Saturday, November 28, 2009
I Call Bullshiat!
Was it just me, or did sitting around trying to watch football yesterday seem like an exercise in extreme futility? I mean, I wanted to enjoy the games, but the national media beclowned itself all day long with the breathless, and constant, Tiger Woods coverage.
Seriously--it reminded me of the Saturday Night Live parody sketch of Buckwheat getting shot.
We don't have any real info to share, but we just can't help ourselves, so we'll just keep running the same footage over and over again on and endless loop.
Ok, so at first, when the initial update came in saying that Tiger Woods was 'injured in a car accident and was admitted to the hospital in serious condition', I, like the rest of the TV-watching world, sat up and thought, Whoa!
But then, as more and more info trickled out, I realized that this was either a non-story or that the car accident was just a very minor detail in part of a much bigger story.
First of all, the facts that we were given:
-Accident happened in the middle of the night
-In a subdivision
-No airbags were deployed
-He hit a fire hydrant and his neighbor's tree
No big deal, that shiat happens all the time, especially in households with teenagers. But then there are other, more interesting tidbits:
-He had cuts and scratches all over his face
-Blood in his mouth
-His wife 'rescued' him by smashing the rear window of the SUV with a golf club and "pulling him to safety"
-Alcohol was allegedly not a factor
-When the cops showed up, he was lying in the street fading in and out of consciousness.
I definitely call bullshiat on the no-alcohol bit, especially if he was passed out in the street. Unless, of course, he had a seizure or some sort of other medical condition that the general public doesn't know about. Or his wife went upside his head with a frying pan and knocked him the f*ck out, like Deebo in Friday.
Sounds to me like this was a big-ol' domestic disturbance where Elin was kicking his ass and took a golf club to his back window as he was driving off. I mean seriously--if he didn't hit anything hard enough to deploy the airbags, um, why couldn't she just open up one of the doors to 'rescue' him. Smashing out the rear window and dragging him out the back? Puh-leaze. How stupid do you think people are?
Knowing what few details of this as we do, my guess is that there was plenty of alcohol involved, there was a huge fight, Mama got a few licks in and then took a driver to the back of the SUV as he was trying to get away. And the shock of rear window shattering, coupled with his already agitated, perhaps inebriated, state, distracted him long enough to crash his vehicle down at the end of the driveway.
Are we to believe that he just had a craving for a Gordita and some loaded nachos, and was just heading out to get his fourth-meal on when he lost control and Kelsey Grammared his way into the neighbor's tree? And if the airbags didn't go off, how did his face get all jacked up?
But the biggest question mark in the whole thing is wifey and the golf club. Seriously, she heard the accident from inside the house, grabbed Big Bertha, and came running to the rescue? Something does not compute. If he drove into a tree--not even hard enough to set off the airbag--how did she hear that from inside the house? Hell, one time my neighbor backed out of the driveway and into the streetlight when I was standing in the garage, and it sure as hell didn't sound like an accident, at least one serious enough to cause me to grab the sticks and go all Office Space on his rear window.
And I'm guessing the local neighborhood security folks, along with his publicist, are doing what they can to help cover up the more sordid details. In the meantime, as long as the folks at ESPN are ramming this story down our throats all weekend, I'd like to see a picture of the SUV and hear what the responding officers have to say.
Otherwise, I'd wish they'd just shut the fark up about it and let me watch football in peace this weekend. Because like most of the rest of the world outside of Bristol Connecticut, we don't give a rat's ass about Tiger Woods until Easter weekend at Augusta.
Posted by Hurricane Mikey at 9:28 AM