The Angry Czeck

There is a great deal of righteous indignation on display regarding the very public outing of Tiger Woods and his serial philandering. Pompously, we are told that what Tiger is going through is between he, his wife, and his mistresses. That we should be ashamed for invading his delicate privacy. That we should mind our own business.

That’s crap.

Tiger Woods is not somebody who has been dragged kicking and screaming into the spotlight. He is a creature created for celebrity. His father carefully marketed the Tiger persona, and Tiger never rejected it. Instead, he embraced it. He used celebrity to befriend other celebrities, and cashed in with insane deals with Buick, Nike, and Gillette. He has been digitally recreated on the world’s most popular video golf game. His whole life is about building a brand – how many hack golfers do you know who wear a red shirt like Tiger?

Tiger Woods™

Incredibly, Tiger pretends to hate fame. He claims to like scuba diving because “the fish don’t know who I am.” Poor Tiger! If he wasn’t such a celebrity, he could be at peace.

If he wasn’t such a celebrity, he wouldn’t be the world’s first billion-dollar athlete.

If he wasn’t such a celebrity, he wouldn’t be poker buddies with Michael Jordan.

And if he weren’t such a celebrity, he probably would have a much harder time banging all the hot chicks that aren’t his super-model wife.

It’s none of my business, but Tiger wants me to buy a Gillette Fusion. He wants me to drink his Gatorade and put his $1200 golf clubs into my bag. He’s in my house every day and night pitching automobiles, watches and razor blades, but how I dare I get into his face. He’s Tiger Woods. I’m just the schmuck expected to clap every time he sinks a putt.

When Alex Rodriguez was outed as a narcissistic, steroid-popping adulterer, the media couldn’t wait to smirk and joke. Why? Nobody likes Alex Rodriguez! We don’t mind butting into his life. But Tiger? Somehow, he’s a special guy. His dark corners are none of our business. Respect the man’s privacy!

That’s crap.

You want to bang hot babes out of wedlock in private, Tiger Woods? Give up golf, tear up the contracts with your sponsors, and move to Wyoming. Stop working out, grow a beard, and have a couple more kids with Mrs. Woods. Sure, you may find the philandering more challenging, but I promise we’ll forget you within a year. You can live like the rest of us.

Until then, I advise all you Indignant Tiger Fans to stop kissing his ass. A celebrity lives his life to be observed. That he is sometimes observed acting the ass is part of the shiny package. More than likely, you’ll never have Tiger’s yachts, his cars, his mansions, or his pick of buxom blonds. However, you can act like a moron in obscurity, but quite frankly, I don’t consider it an even trade.

Give me the yacht, and let me take my chances with TMZ.com.

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1. I’m addicted to sex too, Tiger.