The McBournie Minute: Don’t let Tiger Woods drive the golf cart

Welcome back, everyone. Hope both of you had a great Thanksgiving. I can’t speak for the rest of The Guys, but as much as I enjoyed a little time to relax, I missed being able to write–so much so that my fingers are rusty. I mean that metaphorically, of course.

No one’s really talking about it at the moment, but I hear tell that Tiger Woods, who you may know is a professional golfer, and pretty good, at that, got in a car accident outside his home while we were gone. What we do know is that it happened in the wee hours of the night, when nothing but arrests and pregnancies happen. We know that Woods was leaving his house when he hit a fire hydrant, which probably made an awesome geyser like you see in movie car chases. We know he hit a tree head on. We know that at some point the driver’s side window was broken.

We know that this isn’t the first time Tiger’s drive has gone off course and gotten him in a pickle. What? No more golf jokes? Fine.

We don’t know a whole lot, because nobody’s talking. It’s like when Biggie got shot all over again. We need to follow the money to figure this one out. Fortunately, there is a lot of money to be followed, including large checks.

For years, Woods has been known as the bad boy of golf. He defies the traditional role of the pro golfer. He doesn’t smoke, he rarely drinks, and he does a lot of events for charity. This makes him a target, and a target that big has to have some serious insurance policies out there just in case something happens to the ol’ gravy train, right? Hold on to that for a bit.

Who would want Woods to make out with a tree? Easy, pretty much anyone on the PGA Tour, even some former members, like John Daly, who is no stranger to smoking and drinking. What if rather than outright going after him themselves, they checked the wind, consulted with their caddy, and decided to lay up rather than push it over the water to the green. That is to say, what if this person was smart, and watched Woods’ movements carefully, then bided his or her time, waiting for the conditions to be right, found his weakness, like a supposed mistress, and then went for the kill.

Rather than just tell his wife, what if Woods and this person teamed up together, in a bid to make Woods some serious insurance cash and let someone else have a turn winning a major? All it would take is for the plan to be in just the right place, to look just enough like an accident. All it would need is to wait until Thanksgiving and make sure Woods’ wife had had a few belts. Then you tell her the news of the other woman, true or not, and sit back as Woods retreats from his lob wedge-brandishing wife to one of his fleet of cars which he had heavily insured.

Then he takes off, hitting as many immobile objects in the short distance as he can, miraculously not seriously hurt. Even though when he hits the tree, his head clearly goes back, and to the left. Back, and to the left. Back, and to the left. Back, and to the left.

Stonewall the police, the insurance companies call it an accident, win for Woods. Cancel his appearance at the Chevron World Challenge tournament later this week, you have a win for the competition.  My friends, I think you know exactly what happened. And you know what they say about African-American-Caucasian-Asian people and their ability to drive a car, don’t you?