to 7 billion people, without your help.
I’m going to move on with my life, because I really do love
life. It’ll be a process for me to figure out exactly what in me is real, and
what has been embedded there by those who had something to gain from my fame
and success.
But do not doubt Tiger Woods. This is not my ending. When my
story is written, this chapter will of course need to be included. But it will
not be my story.
I am a far greater human being than a few lonely emails and
some sloppy nights with a porn star. You have the potential to be greater than
to talk about my sexual escapades endlessly, as well. So do it.
Go live your life, be all you can be. I will do the same.
Tearing me down will not make your life better.
I am not a role model, but here’s the advice I will be
taking as I move into my future: build yourself up, know your strengths and
weaknesses; overcome the weaknesses, and maximize the strengths.
I will learn to love the real Tiger. I hope you will learn
to love yourself too. In doing so, the quality of each of our lives will be
much better, and ultimately, the world will be a better place.
I am Tiger Woods. Now leave me the hell alone so I can
figure out what that really means.
Honestly,
If I Were Tiger Woods
###