One year ago today, Tiger Woods wrecked his vehicle. He was driving between 82 and 87 mph on a California highway where the speed limit was 45. He lost control, crossed the median into incoming traffic, rolled down a hill and into a ditch. He was lucky he didn’t die. Or take anyone with him.
The stories since have been singularly focused on his amazing comeback, including a heartwarming appearance with his son in a father-son event. That’s all well and good, and should be applauded.
What about the rest?
Police didn’t cite Woods. Police discovered an unmarked pill bottle in his vehicle, yet declined to do a pharmacology test. He told them he was not on any meds at the time of the crash. They believed him. OK.
They also decided against checking his phone for texts at the time of the crash.
Meantime, Woods has done no elaborating on any of it. “It’s all in the police report,’’ he has said.
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Part of me says, so what? Man’s been under public scrutiny since he was 2. He owes us nothing more than golf as good as he can play it. Enjoy whatever comeback he mounts. The fact Woods almost lost his right leg and now is saying he’ll play golf again is the comeback story of this year, or any other.
Another part of me says he’s getting away with something and it’s not as nothing as running a stop sign or filing his taxes late. If you or I had been in that wreck, we’d very likely have been drug-tested and had our driving privileges taken away for awhile. At least we’d have gotten a speeding ticket.
Woods nearly doubled the speed limit. Police stated in the report that they believed the gas pedal was pushed to the floor and there was no evidence of brakes being applied.
What?
Woods has acknowledged his good fortune that he wasn’t hurt more seriously. I don’t recall him saying, “and I’m beyond grateful I didn’t involve anyone else.’’ It's possible I missed it.
This was the third time Woods’ driving had been an issue. The first, famously, was when he hit a fire hydrant on the way out of his Orlando home. Next, 2017, was when cops found him asleep in his vehicle at 3 am on the shoulder of a Florida highway. Woods was so out of it, he told the cops he thought he was in California.
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Neither of those incidents posed any direct threat to other drivers. The incident last year could have. Easily.
We will watch his latest comeback. What will we see?
An incredible show of determination that exceeds even Tiger’s unmatched skills? Yes, of course.
A guy who got away with something none of us would have gotten away with? Yes, again.
Does any of it matter to you. Mobsters? Speak.
Now, then . . .
DAILY BS BASEBALL REPORT.Day 2 of in-person meetings Tuesday between Major League Baseball and the MLBPA once again produced little progress toward a new collective bargaining agreement while the league actually viewed the negotiations as a step back. (ESPN.com)
In other breaking news, commissioner Rob Manfred challenged agent Scott Boras to a pie fight, but neither could agree on the type of pie to be used. Manfred demanded cherry pie, Boras had his heart set on banana cream. A slight possibility exists that they’ll compromise and load their holsters with Little Debbies.
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A few on both sides of the table expressed concern for the merchants at spring training sites, who lose money when the games aren’t being played. Owners rep Snidely Thinwallet proposed that the league donate 12 dozen batting-practice baseballs and 14 pairs of sanitary socks to each merchant affected, something they can sell until games resume. Players rep Tyrus Raymond Thickwallet expressed concern that the socks might stink. Talks continue.
A proposal to do something on behalf of the fans was tabled so both sides could research further who, exactly, fans were, and why they should matter.
Rob Manfred said they were all stupid. Scott Boras wondered how many were arbitration eligible. Snidely Thinwallet suggested they be charged $12 for a beer. Ty Thickwallet said, “F—‘em all.’’
Meanwhile . . .
THIS GUY FOR COMMISSIONER. Goose Gossage spoke to USA Today’s Bob Nightengale, as only Goose Gossage can.
Of Manfred, Gossage offered, “I hate that mother (expletive),’’ Gossage says. “You know how much I hate him? I called (Hall of Fame chairman) Jane Forbes Clark before the induction last year and said, 'Jane, I don’t know where you stand with this guy, but I may punch Rob Manfred right in the (expletive) nose and spatter his (expletive) nose all over his (expletive) face right in the lobby of your hotel.
If start letting guys in who used steroids, you’re saying it’s OK for our kids to do it then because the stars did it,’’ Gossage says. “That’s why Congress got involved in the first place because baseball wasn’t policing it. We never should let (Barry) Bonds or (Roger) Clemens in, either.
“These guys have already been rewarded monetarily. They’re laughing all of the way to the bank on something that enhanced their performance. Come on, you don’t break the greatest record of all time (Hank Aaron’s 755 home run record) having the best years of your career when you’re in your 40s.
“They’re all phonies to me.’’
I’D HAVE NEVER IMAGINED the Yankees retiring Paul O’Neill’s #21 when he left here, in a (bad) trade for Roberto Kelly. O’Neill seemed about the last guy who’d enjoy himself in New York. Highly self critical, how would he do in the Bronx when he slumped and had a million critics helping him out?
I remember visiting with him at The Stadium during his year in NY. He said on his first road trip as a Yankee, his car was stolen from an airport parking lot.
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Then he started becoming among the most-beloved players in Yankees history. Big, big congrats to the guy Pete called “Jethro’’ and Lou Piniella tried not to call at all.
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ARE WE REALLY GOING TO TALK ABOUT THE BENGALS YEAR-ROUND? The only thing less interesting than the NFL Draft is talking about the NFL Draft. If there is one bad thing about the scrappy local 11’s success, it is that people around here now will stay infatuated with the NFL for 12 months instead of six.
I promise to turn off instantly any radio or TV talk about the NFL as soon as it comes on, same as I shoved away my dinner plate when it included spinach. Enough already. They don’t play a real game for seven damned months. Take a deep breath.
TUNE O’ THE DAY. . . It’s been cool for a long time now to laugh smugly at the Eagles. The epitome of corporate rock. The reason concert tickets are astronomical. Et cetera.
But if you are of a certain age, the Eagles are part of the soundtrack of your youth. And they were very good, actually. One of my favorite Eagles tunes, one I played constantly when a certain college girlfriend kissed me off.
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