Saturday, December 03, 2011

This right here the scene of the crime this morgan. Call me a steely-eyed waterman, I don't give a g-dam no-never-mind. Tasty little two-footers whose shape were made nice by the off-shore wind. Caught about seven nice ones with two in and outs. (Rode the wave and then kicked out and paddled back out without getting off the board or falling)

A little seal pup stayed with me the whole session. It was like having a little doggie with me.

Golf-on-TV, nap, grilled rib-eye with fries and red wine, Okie V. Okie State game in my future.

Speaking of golf, here is a little something I call:

The Descent Of Tiger

Here is how Tiger has dropped in my opinion - and I think a lot of other people's opinions as well.

At first Tiger was my guy. He wasn't just the biggest thing in golf, he was the biggest thing in sports. Rooting for him way above all others, even my man Phil.

At the time of his apex, that famous American Express commercial where he juggled to ball on his club and whacked it a mile, Tiger was a myth-maker. He was like Bo Jackson, Jim Brown, John Elway, Joe Montana, Michael Jordan, Babe Ruth. People spoke of his super-human accomplishments with awe: he could bench press a billion pounds, he could eat nine thousand tacos, he could shoot fire out his arse.

Then slowly we saw the swearing, lack of class, slamming down clubs, he fired his nice old guy caddy, Fluff, he hired an a-hole thug, Steve Williams, his one syllable responses in press conferences. He as no longer my guy, but I was still rooting for him. Still like what he did for golf.

Then he came to Torrey Pines and left a tidal wave of bad behavior is his path: rude, no-tipper, jerk to other players, full-blown-a-hole to people working on the course. Now I was still rooting for him, but not nearly as much.

Then I went with my good buddy, Mark Snickity O'Snake, and saw Tiger play at the Buick Open at Torrey Pines.

Now, to review, I had seen the young Tiger as a spectator at a celebrity event in Palm Desert. He struck me as the nerdy guy you let into your fraternity because he could get you on the local golf course. He was Eldrick, not Tiger. A allergy-ridden, nose-blowing, slump-shouldered dork, but a harmless enough seemingly nice guy.

The guy I then saw at Torrey Pines was not the same guy I first saw. He was a chest-puffing, eye-averting poser. He was pumped up on HGH or 'roids or both. He had bought his Nike-hype hook-line and sinker and was clearly acting like a bad ass that he was not.

He was playing the role of Tiger Woods. He was a phony. At this point Phil Mickelson became my guy.

Then came two Thanksgivings ago. We finally got to see the real Tiger Woods. Caught cheating with every cheap floozy he saw who wore a skirt, instead of facing the music like a man, he then retreated to his man cave to play video games and eat Fruit Loops in his underwear.

People can take a lot. They can take a drug-addict, they can take a womanizer, they can even take both, ala Charlie Sheen.

What they cannot take is a full-blown a-hole hypocrite. Tiger made untold millions specifically hyping his perfect husband and Dad image. That image was a horrible lie.

Eff him. Done. From that point on, I was rooting against Tiger Woods. Still am.

So, in descending order, Tiger was my hero, then he was my guy, he was my guy with flaws, then he was not my guy, but I was rooting for him. Then I wasn't rooting for him, but it was fun to watch him win, he made the tournaments more interesting. And he was winning.

Now I am rooting against Tiger Woods.

Don't get me wrong, Tiger makes things more interesting, like his tournament at Thousand Oaks. But I am cheering for other people to not only beat him but to embarrass him. It would be better for sports and golf if Tiger started winning again. But I don't want him to win.

In short, Tiger Woods has plummeted from a god-like icon to the personification of all that is wrong with sports: a falsely and over-hyped, drug-enhanced, overly-paid horrible person.

And I am pretty sure Tiger doesn't care what I think.