Every once in awhile, the lines blur and the standard rules fall away. Race, class, economic status, athletic genius, and world renown matter not in the least -- along with the fawning adulation by annoying white pricks who, only a single generation ago, surely would've called him "boy" to his face and demanded he serve them tea in the clubhouse...instead of paying him millions of dollars to tee off in their boring, mindless, reverential tournaments. This fine and graceful athlete has shattered all preconceived notions about who belongs kickin' ass out on the green...and who belongs delivering double-highballs and finger sandwiches to complete assholes back in the dining room at the country club.
But you know...when he crashed his SUV that night in December, Tiger Woods found out that none of that really matters. The only thing ol' Tiger knows now is that if you stick your double-bogey into the birdie of a woman other than your wife and your wife finds out about it -- BE PREPARED TO HAVE A 5 IRON BROKEN OFF IN YOUR ASS, my friend.