How to Become a Mortal in 10 Days

angry tiger How to Become a Mortal in 10 Days

My Ex Wife Wants How Much?!!

Tiger Woods was Hercules.  For more than ten years he’s been the God come down from the finest golf course on Mount Olympus to show us mortals how insignificant our records and up and down abilities truly were.  And we loved him for it.  No—we worshiped him as a golf deity who rewarded our adulation with spectacular play.

From time to time he would even provide us drama, probably breaking his own leg and overtaking plucky veteran Rocco Mediate to win the 2008 U.S. Open.  He even bestowed upon us an extra day of golf.

A gracious and most kind god.

Then our holy Tiger did something peculiar—he married.

For a time, it was good.

Until Tiger began amassing a global concubine that would make even Hugh Hefner twinge with envy and his personal indiscretions were splashed across the pages of the National Enquirer like a rotten watermelon across the windshield of a C130 transport plane.

Public opinion of our god nosedived faster than an epileptic pelican, and our Greek visitor became the one thing we never imagined.  He was now flawed, unworthy—human.

No one faults Tiger for enjoying the sexual spoils that stardom seems to inevitably bring.  We all chuckled at Wilt Chamberlain’s tales of thousands of sexual partners.  We find George Clooney’s adventures in supermodel land to be without fault, entertaining even.

But that all changes if you do it after you slip that ring on your finger.  Ask Kobe.  No matter if he wins 10 championships, that day in Denver—which can in no way be considered his only infidelity—will always mar his legacy. In fact, I would argue that if Magic Johnson hadn’t contracted HIV and enjoyed the sympathy that comes with it, he might be seen as another out of control horn dog as well.

Tiger, hopefully disease free, will receive no such get out of brothel free card.

And now he is contending on Sunday at the U.S. Open.  And while I still can’t help but be sucked in by the electricity that is a Tiger Sunday charge—something is different.  I can’t root as hard I used to.  Even more oddly, I have found myself doing the unthinkable.  I now cheer for Phil Mickelson.

I even began dreaming up animal nicknames for him, just like our former god has.

I settled on the Bison.  You may choose differently.

But Whatever happens today, no matter who wins, one thing is true—Tiger really is just another mortal.

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