My name is Tiger Woods. You may know me as a superstar golfer, winner of 14 major golf championships, umpteen zillion other tournaments, celebrity shill, blah, blah, blah. In short, the most recognized athlete on the planet. Life’s been good, no, but to quote another famous Tiger – “GRRRREAT!”
Not so much recently, though. There’s this little matter of a texting incident my wife, Elin, found out that put a serious debt in my Escalade, and a sexcapade list of women that would be the envy of Hugh Hefner. The bank account is taking a hit like you wouldn’t believe. Sponsors are leaving the Tigertanic faster than a screaming drive off one of my Nike golf clubs. What’s the count of dead accounts? Let’s see, Gillette, Accenture, Buick (and the free car to drive around…), AT & T, Gatorade, Tag Hueur watches, Upper Deck cards (who else even has a golf trading card, for Heaven’s sake?!), Golf Digest, even!
Yeah, I know, my bank account rivals those of several small nations, certainly Haiti, but I digress. It’s not so much fun seeing the account dwindle to, say, a few hundred million plus all the golf balls I can smash. But, tell me, who wants to lose even a dollar in this shaky economy? Dammit, I even have to pay out of my pocket for sex therapy.
Thankfully, that recently got me to thinking as I was in one of my sessions. I’ve been watching that whole Floyd Mayweather/Manny Pacquiao fiasco, the one where Pacquiao backed out of a mega-million deal because of his refusal to take a drug test before and after their March 13 bout. I watched in rapt attention, when a lightning bolt of an idea struck me, flooded my mind, kept me up thinking about how I can get back all those millions you sponsors took away. If what I think works, it’ll bring all y’all back screaming like the women I nailed. It’s called – drum roll, please – Pay Per View. (Love that Stanford education!)
Stay with me on this: I’m figuring, since I AM the biggest draw in golf history, even with this pesky sexting scandal. I’m gonna get this whole thing straightened out between myself and Elin, promise… But when I return, I can pick and choose the date I want to come back. I figure, since pretty much every golf tournament I DON’T enter tanks in the ratings quicker than a contestant in “The Biggest Loser” in a cannonballing contest, I can literally clean up if I negotiate with any network I want. What an opportunistic opportunity! (hmm, memo: contact HBO)
It’s ingenious! All I gotta do is sit with all those salivating TV executives (Hello, NBC and Versus!), give them a date to clean their schedule for a four-day period, announce my first appearance since the scandal broke at, say, the Grandma’s Knitting Open, and, voila!, literally BILLIONS of viewers worldwide will fork over $50 per day the first three days, and perhaps $100 for the final day of the tournament. Heck, give ’em a flat fee of $200. I’ll be swimming in more dollars than Bernie Madoff, Goldman Sachs and Uncle Scrooge combined.
Think that’ll work? Well, wait, there’s more: I haven’t even mentioned the revenue I’ll rack up with sponsors alone. Oh, yeah, that’ll more than pay for any extra sex addiction program I may be forced – by Elin – to take. Sweet! Now, that’s a plan! I’ll pretty much be able to name my price, no matter who fights for the rights to this PPV. And you’d best believe they WILL fight for the eyeballs of hundreds of millions, no, BILLIONS, just watch me walk onto the premises.
And I don’t even see any complaints from the PGA coming down the fairway anytime soon. Ha! PGA Commissioner Tim Finchen should be the first to okay this plan, and encourage all the other golfers on the Tour to play along with the Tiger. Heck, I’ll make the purse so huge, they’ll be fools to turn down this offer. This is a one-time offer. So, Gillette, Accenture, AT&T and all you self-righteous, pompous jerks: you and hundreds of sponsors will be fighting over how much money to give me to make up for the hit I’m taking right now. Oh, you’re gonna pay – BIG TIME, or my name isn’t Eldridge Woods. Oh, yeah, Buick – have that limousine and free car available. Well, gotta attend another sex addiction session; I hear teacher’s HOT!
This article was written by Gary Jackson