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Published August 10, 2010

The Curious Case of Eldrick Woods vs. Dr Cock n’Balls
By Bernard Benjiman

You probably know him better as Tiger, the nickname father Earl bestowed on him as a child.  By now you also may know that as a professional golfer he has been mired in a much publicized string of extremely less-than-Tiger-like performances in recent months on thePGA tour.  Like some junkie down to his last crystal or… say… a sex addict down to the last piece of skank booty yet to be scratched out of his addresses, Tiger Woods may finally have reached bottom.  Both figuratively and, at least in this past week’s Bridgestone Invitational, very literally.  In that WGC (World Golf Championships) event Tiger ended up 78 out of the 80 players who finished the tournament, shooting a whopping 18 over par, easily the worst performance of his career.

On the current 2010 PGA Tour money list, Tiger now ranks 84th sandwiched between a couple of golfers named D.A. Points (83th) and Josh Treater (85th), hardly household names.  While Tiger Woods will always be a household name for at least as long as he lives, on the golf course, where he originally made his name, Mr. Woods for the first time in his career seems very ordinary.  The way he is playing now, he looks more like some guy called Eldrick Woods—a preppy Stanford alum who his friends used to call “Urkel” and who nobody has ever really heard of, and shows up on the last page of the Tour rankings in a game nobody really cares about… at least not since Tiger went away.

Or maybe he just needs to get reacquainted with an old friend.

 

Nov. 28, 2009

I will be the first to admit that like any fan of pop culture I have thoroughly enjoyed every lurid and hilarious detail of Tiger Woods’ sweet dirty sex scandals.  As the saga has unfolded, and continues to unfold ever since The National Enquirer published a Nov 25 article claiming Woods had an affair with nightclub manager Rachel Uchitel, it has been nothing but pure delight for me—A gravy train of one seedy and salacious transgression/mishap after the next: 

I loved it when last Thanksgiving Tiger crashed his Escalade in an early morning/late night Ambien daze while attempting to flee from his enraged hot Swedish wife, Elin—the now classic tipping off point.

I loved hearing Elin and Tiger baldly lie to reporters and police. 

I loved it when it came out that Tiger had not only had extramarital sex with cocktail waitresses and nightclub divas but that he also porked high class call girls and porn stars. 

I loved hearing about Team Tiger (management/advisors/lawyers) shuffling to pay hush money and file injunctions. 

I loved it when the list of mistresses and affairs grew from just a couple, to the high teens, to rumors in the hundreds. 

I loved that Tiger and many of his mistresses assumed for the longest time that investigative reporters aren’t good at what they do. 

I loved Tiger’s complete refusal to publicly deal with any of it for weeks and months. 

I love that many of Tiger’s mistresses thought that Tiger actually “made love” to them.

I loved it when South Park did a masterful send-up of the whole drama in the first episode of their new season.  Stan: “I didn’t know golf could be this cool.”

I loved the euphemisms.  I loved how “behavior” and “transgressions” stood for meetings that would have been described in a porno script as something like: I/R sloppy BJ then 69 on top, move to hard RCG then doggie finishes with pop on belly—And this would have been WAY more accurate than the media accounts. 

I loved it when Nike ran that hilarious ad with father Earl’s voice from beyond the grave. 

I loved watching Tiger’s highly scripted public apology on Feb 19, 2010, nearly four months after the story broke.  I loved realizing that in the parts where he actually apologizes Tiger is completely devoid of real human emotion.  I loved imagining the parts in the script where it directed: “force crack in speech, pause for emotional effect and gaze directly into the camera and hold for two beats, continue.”

I loved realizing that 33-year-old Tiger was no longer a real person but had absolutely morphed into some kind of otherwordly, highly tuned golfing, screwing, and bullshit machine. 

It was all so beautiful; I couldn’t believe golf had become this fascinating.  Maybe what I loved best of all was the new context that his affairs provided for everything Tiger Woods now does or says.  I watched one of Woods’ press conferences on ESPN in the days leading up to the 2010 US Open.  In it he talked about his shaft length for a solid three minutes.  (The “shaft” is the long stem part of a golf club.  Psst… it can also be used as a word to describe your cock.)  Direct quote from Tiger: “When you find the right [shaft] length, and it fits… then it just feels really good.”

Then something pretty odd started happening, which was brought to a head by his performance in this week’s Bridgestone tournament.  I already knew that Tiger Woods was a first class dick.  I had known this for a long time because I actually watched and paid attention to golf before the news of his cheating.  It was actually pretty easy to see that he was a dick, which is why I loved that most people went so long thinking that he wasn’t a dick.  You could see it simply in the way he carried himself and talked to people with that slightly smug air of believing he was better than everybody else.  You could see it in the way he threw his clubs on the course and shouted F-bombs after a bad shot when he had to know there was live audio on him.  Most of all you could see it in the subtle ways that his whole posture intensified on the Sunday of a tournament, and how he walked over and looked through competitors like he absolutely expected them to wilt in his presence.  And they would… Almost every single time.  That is the main reason why that for the better part of ten years Tiger won legendary numbers of tournaments.

I expected, perhaps naively, that when Tiger Woods returned to playing golfing after a long hiatus to sort out his personal business that he would return as Tiger Woods, dick.  After all, that is what a true dick does.  Even when the whole world has seemingly turned against him, the true dick goes on kicking ass because concern, empathy or regret simply does not exist for him.  Michael Jordan is probably the greatest example of this in sports.  People in the NBA hated Jordan.  Even many of his own teammates hated him.  They hated him but they also feared him because they knew he would cut the throat of every single man on the basketball court to get a championship.  Even when he came back after purportedly winding up exiled from the league over indiscretions involving gambling, Jordan came back as Michael Jordan, all-time great and super dick; and then he won more championships.

Why has this not happened for Woods since coming back?  Why has he failed to make cuts?  Why did he have to withdraw in the middle of one tournament?  Why has he finished at the bottom of leader boards, like at Bridgestone?  Why has he simply looked like an average golfer called “Eldrick”?

To examine these questions and others we must learn to look at Woods, the player and the person, without the sheen of total bullshit that he would have us believe.  As a useful exercise for putting ourselves in this frame of mind we need to go…

 

Back to the Early Morning Hours of Nov 28

Windermere, Fl.  When police and neighbors arrived on the scene, they described these things:  Around 2:30 AM Woods’ Escalade, with Tiger at the wheel, was found to have been involved in a minor collision with a fire hydrant and a tree, doing minimal damage to the vehicle’s front end.  This occurred just down the road from where Tiger lives.  Tiger was discovered by neighbors snoozing on the ground by the side of the vehicle.  Police say that upon arriving on the scene they found Tiger on the ground with Elin leaning over him.  Tiger was reported to be incoherent and drifting in and out of consciousness.  He also had lacerations on his upper and lower lips and was taken to Health Central Hospital and treated and released.  Elin told police that she had been inside when she heard the crash, and broke the back window of the SUV with a golf club in order to pull Woods to safety.

As most people probably realize, this is a complete bullshit story of what transpired that night.  Here is my unofficial, but definitely at least 98% true version of what actually took place:

A day and a half earlier Elin sees an article appearing in The National Enquirer reporting on an affair her husband had with Rachel Uchitel.  Miss Uchitel denies the story, but the article confirms what Elin had already been suspecting.  Tiger and Elin argue.  Tiger denies everything.  They both try to keep up an appearance of normalcy as they celebrate thanksgiving with friends, family, and their two young children.  This is about the time that the shit totally hits the fan… then floats through late night air, lands near a neighbors front yard, and reconstitutes itself in a neat little pile of total BS.

As the evening winds down, guests leave and the kids are put to sleep.  Elin and Tiger argue some more.  Elin has information which Tiger finds hard to deny any longer.  Tiger can feel things unraveling around him, but he doesn’t want to deal with the nagging tonight.  He thinks/says: “Fuck this, I’m Tiger Woods,” takes an Ambien and maybe some Vicodin and goes to bed.  Elin stays up and grows angrier.  She calls her close friends and her mother/sister.  They cry.  She goes through Tiger’s phone and personal effect and finds more evidence of her husband’s infidelities.  Elin reaches her boiling point.  At 2:15 AM, she goes to where her husband is sleeping.  She turns on the light but Tiger does not wake up.  For five minute she stands over their bed and just stares at Tiger, hating his fucking guts.  At 2:20 AM, Elin winds up and punches a sleeping Tiger right in the mouth.  He is jolted into consciousness.  He bolts out of bed, bleeding from the lip: “What the FUCK!”  Tiger is completely dazed from the Ambien and the punch to the mouth, but one look at Elin tells him that she has completely lost her shit.  He immediately grabs at his junk to make sure everything is still there.  (After Lorena Bobbitt, every man instinctively does this now whenever he is in hot water with his lady and is suddenly awoken in the middle of the night).  Feeling that everything is still intact, Tiger attempts to rush down stairs to make his way to his Escalade.  He is bumping into stuff and knocking things over.  Elin races after him, screaming things like “whore monger!” and promises of bloody murder.  Tiger pleads with her to calm down, but he can see she has crossed that point to where a woman will snap completely.  This is absolutely terrifying… for any man.  Tiger realizes his only option is escape.

Tiger hastily begins to text message a possible booty call (probably the waitress at Perkin’s who often seated him and Elin for breakfast) as he stumbles toward his SUV.  He climbs in the Escalade with Elin swatting at his back.  Tiger manages to get the door closed as Elin goes for a bag of golf clubs in the corner of the garage.  As Tiger is pulling away, she swings and smashes the back window with a two iron.  “Jesus Christ, you fucking bitch!”  Tiger pulls through the gates of his estate and starts to head down the road.  High levels of panic and Ambien make it impossible to steer the vehicle.  With Elin chasing after him, Tiger succumbs to the creeping fog and his Escalade bends off the road through a fire hydrant and into a tree.  The spectacle of this snaps Elin somewhat back to her senses.  Tiger pushes open the driver’s side door (which isn’t damaged in the slightest) and falls to the ground.  Lights come on in neighboring homes.  Some people come outside and others call the police.  Elin realizes the gravity of the situation and just how much an embarrassing public scene like this could threaten to destroy her privacy and reputation.  She goes over to Tiger and pretends to give him aid.  When the cops show up she makes up the bullshit story about breaking out the rear window in order to pull her husband to safety.  Because these are Florida cops and they are in a stupor from seeing Tiger Woods laying on somebody’s yard at 2:30 in the morning, they believe it.

And that is the non-bullshit account of everything that went down that night.  Of course Tiger Woods and his camp would never admit to anything even similar to this ever happening.  Both Elin and Tiger always stuck with the story that he simply decided to drive off in the middle of the night while barely conscious from the effects of pills (explanation not given), and Elin smashing the window with a golf club in a courageous effort to pull him from the wrecked SUV (absurd).  His reasoning for this is simple.  It follows the “I’m Tiger Woods, so if I say it then it becomes true” line of logic.  It was the same logic that Tiger hoped would get him out of hot water with Elin while he went on winning golf tournaments and screwing any woman he wanted.

I know that as regular folks it can sometimes seem difficult to project unsavory qualities onto the figures we idolize or who act like they are totally better than us every day of their lives.  (At least the ones not named Brittney or Lindsay).  But if we can start by accepting that the Thanksgiving night account I have offered above is at least more true than Tiger Woods’ version, then it becomes possible for the whole truth about Tiger to come into focus.  And then we may finally understand exactly why it was so easy for him all these years to be better than everybody else in the world on the golf course; and why it now seems so difficult.

 

Will the Real Tiger Woods Stand Up; Who is Dr. Cock n’Balls?

Mark Seal, a writer for Vanity Fair, produced a great article for this year’s May issue entitled “The Temptation of Tiger Woods.”  In it he interviews several of Tiger Woods’ former mistresses, people from within his inner circle and those, such as the Madame of an elite escort agency, whom he had intimate dealings with.  We already knew the basic stuff about the Thanksgiving night crack up and the ever-increasing mistress count, but Seal gives us perhaps the first truly close and intimate look at Tiger’s illicit activities.  And what his exposé shows is just what a massive dick Tiger was and how much sex he required to fuel his day-to-day life.

In the Vanity Fair article, most of the women describe Tiger as a total horn dog, needing almost constant frenzied releases.  He never provided his mistresses with anything in return (save the ones he was obligated to pay for upfront as part of a business transaction).  Even at one of the restaurants where he picked up the hostess, he was known to tip just 15%.  Oh, by the way… Tiger Woods is nearly a billionaire!  

The most significant thing Tiger ever did for any of his mistresses past giving her a good railing lasting about a minute, would be to fly her (in coach) to a city in which he happened to be playing a tournament so they could arrange a hotel rendezvous in between rounds of golf.  If he could not get what he needed during the tournament, Tiger would text a girl to set up a late night or early morning meeting before he had to travel.  Seal only really hints at the effect all this may have had on Tiger’s playing career.  Although in one of his interviews, Mindy Lawton, the hostess from a Perkin’s explains to him: “He [Tiger] wanted that last piece of booty before he could go to his tournament… to make him shoot better.”

So what did Tiger’s private life, and his mind boggling number of sexual conquests mean for his golfing career?

Try to imagine if you can: Tiger Woods striding down the fairway during his most dominant period from 2000-2008.  He appears exactly how he feels—satisfied but still a little randy.  If you get within five feet of him, you can smell the stink.  By 2004 he has collected a wife to smooth over his image with the corporate sponsors who pay him numbers exceeding 100 million, but the party days never actually stopped.  The parade of porn stars, call girls, and run of the mill party girls and hotties goes on, and nobody ever calls him on it.  He is brimming with confidence and leading on with his dick missile.  He is after yet another notch in his belt, and coming down the back nine Tiger’s glare tells us that all he wants to do right now is fire a rocket right in Phil Mickelson’s ear.  If another golfer tries to creep up on him, Tiger says with one look: “I just stuck two porn stars, a nightclub hostess, and a Denny’s waitress, and I’m thinking about bending you over right here in front of all these people.  There are small children watching so don’t make me do it.”  

That is what Tiger would be thinking, and that is what every playing competitor who ever tried to share his stage on the golf course knew he was thinking.  Then Tiger would take his club out and rip a 340 yard drive or sink a long twisting putt.  When you go up against those prodigious talents, not to mention his work ethic, combined with a libido that is off the fucking charts, and you’re done.  So Tiger’s closest competitors, 50 or so of the best golfers in the world, usually wilted and Tiger of course dominated.

Even if you bought into Tiger Woods’ squeaky clean image before news of his affairs hit the mainstream, in his article Seal describes an environment that persisted within his inner circle and his closest family right from the very beginning which makes it not that much of a stretch to imagine how Tiger evolved into an unstoppable dick.  For example, we know that his dad, Earl Woods, was in all likelihood a massive dick.  The man who won “Father of the Year” honors and had widely been recognized as responsible for much of Tiger’s growth and success divorced his first wife and mother of three, by way of an intermediary friend, so he could marry Tiger’s mother, a secretary in Bangkok he met during a tour in Vietnam.  During their marriage he had infidelities with her; and as Tiger’s circle of advisors, friends, and hotties began to form around the millions of dollars being fed into Team Tiger, Earl himself was frequently observed in the presense of copious young ladies.  In this posture he could perhaps be seen smoking a cigar or drinking a goblet of vodka while opining that his son was the second coming of Christ.

So how could we expect young Eldrick not to eventually become his father’s nickname for him?—A primal sporting force of nature and total dick.  And from there, how could we reasonably expect that Tiger would not morph into exactly who he was up until a year ago? –Dr Cock n’Balls, winner of major tournaments and supreme cocksman.

For those of you who thought that “Dr. Cock n’Balls” might be a PhD at the sex addiction facility where Tiger went for treatment, I am sorry to disappoint you.  This is simply who he had become.  It is also what porn star Joslyn James most likely dubbed him during a bout of role play.  This is a complete fabrication on my part.  Although, I am about 90% sure that it is 100% true.

 

What it all Means

Tiger Woods should have been the Joe Namath of his day, wearing a fur coat and chasing after models, strippers, and sideline reporters at swanky Vegas and NYC nightclubs.  He should have just admitted that this was the person he wanted to be.  Instead he tried to live a lie.  He tried to make us think he was Jack Nicklaus, family man and great golfer.  But Tiger was never those things.  He was always an elite cocksman and one of the legitimate all-time transcendent sportsmen and pure winners of the last 100 years.

If Michael Jordan taught us anything it is that when you are competing against the very best players in the world in something, in order to stand out as the very best of the best it takes a dick mentality.  That was how Namath beat Johnny Unitas and the vaunted Colts.  Since he was just a year old, Eldrick Woods was always bred to be “Tiger.”  But at some phase in his life Tiger’s whole personality and inimitability as a winner got wrapped up in his hidden, almost superhero-like identity, Dr. Cock n’Balls.

Now in order to win back his fans and sponsors, he has to try to “repair” his image, and do it under intense scrutiny.  For Tiger, repairing his image means not having tons of hot sex with many different women.  Which means that Dr Cock n’Balls will, for the foreseeable future, be in a place he has never been before in his entire professional career:  Playing in important tournaments with the biggest, bluest plums you ever saw.  And that’s not the Tiger we have all gotten used to watching in the past; and the effects of his withdrawal are clearly showing.  18 over par at the Bridgestone?!  Dr Cock n’balls won on that course as recently as last year when he shot twelve under par (that’s 30 shots better, if you’re keeping score).  And he has won that same tournament seven times previous!

Right now Tiger is going about proving that he simply cannot play very well under his new set of circumstances.  His attempts at an image overhaul may end up ruining his whole game.  Like Popeye without his spinach, or Spiderman without his web… Dr C n’B needs his pussy power-up.  The dilemma facing him now is that he has talked himself into a corner where it may be impossible for him to get what he needs.  All the apologizing, promises to return to Buddhism and trying to be a new man represent death to Dr. C n’B and his exploits both off and on the course.

And there may be no going back for him.  Dr. Cock n’Balls dropped a bombshell (not McGee… but maybe, who knows) on this most docile and gentlemanly world of pro golf and thrust their sport, along with their conspicuously mainstream and respectable sponsors, into a light of epic scumbaggery one might only expect to see on Maury or Springer.  It may be that Tiger simply chose the wrong sport.  With his talents he could just as easily played a less gentile game like baseball and ended up nailing B-list actresses with his douche bag buddy A-Rod.  After all, baseball has survived steroids, ballooning salaries, and a lockout.  I think it could survive Tiger.  But in the scrub and polish world of professional golf, they demand that he repent!  And Tiger, at this point, seems resigned at least to make a show of trying.

So what can the fans expect now?  Where will it all go from here?  I am convinced that Tiger will never be the same dominant golfer he once was unless he is reunited with his old friend Dr. C n’B.  It may be that we never truly see that man on the golf course ever again.  It may be that we will have to settle only for the slight amusement of watching Tiger pop up on TMZ, occasionally hearing reports of relapses and more visits to the sex addiction clinic in favor of watching him crush the majors every year on CBS and ESPN…

There was a comedy show that premiered last year on HBO called Eastbound & Down.  In it star Danny McBride plays a down and out former pitcher, and massive dick, named Kenny Powers who is forced to deal with life after sports and superstardom.  The show is a commentary on the state of the American fallen sports hero.  It could be that what Tiger Woods has really done is to forever frame himself as the real life Kenny Powers.  In one episode, after sinking to his lowest bottom yet, Powers provides this porch side lament:

“I don’t know what’s going on, man.  I’m just all jammed up inside.  Lost my abilities.  Stripped of all my God given talents.  Including the talents to have sex with any woman I choose.  Or to throw a fucking ball fast.  Or to not prematurely cum in my pants.”

The fact is that Mr. Woods is starting to look kind of jowly and has a receding hairline already.  Even if given the opportunity, would Dr. C n’B even be able to hack a comeback to elite status cocksman?  Or is he regressing into the “Eldrick” stage of his career where we would be more likely to find him sadly masturbating behind the snack car on the 11th hole than bedding the 22 year old daughter of a Windermere neighbor?

There seems to be more questions surrounding Tiger than answers these days, and there are really only two things I know for sure:

1.   If you never tell people the truth, they can speculate and imagine whatever they want.  It doesn’t mean that they should, but they certainly can and probably will.

And…

2.   We have all seen and heard about Tiger Woods, AKA Dr. Cock n’Balls, doing some pretty amazing stuff in his time… I don’t think that I would sell him down the river just yet.

…Anytime a reporter asks anything even remotely related to his recent personal troubles, Tiger still has the kahoonies to give him a “fuck you I’m better than you” smile and ignore the question.  Maybe Earl Woods was right.  Maybe Tiger truly was put on this Earth to be the Jesus of winning golf tournaments and being a dick.  It could be that this time next year all the pressure and scrutiny will have died down and Tiger will have three porn stars simultaneously working on his joint in the hotel room an hour and a half before he tees off on the final round of the PGA Championship with a five shot lead.  You just never know.

We all still root for Kenny Powers, anyway.

 

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