Santa Claus Calling to Tell Tiger What's in His Stockings

Hello, Eldrick. It's Santa calling. Guessing you have turned off the BlackBerry. A little late for that, don't you think?

Whatever, I'm leaving a message to say, please, cool it with the texts. Mrs. Claus occasionally goes through the phone after I nod off after a long day in the workshop -- just like every other wife in the world. That means I'm tired of making excuses for all your Victoria's Secret orders.

And the vacuum cleaner attachments? I don't even want to know.

Listen to me. You may be one fine golfer, but, you don't know squat about relationships. It's just a guess, but I'm figuring you never once cracked the autographed edition of "Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus" I put in your stocking five years ago after the wedding.

You ungrateful little ... no, no, forget it. That's melted snow, ancient history. It just makes this a little easier to say.

Yo, Tiger. You're getting zilch, nada, nothing this year.

There are not enough elves in the North Pole to rebuild your image. You can text me 'til your thumbs bleed ... not going to happen.

What, you think I can get Superman to fly around the world backward and make all your troubles go away? No way. Right now you are radioactive. I call in that favor from the S-Man and Lois Lane finds out, she kryptonites his ass in a nanosecond.

Getting a wife's blessing for golf-getaway weekends with buddies was hard enough already. Do you have any idea the added difficulty you have caused?
In case you haven't figured it out, you're not real popular with women right now. At least none of the ones who can make my list after I've checked it the first time, much less twice.

To be honest, the feedback from guys isn't exactly full of cheer, either. Getting a wife's blessing for golf-getaway weekends with buddies was hard enough already. Do you have any idea the added difficulty you have caused?

Jeez, man, thanks to you, now a guy can't even go into a Perkins Restaurant for coffee and pancakes by himself.

So, I've made my decision. Quit asking. You're off the list. Naughty doesn't even start to describe what you've been up to.

I've already deleted the GPS coordinates you sent for "Privacy.'' Besides, you do know, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen are REINDEER! They never made that kind of movie. For gosh sakes, Tiger, get a grip.

Look, I'm trying to figure this whole story out, but nothing about it makes sense. There's just no feeling sorry for you.

Look at it from my boots. Santa comes once a year, and it means squeezing my tired old bones down a series of chimneys. You're married to the lovely Elin, who, I got to tell you, everybody thinks is an absolute doll, you have two great kids. And still, you're out jingling your sleigh bells at every arm-decoration on three continents.

Just the thought of such reckless behavior has me so heated, Al Gore has called twice this week complaining about what it's doing to the polar bears.

See, Tiger. It can't just be about you. The consequences of your actions affect more than just your world. OK, the Blue Martini seems to have gotten a lot of mileage out of it, but nobody else.

And another thing, since I'm on a roll. I've never really liked Stevie Williams -- not since the time he took a swing at poor Rudolph just because the little fellow snapped a picture of New Zealand.

So there.

I'm hoping you hurry back to golf. I really am. A lot of good folks in the sport depend on you and are pulling for you.

I'll tell you what. I'm so eager to see you back making news the right way, I'm going to bite my tongue and not say anything about the red shirts. But remember, somebody else made that color famous well before you came along. Either live up to it, or start dressing like Ian Poulter. You can decide.
Well, I suppose, there's not much left to say.

I'm sorry it had to come to this, but Santa just can't condone your recent behavior.

We'll talk again before next year, but let me tell you, there's a lot of work to be done before you even think about asking for a new endorsement deal.

And Santa will be watching.

Ho, ho, ho.

Tiger! That's not what I meant.