Methinks I smell a rat...or two.
I mean, first of all, the guy doesn't speak to the cops after he's allegedly pulled from his crumpled Escalade, bleeding and dazed. If there was ever a time to give the police, and the other emergency workers who showed up to help you, some information about how you got into that condition, it was as soon as possible. So far as I know, it's been four days since the 'accident', and Tiger hasn't spoken to the cops. People who have something to hide don't talk to the cops.
Second, I know guys who's first instinct upon seeing a really hot Nordic chick wielding an 8-iron is not to run away. Yeah, I know that's sick. Then again, if you somehow managed to get a Scandinavian angry enough to engage in weapon-brandishing physical violence, you must have really fucked up. These are the Nobel Peace Prize folks, after all. There's got to be a fascinating story behind it all.
Third, you know you're screwed when your alleged paramour skips town (with 500 photographers in tow, conveniently) and finds herself in league with Gloria Allredd. That always scares the hell out of me. And by the way, can this Rachel Uchitel chick do any more posing for the cameras? Every shot in the local papers I've seen of her has her in some sort of model-ly action pose. Always with the pursed lips, too. She's a walking advertisement for...something. Homewrecking? Infidelity? Pretending to be more important than you really are? More likely herpes...but what do I know? All I know is what I see and the feeling it (ahem) arouses; this chick is having way too much fun and is obviously set to milk the rumors for as long as she might be able to make a few bucks. I wonder; what potential public embarrassments must lurk within that dark swamp?
Now, I don't know jack about Tiger Woods as a human being, or do I give a rat's ass for golf, which isn't a sport, isn't a game in the same way Monopoly is, and in my experience, seems to be more of a hobby for men with very low self-esteem, but very fat bank accounts. Likewise, I was sick and tired of the whole Tiger Woods Beatification Project which started it seems like 20 years ago, and was based on the faulty premises that a) black men never played golf before Tiger, and b) that winning a whole mess of golf tournaments while being half-black was the racial equivalent of simultaneously winning the lottery and discovering a cure for AIDS. Like Tiger being really good at a shitty game was somehow a deliverance for an entire population (still!) claiming to be suffering from 400 years of slavery and second-class status, even after nearly 200 years of racial progress. Now we find out that Tiger is a human being and not The Savior, after all -- and one with what must be one helluva story that's just dying to be told.
You just know that A-Rod is, at this very moment, jealous that his own knucklehead-ery has been knocked off the front pages by a guy with less personality (and far more money) than a truckload of wet cardboard.
So much for celebrating diversity, huh?
Not that I really give a crap; I'm just thinking the details must be funny as hell for a guy to crash his SUV in his own driveway...twice...apparently running from the Little Woman, while she chucks golf clubs, and he's so panicked that he can't avoid trees and fire hydrants that he probably knows are there. The image of Tiger Woods -- World's Biggest Pussy -- springs to mind. I'm practically giddy.
After that, I have absolutely no interest in this, ummm, affair. Talk to the cops, Tiger, go through the "I've-made-mistakes-in-my-personal-life-but-I'm-going-to-rehab-and-hope-to-forge-a-stronger-relationship-with-my-family-and-God" speech, and get it over with.
And by the way, what a great advertisement for Cadillac, huh? Have you seen the condition of that Escalade after a pair of (allegedly) 3-MPH crashes? Makes you so proud that you could shit to know the Taxpayer now owns the company that can make that sort of product!