He’s Grrrrrrrrrrreat!

Shouldn’t I hate Tiger Woods? Isn’t there some part of this sports fan that should want to rip his cocky, adulterous face off? Then WHY is he so awesome?

If you’re not watching the Arnold Palmer Invitational right now, you’re missing out. All Tiger is doing is enjoying beastiality. Double take? Understandable. It’s a metaphor for Tiger mercilessly humping these mortal humans into golf submission.

Every single shot he takes is on target. His putts are money. He made four birdies in six holes through the first eight. Graeme McDowell is doing anything he can to keep pace, and he’s playing a damn good round. But Tiger is casually brushing him away like a gnat. 

Honestly, I don’t even like golf. I haven’t played since I was 15 and I was never that good at it. I understand the basics and I definitely can’t hit a ball straight. But there’s something about watching Tiger Woods that gets me pumped. And it’s not because he’s so good. It’s because there’s some crazy aura about him.

Maybe it’s because I’m not a serious golf fan. I won’t even look at it unless Tiger is playing. There’s no flair, no attitude, no controversy to the sport if he’s not in the hunt. But days like today leave me just sitting on my couch watching golf all…day…long. 

I know Tiger messed up. Big time. Multiple times. But he’s one of the greatest, most entertaining athletes of my generation. And I’m going to go ahead and sit here, unshowered, eating sunflower seeds and wait for that notorious man in the red Nike shirt to lay a huge fist pump on all of us at the end of 18.

Go Tiger.

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