In the Rough

Here's the thing: I don't give a shit where Tiger Woods is stashing his clubs at the end of the day.

I didn't even know the guy had crashed his car because I was in a news blackout for most of the Thanksgiving weekend (read: I was so drunk on tryptophan and cheap wine I couldn't read words on my phone). When I sobered up and caught up on the headlines, I thought Huh. Tiger Woods crashed his car. The airbags didn't go off, but his wife was so panicked to free him from this low-speed wreck she broke his windows? She probably found out he was cheating on her and was out for blood.

Lo and behold, two days later he gives us the vague "I am sorry for my transgressions" statement. And thus, a million golf-themed double entendre headlines were born.

The way I see it, this is the problem of approximately 10 people in the entire world—Tiger, his wife, his two kids, and the women he slept with. There are thousands of more serious and more compelling stories than that of a wealthy philandering husband. Like, you know, denying an entire state's gay residents the right to marry and cheat on their spouses.

Also: Never leave a voicemail. I doubt Tiger will do a PSA on that one, but he should.