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Tiger loses Gillette; Influence Drops; Hordes Cheer

… or maybe not HORDES, but at least me.

I don’t know I care, as it has zero bearing on his ability as an athlete, but, as I’ve discussed many times before, Tiger made a living selling his image as a clean-cut family man, not just as an athlete, so with every endorsement he loses, I cheer a little inside. And outside. And then I discuss it with everyone I know, even though no one cares as much as I do.

He’s already lost Accenture, Gatorade, AT&T and others, and his endorsement earnings were down $22M year over year, but now — yeehaw! — Gillette is the latest sponsor to tell him to hit the road. And after all, he still has Nike.

2009 wasn’t exactly a spectacular year for our fine golfing friend, and I would say that it’s relatively rare for athletes to truly reap the consequences of their actions — after all, $22M down, the dude is still left with $70M, and that’s just for ONE YEAR. And yet, you have to wonder (hope?) if others will follow suit.

Tiger Woods on his knees

Jonna is stoked that the Patriots clinched home field advantage and remains as riveted by Tiger (and Elin) as ever.

Sports News Roundup: Same Stupidity, Different Week Edition

Another week, another round of “You’re an idiot, <insert name of professional athlete here>!” It shouldn’t surprise me anymore, and the ease of finding material is astounding, but jeez Louise, people. These gentlemen (ahem) get paid loads of money and are, in the eyes of some, heroes. But man, are they stupid sometimes..

Duking it out in the boneheaded-retireee category:

Warren Sapp? He was pulled over by a cop in a minivan, but yesterday he had moved on to other more pressing concerns.

Picture 3

Lenny Dykstra? He’s pretending to be a lawyer and demanding his creditors return the private jet they reposessed. He’d like them to give him $800,000 too. He’s also a cutie, right?


John Elway? Ponzi scheme, anyone?

I guess Auto Nation wasn’t the bonanza he was looking for.


Liar? Faker? Crybaby?

That would be Gilbert Arenas. Yawn.

Illegal betting?

Check. Tiger didn’t have enough trouble in his life, and no comment from Federer.


Pinkies are apparently overrated — or at least they are if you’re Hokie left guard Greg Nosal and want to finish the damn game. I’m a mom. I’ve said, “Don’t interrupt me unless there’s blood.” But this? Ridonculous.

And he plays fantasy baseball too.


Big Hair

Elvis has not left the building, or had a haircut since March. Somebody tell him he’s not a hockey player and playoff beards do not belong on top of your head.


[Photo: In.com]
[Photo: Dailypress.com]
[Photo: US Presswire]

Tiger Chokes Again

Old news alert:  Tiger Woods chokes again.


With Graeme McDowell’s U.S. Open win on Sunday, another nail was hammered into Tiger’s coffin.  Evidently, he wants to be sure his fate is sealed tight.

It is clear that he is not the player he once was.  His indiscretions have dealt him a mental blow and he looks more like a battered boxer hanging on the ropes than the best golfer in the world.   I guess that’s the hand that karma deals you when you’re a whore.

There is no doubt that if Tiger had kept his junk in his trunk, he’d be in a better position right now.  Despite the fans who still adore him, he can’t deny the fact that he is a broken man whose golf game will be forever changed because some of those fans adored him a little too much.  Okay, a lot too much.

I wish I could say that there is part of me that feels sorry for the guy, but there isn’t.  He is a disappointment to his sport and he is a disgrace to his gender.

I used to love watching Tiger play.  I used to know how fortunate I was to be born at the right time so I could see the best player to ever hold a club.

Now, I just want to hit him with one.



U.S. Open: Everyone Sucked Except One Guy

When Dustin Johnson teed off on the first hole on the last day of the U.S. Open with a three-shot lead after three days of making Pebble Beach his Pebble Bitch, most believed he’d roll to victory. In fact, I was watching the tournament with my father as he was explaining to me how Johnson won two Pro-Ams there and absolutely loved this course.

I hadn’t seen the first few days, I was doing some stuff, but had heard of old Dustin and his walk to victory. And when my father was done explaining Johnson’s meteoric rise to prominence, I said, “The Pro-Am ain’t the final day of the U.S. Open. The wheels are going to fall off. I guarantee it.”

By the sixth hole, Johnson had not only lost his lead, but dropped a full six shots back to even par. He would go on to shoot the highest round for a third round leader in 99 years.

This would open the door for Els, Love, Mickelson and Woods, all well within striking distance of the workhorse Graeme McDowell and last second qualifier, Havret. Els would even tie the lead at one point, seemingly poised to grab his third US Open.

Then they all sucked. No one could make a putt, no one could hit a shot, and the charge for which we all waited from one of the greatest players in the world would never happen. The drama was there, as they all had a chance to win, and the one who did just sucked less than everyone else.

Havret (the Frenchman who qualified by making a 50-foot putt on the last hole) would have a 15-footer to have a chance to force the playoff. He missed it. Els would have several opportunities, Love would kick himself no less than 50 times after the tournament, and Woods would tell announcers afterward something a long the lines of “It’s like I told Steve. We made three mental mistakes and it cost us the US Open.”  (I thought it was interesting that Tiger was the only one graceful enough to make it a team loss.) Mickelson looked as if he wasn’t sure this was the US Open, looking practically bemused as he hacked it around the course.

It was almost as if this last Father’s Day, every dad on the course would take a day of relaxation, except for the one watching his son, first-time major winner Graeme McDowell, beat the best golfers in the world without once waivering.


Happy belated Father’s Day, Mr. McDowell. There’s not a father in the world who doesn’t envy you.


MayoPie is taking sexy back from Justin Timberlake. It’s only a matter of time.

You Can Thank An MMA Fighter For Not Waking Up In The Hell-Fire Today

If you’ve heard this story once, you’ve heard it a thousand times.  I almost don’t even want to bore you with it, but whatever. It’s the job.

Anyway, boy meets boy, they drink some mushroom tea, they become convinced a tidal wave is going to consume the earth beginning the chain of events that triggers the apocalypse. An epic battle between good and evil ensues, one man taking on the role as God, the other the Devil, and in the end, God wins by cutting out Lucipher’s tongue and removing his heart. BOOOOORIIIING…

So, how was your weekend? I did some shopping, but it was kind of rainy here.  I hadn’t considered the likelihood of it being the result of a struggle between Heaven and Hell, but come to think of it, it was kind of windy, too.

MMA fighter Jarrod Wyatt and some friends drank some mushroom tea. They began hallucinating, bla bla bla, the heavens rained sulphur, volcanoes erupted, Rip Taylor ran out of confetti, it was basically the worst day ever, which became clearly evident when Jarrod saw the Devil in one of his friend’s faces. This would prove to be a super bad thing for Jarrod’s friend.

The men became convinced that a tidal wave would soon envelop them,  that it was the beginning of the end, and that the lines were now being drawn between good and evil. Apparently, Jarrod said “I call God.” (Which is kind of crap. That’s not even fair. You just can’t call “God” in the apocalypse game. That’s like taking Tiger in Tiger Woods Golf on Xbox and making your friend take Ian Woosnam.  Whatever, I don’t know how those guys play, but when my friends and I play apocalypse, we do a jump ball for God, at the very least a coin flip.)

After the earth shook and we all contemplated our existence at a barbecue, Jarrod would then allegedly tell police that he cut out his friend’s tongue and removed his heart, going a couple of steps further than I do when my friends and I play. Our games usually end with the devil being cast down to Hell (the basement to retrieve more beers from the beer fridge for God and the other angels.)

It’s highly likely that Wyatt will be charged with murder, and I’m glad to hear that. I think it qualifies.  Unless this guy actually is God.


Could be. You try to grow a poodle out of your head. It’s not the flowing white beard I’d imagined, but I have to admit, growing a poodle out of your skull will go a longer way in convincing me that you’re God than a stupid beard. If it starts barking, you get a “not guilty” and a “Hail Mary” from me right now.


Mayopie thinks he’s humorous, but we all know better. His blog is here.