Golf Digest is loosening its ties to Tiger Woods, suspending his monthly instructional golf articles while Woods is on leave from professional golf.
—“Tiger Gets A Timeout,” Keith Kelley, NY Post, December 23, 2009
Are you there, golf? It’s me, Tiger.
I think it was Keats, or maybe Nick Faldo, who said, “There is nothing stable in the world; uproar’s your only music.” So true. Taking a break from golf has wounded me not a whit; even Da Man has to pay Da Piper. But getting my byline cut — I would rather miss the cut at St. Andrews. It is cruelty itself. A more hateful revenge than all the obvious puns about my bad driving and “scoring average.” Woody has always needed a pencil to express himself, the scorecard only the most famed medium.
And thus I return to you, dear diary. It’s been many years since you were my little black book. You will, I trust, forgive my infidelity, my crassness — $3 mil a year to churn out mass entertainments about the backswing, weight shift and (the horror!) chipping was too much temptation for a man so weak. Oh! How I longed to write about the loneliness of the road (snicker if you will, but the flesh was always cold comfort…even when the sex was hot), the heaven-sent scent of the azaleas at Augusta, the dark nights of the soul when swing flaws were the least of my troubles.
What did my editor demand? Putting tips.
I know why the caged birdie sings….
Today I am free. Free! Free to write again about whatever strikes my fancy. To become again the inquisitive boy who would slice drives into the trees just to see what was there. To rekindle my passion for poetry. To chase Lord Byron instead of Byron Nelson, Neruda not Nicklaus!
But not now, dear diary, for I hear my lawyers and flaks at the door. I pray only that Harry Reid has not made public my emails in support of a public healthcare option. For then, truly, am I screwed.