Hero to zero in one short drive
AN AMERICAN football match was interrupted at the weekend by two jokers running around the pitch, a man dressed in a tiger suit wearing a red shirt, pursued by a blonde woman wielding a golf club. And thus has the coolest man on the planet, The Untouchable, aloof, Mr Perfect, been reduced to a laughing stock, the subject of chat show and website jokes about scoring birdies, wayward drives and having lots of expensive cars and a hole in one. I remember, when Tiger Woods got married, there was concern in the sports media that such a significant change in his life might undermine his golfing career. And then I saw the photographs of Elin Nordegren, and couldn’t help thinking: “Are you kidding? With a woman like that at home, who wants to play golf?” The real losers in this sordid little sandtrap, of course, are the troubled couple’s children, who must hero-worship their father, and no doubt now have their school mates teasing them about a film called Crouching Tiger, Hidden Hydrant. You might expect a man to take the guy’s side, but the trouble with the likes of Woods is that they spoil it for the rest of us, turning women into green-eyed paranoiacs, ready to judge any casual glance at a pair of passing jeggings as evidence of chronic infidelity. OK, maybe there’s the teeniest bit of jealousy for a man so good-looking, talented, rich and successful, who kept on winning tournaments while allegedly carrying on a whole string of affairs, so forgive us if we snigger along with: “Tiger’s changed his name – to Cheetah.” And you can’t help feeling some awe-struck admiration for Nordegren’s feisty and fitting reaction, smashing his Cadillac with one of his own golf clubs (“Heard Phil Mickelson called Elin – for tips on how to beat Tiger.”) With hubby bringing home about $130 million a year, it’s perhaps stretching it a bit to call Mrs Woods a golf widow – but perhaps he can consider himself lucky that she hasn’t made the term rather more literal.