Elin, I’m sorry. You have no clue how horrible I feel for the way I’ve treated you. I have publicly humiliated you, time and time again, for the past 4 months with my actions. I love you, and I am not too proud to say that I am not worthy of you.
Seriously, I’m not worthy. C’mon, look at me. Now back at yourself. Now back at me. Now back at yourself. *chuckle* I was doing the Old Sp…ya know, the black dude… *crickets*Moving along. Elin, you are HOT. I mean, like, DAMN. Educated at one of the finest institutions of higher learning in the country, that is the word I use to describe you. I, on the other hand, look…well…kind of funny. I’m not really “conventionally handsome”, but when you’re worth a few hundred million, you suddenly become a “sex symbol” if you don’t look like an ogre. My first name is Eldrick, and I go by Tiger. I’m not exactly “suave”. I never got the girls like you in high school or college. And I was on the golf team. I finally got the hot girl, and I got cocky. Call it what you want, but it’s the truth. I know a lot of people are telling you to do this and that, but listen to your heart. And the $10 million diamond ring taped to the bottom of your seat.
To my daughter, Sam, and son, Charlie, I hope when you are able to understand what I’ve done, it won’t affect our relationship. I don’t care what that snot-nosed little brat says at recess, I will always be here for you. Hopefully, you’ll look more like your mother and become a new breed of bourgeois socialites.
Mom, I have shamed you. Still, it really didn’t help to see the woman I love most be so submissive to someone else while I was growing up. I gotta be honest. I thought women are supposed to walk behind their spouses, everywhere, until I was in college.
I want to sincerely thank and apologize to any of my friends and peers that have supported me through this ordeal. I realize I’ve put a few of you in a bad predicament with your families, and I could not be more remorseful. But let’s not act like I went to Atlantic City, Vegas, The Hamptons, and Paris by myself.
My sincerest apologies to Phil Mickelson, Vijay Singh, Steve Stricker, Y.E. Yang, Padraig Harrington, and everyone else on the PGA Tour. I think it would be better for all of us if I would just take over for a while.
To my detractors. Not only am I going to break Jack Nicklaus’ record, I’m going to obliterate it. No offense to “The Golden Bear”, but even he knows its simply a matter of time. He won his 18th at 46 years old. I have 14, and I’m only 34. I know most of you didn’t go to Stanford, but you should be able to do the math. In addition to that, Nicklaus did his winning over a span of 25 years. I’m beginning my 14th. Also I’ll break Sam Snead’s record for career PGA Tour wins by the end of 2011, because I just love seeing my name in the record book.
I’d also like to express my disgust with a few of you in particular.
You ask me question after question about my private life in some Buddha-awful interview, you community college journalism hack? I’m smarter than you. How could you possibly think you’d get me to answer a question the way you’d like by “attempting” to reword it?
Addressing TMZ, and especially Harvey Levin: Grow the fuck up. Anybody can walk around with a pen, pad, and a camerman while being a flaming douchebag and call themselves a “reporter”. You’re nothing more than the National Enquirer magazine on TV. Another thing. I’m a little sick of some of your white staff seemingly thinking that all Black people look alike. And why the hell am I still seeing Levin on “People’s Court”?
Any of you endorsers that chose not to stick with me, your loss. When I’m sitting on 25 majors in 2015, you’ll be “all up in my grill”.
Et tu Parnevik. Parnevik, Parnevik, Parnevik. YOU. ARE. TOAST. “Elin should’ve used the driver”. What the hell, man?! You better pray on your kids’ lives that we’re not paired, ever, because if we are, I will make it my personal goal to embarrass you. I’ll throw away my driver, and destroy you using irons and wedges. Maybe hit 3-wood every now and then. Left-handed. You can bet your broke ass we’ll be seeing each other on the course.
Some of you have expressed your dislike for my decision to return at the Masters. Allow me to explain. Jump off a bridge. If you’re so offended by my actions, don’t watch me dominate. When I go, golf goes, and you honestly won’t be missed. People will still fill the galleries, watch major tournament rounds on the weekends, watch the GOLF channel, and listen when ESPN mentions golf–because of me.
The therapy was just a ploy. I’ll give you that. I did what I wanted to do, because I knew I could. It wasn’t a sense of entitlement or the result of straying away from my religion, just cavalier behavior. But if you think I’ll lose my passion to play golf because 46 year-old Michael Waligora from Austin, TX won’t cheer for me anymore, you’re nuts. Hell, I wouldn’t mind it if I had a few less fans. Seriously, what other golfer has to deal with the shit I have to deal with? And if you really want to light a fire, come to the tournaments and heckle. I’ll find out who your favorite player is and find a way to embarrass him, too, even if it’s on a mini-golf course.
I see that some of you are bored, and frankly, I don’t care. Your ears perk up when some sleazy broad tells you about me choking her during sex, but not when I’m being genuine for a change? Showing real emotion?! Tốt!
See you bastards at the first hole. Woods, out.