I’ve never understood the fascination with Tiger Woods, which in a way makes the sudden media frenzy more understandable.
He has always seemed like a golf-playing automaton, making near-perfect shot after near-perfect shot and taking no joy from it whatsoever. Even his rapid-fire fist pumps after another electrifyingly clutch shot seem, well, forced. Maybe a better word is programmed. As a child, maybe he didn’t get ice cream after dinner unless he did fist pumps for 30 minutes. Continue reading I guess Tiger is in the news
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