We never knew the label, size or ring gauge of the product (allegedly) enjoyed by Big Bubba Clinton in infamous ways back in the pre-impeachment White House of the ‘90s, nor did we know the club selection on that night in 2009 when a then-spouse (allegedly) took a swing at Tiger Woods’ cheatin’ head roundabout the time he crashed into a hydrant.
We never knew, so we made stuff up, and some of it hardened into something like fact: thus, Gurkha, 7 x 52 at least; thus, a choked-up 9-iron that missed Tiger but broke the windshield.
It’s not speculation, today, to say Tiger is accident-prone. His latest accident could have killed him.
The violent one-car crash that shattered his right leg couldn’t have been good for his back, recently operated on for a fifth time.
So he’s out of the Masters, this year for certain and maybe forever as a contender. He’s got less than five years ‘til he’s eligible to play on the Champions tour, if he’s healthy and he wants to. Maybe he won’t. He’s liking being a dad.
As nice and human as that might be, it’s kind of boring, newsworthy only because it seems unlike him. It’s boring, and Tiger Woods is never boring. We’ll have to make some stuff up.