Tiger Woods Is Back To Kicking Ass And Taking Names

Tiger is back.

For real.

Kicking ass and taking names.

I talked to my buddy this morning. He was surprised, but then he would be, because he takes all of his cues from the bullshit he hears on TV.

“Think about it,” I said. "His mind is clear. No phone numbers to hide, no elaborate ruses to keep his wife from finding out what’s going on, no confusion over just which chick might be next in the rotation – “was it #9 this week, #23, or am I going with an 'even numbers between 20 and 30' combo? – I mean, he has NOTHING on his mind these days but golf.”

If you live in Georgia, either your boss is going to the Masters, or you are the boss, and you are trying to find tickets so you can go to the Masters. Or he or you are holed up in his/your office watching the live feed on ESPN.com and calling his/your buddies to talk about...

...what else? How Tiger is doing.

Or you are on the job, cursing the pollen and furtively clicking on ESPN.com, or checking the leaderboard on your phone, or pretending you are working from home today so you can watch the whole thing on your big screen TV at home, or are at a looong, loong lunch watching the highlights over a "I'm not going back to the office with this on my breath" type of beverage.

Add to this the phenomenon of spring break for two metro counties, and this is practically a holiday week in the ATL.

I actually would have enjoyed the whole week, but since USA TODAY insists on paying Christine Brennan a salary to crow about how a man SHOULD be acting when he is in the situation Tiger is in, I am more than a little ticked off at her columns, which suggest, without any subtlety at all, that Tiger needs to be declawed.

The crowd of well-to-do white men ringing the greens at Augusta, home of the He-Man Woman Haters Club for Rich Men and the world’s greenest golf course in captivity, like Tiger just the way he was, profane and intense and twice as good as Phil Mickelson. These men are not interested in political correctness. These men do not care how much quality time Tiger spends with his kids, or whether he screws every woman on his block.

What they want is to see a man smack a dimpled white ball from an impossible lie in the rough so that it curves AROUND a stand of pine trees and plops down on the green 10 feet from the pin.

What they want to see are herculean three hundred and fifty yard drives down the narrow fairways at Augusta that soar so high they appear to be headed into orbit.

Christine Brennan can go kick rocks.

Actually, she can join Don Quixote and spend the rest of her life searching for the impossible. She will never find type of ideal man she and her cohorts dream about – a kindergartner with a credit card who is allergic to other women.

So long as Tiger Woods is to golf what the Kennedys were to politics, bringing a Camelot level of excitement and panache to a tedious sport the way the Kennedys brought glamor and style to government service, his infidelities will tarnish him the same way Jack Kenney's infidelities have tainted his legacy - not at all. 

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