The Doors 'Live In Pittsburgh 1970'

I’ve been keeping my mouth tighter than Ann Margaret’s skin about the whole Tiger Wood’s thing. I’m sure you’ve been wondering to yourself… “What does Eugene think about that Tiger Wood’s fiasco?”

Why haven’t I said anything yet?

It’s because I really don’t care about his infidelities and carousing. And besides, it’s really none of my business.

Perhaps I’m wrong, but I think most affluent men that play golf in their spare time are probably playing another back nine behind closed doors with or without their wives knowing. And maybe I’m wrong again on this count… Money attracts women like cartoon coyotes to Acme products.

In Tiger’s case, he’s got money and he’s got celebrity status. So with that going on for him, I’m sure he’s had the same odds of contracting a venereal disease as Gene Simmons. The little head is going to do some of Tiger’s thinking when beautiful blondes want to do all the things that maybe his wife and mother of his children won’t do anymore.

Again, it’s none of my business and I don’t care how Tiger sinks a putt at the local Hooter’s.

What kills me is why his wife did what we all think she did. Does she even realize what she has done?

In my eyes, she shot her own foot if she did in fact “go all ballistic”.

Her “going ballistic” seems like a good theory simply because I don’t know too many people that would leave home in the middle of the night without shoes. Much less with golf clubs sticking through the broken windows of an expensive SUV.

What astounds me is the fact that she’d want to stop all those sponsor bucks from hitting the bank?

I’m not going Jamie Foxx and calling her a “Gold Digger” or anything… She may well love the guy for who he is. Ahem. But some of that sponsor dinero has dried up because of his confessed extracurricular activities. I don’t really think its fair, but that’s the way those sponsors want to play ball even though more than a few of those corporate executives do a little extracurricular balling themselves.

Did Mrs. Woods not expect him straying from her dam when so many beavers are throwing themselves at him?

Come on and get real.

I’m real and that’s why I wouldn’t have said a thing about it to him or anyone else. I would’ve kept right on taking those checks to the bank, purchasing Prada, and maybe find some action my damn self. And I’m talking about the kind of action that money can buy to keep me happy. I’d take trips to catch all the concerts I’d want to no matter where they are… And I’d take the kids with me.

I know the old adage, “Money doesn’t buy happiness”. That always seemed like a joke to me. Twenty bucks can buy me serious happiness at East Coast Wings. I can imagine what kind of happiness that twenty million can buy… KISS concerts in Europe complete with backstage passes, Cheap Trick playing louder than a NASCAR race in my backyard, and financing a film with Drew Barrymore naked all the way through.

“Just keep playing golf, honey. Sign with those potential mulit-million dollar sponsors so we’ll have unlimited cars, goods, and services. Oh… You’re doing three blondes in our hot tub while a nun slaps your ass with a yardstick? That’s all right, baby. As long as you’re able to make an “X”, you do whatever you like. I support you and your needs, darlin’.”

Why would anyone want that kind of gravy to stop flowing?

No matter what kind of lumps come along with that gravy, it just astounds me. And now you’ve heard my thoughts on the subject.