Why must I be like that, why must I chase the cat?

By Wendell P. Simpson, BASN Contributor
Updated: December 11, 2009

ATLANTA (BASN) — When I lived in Florida, I had a friend who fixed car windows. He once said that 85% of his business involved a shattered windshield, an irate woman, a philandering man, and a baseball bat, a brick, a hammer or a golf club — at least, that’s what he told me as he was replacing mine.

My windshield cost me about a hundred dollars to fix. I didn’t really have the one hundred dollars, but I had to ante up! And besides, my buddy explained, there were some windshields that cost some people a whole lot more…

Which brings me to two quintessential questions: Besides the money and the fame, what’s the difference between Tiger Woods, and other (in)famous scofflaws, such as Shaquille O’Neal and Kobe Bryant, and, say, most other guys like myself?

Nothing. So, why must we be like that, why must we chase the cat? Now, I’d like to conveniently scoff it all off to biological imperative, you know, the seed-carrying thing. But that’s not the truth.

The truth is, sometimes, men are dogs, and dogs howl at the moon and fine little honeys, and sometimes our bite really is worse than our bark — and when you do have the money and the fame, like Tiger and the cadre of misogynists mentioned above, the opportunities are so much more available.

And men like to think we’re so damned clever and above the trip-ups that hung the last guy, and so we’ll go ahead and roll the proverbial dice. The problem is, woman are so much smarter than men (Look who got who to bite the apple). They don’t miss a trick.

And they never, EVER, allow these kinds of grievous betrayals to go unpunished.

When Elin Woods took a nine-iron to the back window of her husband’s pimp mobile, there was no way he could have known how expensive a proposition it was all going to be.

Apparently, Elin had just discovered that Tiger was dipping his little Caublasian into a well that wasn’t hers, and she did what most women would do in such a situation: She battered and defaced one of his favorite toys.

The cops showed up to investigate this domestic dispute, and the paparazzi showed up to snap, snap, snap a bunch of photos and the next thing you know, the whole world had a glimpse into the looking glass that was Tiger’s faux pax.

But for an insatiable media ever hungry for the next prurient scandal, it’s never enough to let a sleeping dog lie. No. It’s going to go through all of your dirty drawers.

And guess what? The media found a few more stains in Tiger’s underwear. Before he could say, ‘TMZ’, Woods was on blast—he didn’t have just one dime piece on the side; he had a concubine vying for flesh time.

Woman after woman started popping out of the woodwork. That was enough to ruin his reputation. But then the endorsements dried up and that hit the Windermere Wonder in the pocketbook.

That was the final disgrace, and Tiger, who bought the hype and the myth that he was somehow above it all, was tossed from his Olympian heights by the gravity of his own arrogance and the momentum of a ghoulish media that can’t get enough.

Forget 30,000 more troops in Afghanistan, the eternally raging health care debate, our wrecked economy, or our subverted climate that threatens to turn the earth into a molten ball of lead: the fall of Tiger Woods is the most monumental story since the ascension of Barack Obama. Golf’s pristine super-Negro, was ‘outed’ as just another Black sexual charlatan.

Now THAT’s headline news…

Hey, I don’t feel sorry for Tiger or Elin. Woods is worth about a billion dollars; if he never gets another endorsement, never plays another tournament, he’s set up better than 99.99999999% of the people on this planet.

Nobody’s going to stroke his already massive ego anymore, but I’d happily fade from the lime light if I had that kind of cash. And as for Elin, well, she’s about to get paid — some estimates are running as high as $80 million — but is there anybody out there who doesn’t think that’s why she married him in the first place?

Nothing’s free — especially sex, or windshields, for that matter. Which brings me to the moral of the story: discretion is the always the better part of valor, and broken windshields always cost us more money than we were ever prepared to spend.