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Tiger Woods - Source: Close Up -
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The long-traveling wavelet of drool that may or may not have reached its high water mark over Tiger Woods's sexual escapades (or, to use the appropriate nomenclature, 'sexcapades') gave another pulse of life today.
Newswires relayed that Tiger's mother-in-law had been carted off to the very hospital he visited a week and a half ago after crashing his Cadillac Sexcalade into a fire hydrant and then a tree.
It makes little difference that Mrs Holmberg was sent home once her reported stomach pains subsided, the story - for those obsessed with it; I confess I'm one, and given my line of work, I'm a saliva gland producing said drool - seemed about to reanimate.
Back from the dead! Tiger Woods 2!
But no, like Mrs H, the Tiger Woods story seems to be resting comfortably still, journalistically speaking. The marrow has been wrung out of a narrative that first appeared to be about something more than the initial set of facts (golfer Caddy tree=bang!).
Should another ten cocktail waitresses/nightclub hostesses/pancake house workers/hot car mechanics (sorry, I just stuck that in to see if you were paying attention) finish their shifts, and raise their hands, and sigh tearfully that they too had been used by Tiger like so much Kleenex, we would not be surprised.
Should his wife Elin Nordegren leave , we might be surprised, given the rumoured inducements that have been showered upon her to stay. A $US5 million dollar signing bonus? Awesome!
Hold up. Perhaps if a new Tiger mistress appeared and she was - like him - African American, that might be newsworthy. But it would only be so on black talk radio shows where Tiger is being excoriated for limiting his attentions to 'white hoochie-mamas'.
The inference being made is that if he'd married a black woman, she would have wreaked a terrible revenge. You pause, and think, 'How silly," but then you think of Michelle Obama - in a thought experiment only - placed in the same predicament.
Castration would be insufficient.
The reason that this story is in a state of paralysis is that it is as full as a fat girl's socks.
We have a villain. We have sex. We have spurned women - 11 if you count Mrs Tiger. We have a little booze (Tiger -according to mistress number four or five Mindy Lawson- is fond of drinking chilled Bailey's. Chilled Bailey's? Isn't that a girl's drink?). Only drugs are missing.
Hold up! It's alleged that mistress number one, Rachel Uchitel and Tiger went on Ambien-fuelled sex jags, spilling and tearing and screaming the house down. Ambien, perplexingly, is a sleeping pill.
But this report has been given some medical credibility. Well, credibility of a sort. Doctor Drew Pinsky, the man with the best reality carnival on US cable television right now ('Dr Drew's Sex Addict Rehab' - to read the title is to know the show) has given his diagnosis: often sexual and chemical addiction go hand in -um- hand.
So now we're waiting for the endgame. Either Tiger goes into rehab. Either he sits before a camera and coughs up the awful details to a professional shoulder-to-cry on (I'd love him to go on 'Ellen', even though Oprah's kindly offered) or perhaps his sponsors start to look at their sales and decide that brand loyalty has been... revalued.
This is, in the final instance, a story that has very little to do with sex, and everything to do with the price of money.
