Tiger . . . Don’t Let the lynch-mob hang You.

Updated: July 23, 2015

Dear Tiger . . . ,

Man-to-man, Blackman-to-Black man, bro’ to bro’ n’ Bra” to Bra” . . . Please, please . . . please don’t let these bastards break you. Don’t under these present-day dire societal circumstances: the racial/cultural war that grips these so-called “United” States is heating-up, becoming combustible, so, considering the climate, you’ve got to do more than “hold the line” . . we need you to push forward son. Breaking, crumpling nor self-destruction is an option for you Tiger.

Not now, at this time, when many, many White Americans feel their “privilege” and their “monopoly” on life-altering options and choices is under attack. They see themselves in a cultural battle, and you my friend, along with the still “Straight-outta-Compton” Williams duo, together you constitute an entire battle field.

The three of you haven’t just knocked on the door of the country club, no son you kicked the SOB in.

Tiger, you’ve made them eat crow.

Arthur Ashe and Althea Gibson had them chocking too.

And wait, you’ve done it in a way n’ manner which infuriates the pompous, elitist wannabe aristocrats who populate most private (All-Rich White Male) country clubs. You, under what  the public now understands was Lone Ranger riding Trigger type guidance and control of your late pops, you rewrote and redefined “greatness” in the golf world.

This garnered you a legion of haters and naysayers who couldn’t wait for you to falter or fail.

But hang-on, what sent these adversaries over-the-top, what set their hair on fire was your lust-for White women. Even after the court-of-public opinion “permitted” you to wed that Nordic princess . . . you betrayed her and trampled all over the benefit of the doubts they’d accorded you, akin to OJ and him slitting the throat of his Nordic Princess . . . .

They had to embarrassingly revoke your “Honorary” White guy card and decoder ring.

And then, adding insult to injury, as you were “gettin’ yourself together” you showed the world you were bedding Lindsey Vonn, a real snow bunny . . . then after you’d soiled her, dirtied her for eternity . . . you continued to sleep with White women, even the wives of other PGA tour members . . . or so they say.

My God son. do you realize the type of scorn, contempt and animosity they harbor for you? You’re like a modern-day Jack Johnson in some superficial ways – like not understanding they would hang your 50% Black ass if they could.

If this were 1947 . . . .

So, when you rumble, stumble, tumble and now fumble away opportunities to become immortal and exceed the greatest Great White Hopes in Golf . . . they laugh at you, mock you and they yearn to mentally, emotionally break you, put you back in your proper assigned place. . . second place.

Show your innate, inherent inferiority . . . .

Son, this is far, far bigger than you, this is about who n’ what you are, and who you look like and represent. Nonetheless, like President Obama you’re a walking “litmus test.” Just saying your name is like saying Christopher Columbus, Ronald Ray-Gun, OJ or Trayvon Martin.

You’ve got to get your you-know-what-together, and we’re gonna need that to be ASAP, because Father Time is catching your quasi old ass, far too long have you been in captivity . . you’ve lost the eye of the . . . Tiger. Hey man look, I don’t know, go sit at your father’s graveside, drift-off into some marijuana/151 Bacardi induced state-of-reflection . . . and 7 days later emerge naked with wolf blood smeared all over your body, with that look in your eye, that glide in your stride, that dip in your hip . . . completely grasping you’ve got a job to do, kickin down the gates of golf’s fortified, fabricated bastions of White male supremacy isn’t enough son, sorry. You’re going to have to complete your mission and burn that “mother . . .” down, to the ground, so that golf can have a “new day,”  one where you’re individual triumphs demand inclusion and diversity rain-in as opposed to exclusion, racism, classism and sexism.

I’m sorry son, nobody said it was going to be easy, you’ll have to step-up, man-up and get the god-damn job done, somehow, someway Tiger . . get it done. Not for you, but for your people, for Lee Elder, Calvin Peete, Joe Louis, Charlie Sifford, Spiller, Black, Roach . . . you know who got their hands dirty, did the heavy-lifting to get your Black ass where it is.

Tiger, we’re counting on you to sit-down n’ shut-up the chorus of Conservatives and Confederates sportsfans who want to turn back the hands of time (actually rip the flippin’ clock off the wall” if they could) to a time n’ place where you n’ I, our children couldn’t play golf, or go to that school, or live on that block, eat at that cafe . . . you get it, yes . . . it’s much bigger than you son.

Look inside Tiger, and find the truth and the “path” back-to exceptionalism.

You can do it.

BlackAthlete.com/BlackCommentator.com Columnist, Desi Cortez, was hatched in the heart of Dixie, circa 1961, at the dawning of the age of Aquarius, the by-product of four dynamic individuals, Raised in South-Central LA, the 213, at age 14 transplanted to the base of the Rockies, Denver. Still a Mile-Hi. Sat at the feet of scholars for many, many moons, emerging with a desire and direction… if not a sheep-skin. “Meandered thru life; gone a-lot places, done a-lot of things, raised a man-cub into a good, strong man, produced a beautiful baby-girl with my lover/woman/soul-mate… aired my mind on the airwaves and wrote some stuff along the way.”

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