A Letter to Tiger

by Qwantu Amaru

Born a beautiful brown boy bursting with potential
If Poppa could see you now he'd call you a disgrace
But not to your race
Because you are all of us
You were 
Everything that was good
I used to love that commercial proudly declaring, "I'm Tiger Woods"
That was then
Who are you now?
And what will you do?
Maybe I should be asking
Cocktail waitresses, strippers, and porn stars beware
Tiger's penetrating 
Or perhaps they should fear your pussy-whipped texts
If it had just been sex 
Then me, Elan, all of us might have understood
If not forgiven
I mean, it's a given, all married celebrity athletes cheat
With the veritable harem of gorgeous groupies 
Worshiping the fields where their oversized feet 
Create amazing feats of athleticism translated into every woman's fantasy
It's easy to see how you could have slipped
A man is only as faithful as his options, right?
Yes, there's been a long line of men who've dabbled from time to time
Let's run down the list
From Jordan's many mistresses to Kobe's eight carat mistake to Magic's H.I.V.
Athletes have been sticking themselves inside side chicks like I.V.'s 
For too many years to count
And it's not just athletes either
Many of our leaders have allowed their penises to lead them astray
From MLK's wet dreams to JFK to Billy Clint
But even they were smart enough not to leave a trail of evidence
That led right back to their doors
Tiger, this is more than poor judgment
I'm forced to dock you four strokes for each misplaced stroke
I thought golfers were supposed to be mentally tough
We thought you were different
We knew you weren't perfect
Your tour tantrums told us that
But the way you swung that club 
The way you took over a sport that never wanted you 
And that now can't survive without you
We thought you were 
Now you're a pitiful excuse for a man a terrible husband and an even worse father
Don't bother with press conferences and sanitized apologies
That shit worked with the others, but it won't work with you
It's not just that you should have known better
And if this letter serves no other purpose make sure you take this away
You may have beaten the white man at his own game
But you cannot get away with the same behavior
And although your sponsors may come to your rescue like a savior
We will never forgive you
And just because we still watch you play
We will never see you the same way
I hope you realize that the melanin in your skin you clearly hate
Holds you hostage to a higher standard 
A higher purpose
So now you've been served notice
And you better pay
Consider these words an intervention or a wake up blast
Get yourself together man and start patching up your reputation
You're facing the hardest stretch of road you may ever have to drive
And that Buick may not be enough to get through it
You may lace up your Nikes and try to just do it
But you may find yourself drowning in a pool of Gillette blade laced Gatorade
With no one to come to your aid
Because poppa's not here anymore to kick you in the ass
And because you clearly have no real friends 
To harass haranguing gold diggers from your path
You need to ask for help
You need to pray for forgiveness
You need to do everything in your power to save your family
You need to keep your dick in your pants
And never touch a cell phone again
You might need to see Dr. Drew
Or go to some underprivileged community and do good works
Just know that no amount of good works 
Will ever rebuild the crumbled skyscraper of your previous worth
And not even a bevy of wins will win back our affection
You will have to settle for the satisfaction of humility
And find solace in your athletic ability
Because you may lose your family
And I'm not just talking about Elan and those two brown babies bursting with potential
I'm talking about us
You've lost our trust and you will have to win back our support
Hopefully now you understand the difference between life and sport

A Letter to Tiger by Qwantu Amaru

© Copyright 2009. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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