Unless you’ve been living under a rock or something, you may have seen a news item or two suggesting that Tiger Woods has been somewhat promiscuous (insert “swinging the ol’ putter/hole in one” joke here). Well, apparently “under a rock” is the home address for some of these floozies, because at least one of them is now shocked—shocked!—to learn that Tiger was cheating on the woman with whom he was cheating on his wife. From the second link:
Jaimee Grubbs wanted to tell her story once Rachel Uchitel’s name started surfacing as a potential mistress. She started feeling bitter and sad about it because she thought she was the only woman besides his wife, and she wanted to tell her story.”
Rachel Uchitel feels pretty much the same, which puts a delicious irony-flavored layer of icing on this schadenfreude cake. It’s depressing but hardly surprising to learn a rich, famous, good-looking guy was unable to resist the temptation to sleep with just about anyone he wanted. What’s ridiculous is that a rich, famous, good-looking guy thought he could tomcat around indefinitely and the story wouldn’t come out. The only way this would have worked is if Tiger’s sexual fetishes included rubber Halloween masks and the voices of Mel Blanc characters.
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Once a cheater, always a cheater.
When the story first broke last week I was in the camp of “He screwed up and will pay, but it shoudln’t cost him his endorsements.” Today, I say “Fuck ‘em!”
If the reports are true, and it appears thus far that they are, then he is not simply a weak man who stepped out on his wife. He is a snake who stepped out at every given opportunity and, let’s face it, when your name is “Tiger Woods”, there are opportunities around every corner.
Just imagine how many times he has looked his wife in the face and told her a bald face lie. How many times have their friends lied to her to cover for him? How many times during her pregnancy did she feel lousy and want him to be home with her and instead he was out bagging cocktail waitresses?
My first twinge of disgust occurred when reading the account that Jamie Grubbs gave of their first encounter when she ignored his status and asked him to fetch her a pillow and a drink and he, purportedly, turned to his friends and said “Is she for real?” Maybe it’s just me, but that’s the moment I caught a bit of the gross-out.
When a spouse cheats, it’s far from (just) the sex which tears the other apart. It’s the lies, the betrayals, the cover-ups. It’s all the times that your gut told you something was up but you allowed the cheater to convince you otherwise, rendering you a fool. It’s the agony of looking back over the past and having those God-awful moments of realization that you knew, or should have, but trusted the cheater more than your own intuition. It’s the knowledge that your spouse ‘loved you’ enough to sire children with you and talk lovingly of a future together and then, as your belly was growing, lied and sneaked around in order to discuss your shortcomings with someone so low as to cheat with the husband of pregnant woman.
I’m not going to beat around the bush: He’s a fucking snake and I wouldn’t buy an aspirin from him were I in the middle of a full-fledged heart-attack.
If only there were an older brother lurking around the corner, ready to whip his ass.
If only.