Pre-Ramble:  So, who would you rather be — Tiger Woods or the person who attempted to throw a tomato at Sarah Palin during a book signing appearance yesterday at the Mall of America — but hit a policeman instead?

The tomato missed Ms. Palin by about 10 feet, and instead splattered the Bloomington police commander in charge of the security detail. Another officer was also struck by pulp.”

Wow, that’s a super tough choice.  Sure, Tiger is still one of the best athletes in the world and has billions of dollars, but none of that is going to make a decent marinara sauce. 

I promised myself  I wouldn’t write about Tiger Woods’ recent incident, but that was before the Pre-Scandal Tiger (PST) started to appear  — everywhere.  Like the furry orange creatures in a PGA version of Hammer the Hedgehog, Tiger’s sorry mug just keeps popping up. 

To add insult to irony, it’s usually accompanied by some noble tagline, like the latest Swiss avant-garde watchmaker Tag Heuer advertising series that features stunning black and white portraits of Tiger and asks, “What are you made of?”  Apparently, Tiger is made of something less praiseworthy than his Official Partner signed up for. 

In 2004, Forbes Magazine proclaimed Nike’s contract with Woods as one of the most shrewd in marketing history …

It’s no secret that Tiger Woods is a marketer’s dream. No company has capitalized on the appeal of the good-looking, clean-cut, articulate, scandal-free golf whiz more than Nike … “

It’s probably no secret that Tiger’s rapid decomposition is causing marketing teams around the globe to call out the Haz-Mat squads and could potentially make Nike one of the most screwed in marketing history. According to Nielsen, marketers have pulled ALL ads featuring TW from prime-time television network and cable channel broadcasts. 

If only the print media could follow suit. The January 2010 cover of Golf Digest sports a Norman Rockwell-esque photo of  TW lining up a putt with President Obama. The accompanying article is just painful to read … with subheads like, … “sharing a personal moment,” … “the art of grace,” … “at least look like you’re having fun,”… and “save some for the losers.”  According to the article,

What makes Tiger Woods the most dominant athlete in the world isn’t so much his golf swing as what he does between swings.”

Ok then.

The Take-Away:  FORE!! … … Sadly, this one’s headed for the deep rough (and it’s going to take more than a 7-iron to punch it back onto the fairway).

Pre-Ramble:  I almost want to hide under my bed for a couple of days until this all blows over, or at least until a third event happens to take the curse off.  I’m talking about crashes. 

First there was the “give-us-a-reality-show-couple” who crashed the state dinner at the White House last Tuesday night.  And then there was the curious case of Tiger Woods crashing his SUV into a tree at 2:30 in the morning … (… and his wife Elin broke into the vehicle with a golf club? … Really??)

I know what you’re thinking here. If history serves, the third crash should be coming any minute now, and it’s more than likely to be my computer. As you may recall, I have had the unfortunate distinction of having my computer crash twice in a two year period. (Surely, you could hear the kvetching and screaming from there … )

First, it was a faulty “reader arm” (!) … The second time, … I forget what the reason was (more like, I am blocking the trauma from conscious memory) … But I clearly remember that it wasn’t pretty, and I still have the dead hard drive right here on my desk to remind me to count my blessings (and back up my data) every day. 

The Take-Away: Just a gentle holiday reminder to back up your data, … and while you’re at it, buckle up your seat belt, eat all your vegetables, and don’t forget to floss. 

Post-Note: I’m not really superstitious, but if you don’t hear from me for the next 6 months, you’ll know what happened.  … ( … You don’t suppose that keeping the fried hard drive court-side brings bad Karma to my chi, do you?)

Pre-Ramble: Every year it’s the same thing.  The weather guy goes on and on about how the Leonid meteors are in our area … and how they are going to be spectacular … and how we should go to a hill top away from city lights between the hours of 1 and 4 a.m. to see their magnificence.  They wax on about how the big show is only going to be visible for a limited time (like some kind of jewel-tone sweater set sale on the QVC), … and I get all fired up thinking that THIS will be the time that I finally see a shooting star.

Sure, I’ve seen shooting stars before. Once as a child when I was at a dude ranch in Arizona, and another time when I was a guest at an awesome retreat site in Carmel, California. But, in all the years I’ve been at home during prime meteor-shower time, I’ve never seen a single blip in the stupid sky. And it’s not like I’m standing under a marquee in Uptown … I’m camped out in my suburban driveway, the nearest street light is literally four miles away. It’s got to be some kind of scam.

Speaking of seeing stars, (not the TKO kind … ), we’re heading over to Hazeltine National Golf Club tomorrow to see if we can get a glimpse of the indomitable Tiger Woods working his magic on the links. After day one, Tiger is at the top of the leader board with a 5-under par 67. For those of you non-golfers, that’s a super good score. (I’m not bragging here, but I can easily shoot that in just 9 holes.)

At least on television, Tiger Woods has a physical presence and mental focus that seem almost otherworldly. A crushingly large gallery follows him from hole to hole along with an impressive security force (you can’t have people running over and chatting him up between holes in a competitive atmosphere so strict even the click of a camera can be a distraction). 

So, this year I dragged my daughters out on the meteor-watch with me.  If I’m going to see a shooting star, I want witnesses. It’s 1:27 a.m. and the three of us are sitting there in the dark, craning our necks skyward, waiting for a speck of space dust to streak past our field of vision.

Waiting …

Waiting … (necks are hurting … )

Waiting … (kids are getting restless … )

Waiting … (I am getting restless … )

And then, after what seems like an endless string of “oh-let’s-wait-just-one-more-minute” s, … as clear as day, … in the blink of an instant, … a small fiery ball shoots across the patch of sky between the trees.

The Take-Away: !!! 

Post Note: I’ll let you know if I witness any stellar shots at the PGA tomorrow –