Tiger Woods recently had some harsh words for a photographer who disrupted his swing by taking a photo of him at a recent PGA event.

He was into that legendary backswing on Sunday’s ninth hole, about to rip one of those rocket tee shots the rest of us only dream about imitating, when some photographer punched the shutter release on his camera and made Tiger Woods’ mood as foul as his weekend game.

Woods, expecting silence and reverence, let the popping motor of the photographer’s camera ruin his shot and steal his composure.

”Jackass!” he yelled as he dropped a hand off his follow-through and that usually effortless, smooth swing suddenly seized and turned into something ugly.

Soon Woods was looking around in the general vicinity of the camera’s noise, angrily searching for an offending shutter bug to squash.

Woods had some choice words for the photographers who were shadowing him as he walked from the ninth green to the 10th tee. ”The next time a photographer shoots an [expletive] picture,” Woods warned, “I’m going to break his [expletive] neck.”

Doesn’t everyone know that golf should only be played in an environment of monastic silence? Poor Tiger. This type of distraction has become all too common in the life of the world’s greatest golfer. Sadly, Tiger’s curiously aggressive reactions to such distractions are also becoming commonplace. Let’s see if his attitude is getting him into trouble off the links.


(Tiger Woods is eating breakfast alone at a Denny’s.)

Tiger: Man, I love pancakes. I cannot get enough of these delicious, fluffy bites of wonderful. Mmm, mmm, mmm.

Waitress: Excuse me, sir, but who are you talking to?

Tiger: No one. (whispers) I am advancing the narrative.

Waitress: Oh. (stares at Tiger quizzically) My apologies…I think.

Tiger: Did you know that my Dad, Earl, never let me eat pancakes? He made me eat power bars every morning of every day of my childhood. And if I was bad, it was a handful of gravel. You can bet I didn’t get any syrup with that gravel.

Waitress: Ummm, I think I’ll get you some more coffee. (Carefully backs away from the table)

Tiger: Almost done covering these babies in syrup. Once they are all done, it’s time to start eating.

(At a nearby table.)

Customer #1: Holy shit, is that Tiger Woods eating pancakes?

Customer #2: It couldn’t be…holy crap, it is!

Customer #1: I have got to get a picture of him. Let me borrow your camera phone.

(At Tiger’s table.)

Tiger: Almost done with the syrup. There! Now, I am going to cut me a bite of these delicious pancakes and put it in my…

Customer #1: MR. WOODS!!!!

(Tiger looks towards the yelling. The camera flash goes off. The pancake morsel on Tiger’s fork falls to the ground. Tiger stares at it, cries out and turns angrily to Customer #1.)

Tiger: JACKASS!!!! NEVER MESS WITH MY FORK SWING!!! (Tiger hurls entire plate of pancakes at Customer#1.)

Customer #1: OWWW!!! Jesus Christ, man. What the hell are you doing? I only wanted a photo.

Tiger: Oh, you want something to remember me by? How about this?

(Tiger grabs pot of hot coffee from waitress and throws it in the face of Customer #1.)


Tiger: There are rules about photography, pal! Decorum and etiquette!

Customer #2: What the hell did you do to my friend, Tiger? Jesus, Kenny, are you okay? Tiger, you burned him pretty ba…

(Tiger stabs Customer #2 in the throat with a fork.)

Tiger: I’m sorry, were you trying to interrupt the fight I was having with your friend? Well, by all means, sir, what was so damn important that you couldn’t wait your turn? Oh, nothing to say now — just a gurgling noise.

Tiger: (To entire Denny’s restaurant) The next time one of you shoots a fucking picture while I am eating pancakes, I’m going to break your fucking neck.

(Tiger grabs pancake off writhing body of Customer #1, puts in pocket, and leaves.)


(Tiger Woods is sitting alone on a park bench in a city park.)

Tiger: Damn, that was stressful. I just wanted to eat my breakfast in peace, carefully cutting and placing each lovingly syrup-smothered piece of pancake into my mouth at regularly-timed intervals. Now this.

(Tiger pulls a syrup-logged pancake out of his stained pocket.)

Tiger: Breakfast is…ruined. Oh well, I guess if I methodically tear evenly-shaped strips of this pancake and eat them, it will be almost as good. (Begins ripping pancake.) That’s right. Easy does it. Slow and steady. Calm and cool. Just like Dad taught you.

(A mother pushing a small child in a stroller walks by. The child is carrying and shaking a small baby rattle. Tiger’s concentration is shattered, the pancake is unevenly ripped, and Tiger throws it angrily to the ground.)


Mother: Excuse me? I trust that you will mind your language around my son. I have no idea what…

(Tiger pushes the mother into the path of an oncoming in-line skater. A significant collision ensues.)


(Tiger stares at the child.)

Tiger: And you, Uncle Tiger wants to see your rattle.

Child: (Stares warily at Tiger.)

Tiger: (Grabs rattle.) Uncle Tiger wasn’t asking. (Throws rattle into nearby stream.)

(Tiger stands over the fallen mother and skater and the crying child).

Tiger: The next time one of you makes a gentle rattling sound while I am tearing a pancake into evenly-sized strips, I’m going to break your fucking neck.


(Later that day, Tiger is at home and is lying in bed with his gorgeous Swedish model wife, Elin Nordegren)

Elin: Tiger, you are looking very upset. What is the matter?

Tiger: I can’t stop thinking about what happened at that tournament with the photographer. ASSHOLE!!! Sorry. That just came out. Anyway, today it’s the same thing all over again. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is trying to ruin my concentration. I am just trying to get things done properly, and these jackasses are trying to get me off my game. (Squints and stares off into the distance) No one gets me off my game.

Elin: Please, honey, I hate to see you like this. So angry you are.

Tiger: I swear to God, Elin, the next time I get distracted during something important, it’s going to get very ugly.

Elin: Oh, Eldrick, do not talk like that. I need to take your mind off of this. What if we…made love?

Tiger: Hmmm. How can I resist the best set of Mickelsons that were ever made?

(Tiger and Elin begin making mad, passionate love.)

Tiger: Measuring the hole…grabbing the club…into the wind-up…making the shot…oh, Elin, keep it up, keep it up, that’s right….wait. Wait. WAIT!!!

Elin: What do you mean, “wait”?

Tiger: I said, wait! What was that sound?

Elin: What sound?

Tiger: The sound when I go like this. (Tiger moves pelvis repeatedly.)

Elin: Are you kidding me?

Tiger: No. I am serious. Deadly serious. What was that sound? It’s so distracting. I can barely concentrate.

Elin: Tiger, it is your, um, testiklar hitting my hack.

Tiger: (Squinting angrily at his testiklar) GODDAMMIT!!! LOOK HERE, GUYS. The next time one of you makes a wet slapping sound while I am making love to my wife, I’m going to tear you right off.

Elin: Please, Tiger, think about what you are saying.

Tiger: That’s alright, baby. They’ve been told. They’ve been told. Now, where were we?

(Elin and Tiger begin making love again.)

Tiger: Did you hear that?

Elin: (Openly sobbing) I heard nothing, Tiger. I heard nothing.

Tiger: (Glancing vacantly at his wife) Just close your eyes, honey. You might want to plug your ears, too. On second thought, just get me a towel. Red, preferably. Don’t worry. Sam is more than enough child for both of us.

Tiger: (Staring angrily at his crotch) Well, boys, I guess you two don’t listen too well. In that case, it’s time for Tiger to get serious. Nobody ruins Tiger’s stroke. Nobody.