This is the final installment, a continuation of "Let's Assume Tiger Woods Played Football at West Virginia in 1979."
Tiger snares around five Oliver Luck passes a game as his possession receiver. The golfer-turned-football player also punts for distance and accuracy, driving or chipping inside the 10 every time. Phenomenal.
Elin has set up housekeeping on Green Bag Road, where she has taken it literally by dressing in green bags even on trips to the grocery store. Still fashion challenged, that beautiful woman.
Rachel sports a Coppertone tan year 'round. You can always find her in a circa 1971 ultra-short sizzler skirt, if you find her at all. The muscle-legged chick is either at a) the dance club Fever manning the rope, b) partaking in her daily sacrament of reconciliation in the confessional at St. Mary's, or c) in her bedroom. It is in these private moments when she locks her door and gazes at the framed posters of Tiger holding a driver. Scrawled on the sky blue wall with a short pencil are the words, "He's Mine!"
Sick. But true.
Although an Interdisiplinary Studies major, Mr. Woods seldom attends class as he sleeps until mid-afternoon. Tiger is nocturnal, either practicing his short-irons at midnight, punting in the dark at Mountaineer Field, or surreptitiously frequenting Fever, working on his disco splits. Burn that mutha down.
His gorgeous wife, fair of skin, clad in a orange plaid blouse (aghast!) tied at the waist and maroon golf slacks dotted with little white men swinging tiny clubs, became suspicious. Tiger often came home drenched in sweat. Was he benching 315, as had been reported in Sports Illustrated? Or, was he swimming laps fully clothed at the natatorium?
Neither, my dear.
You see, Rachel always watched Mr. Woods at Fever stretching his hammies before he hit the dance floor. She was most impressed by the 3-D man of her prints. Stalking him, Rachel discovered his habit of visiting the links with a wedge as heaven holds a half moon. That, she decided, will be the scene of their dalliance.
And, soon their heat was consummated.
Talk about closest to the pin.
One early morning, Elin hears a stirring at the front door of their Green Bag Road home. Wearing his number 88 navy jersey and absolutely nothing else except for his gray tied up sweat pants, she discovers her husband entering the living room with the sizzler skirt over his tighty-whities.
"Ah, ha!" she exclaims, "You weren't at the Nat!"
"How...uh...do you know that?" the best golfer in the world asks.
"You're not wet!"
Surprisingly, the cross-dressing back-up quarterback appears in a Jackie Kennedy Onassis pink suit and a pillbox hat. "Listen, honey," he coos, "the hubby is involved in extracurricular activities with a lioness of a female at the Fever."
Elin pauses, and pauses again. Her face twists, then contorts. "Extracurricular, you say?"
A cameraman from WPXI-TV in Pittsburgh barges through the door with floodlights. Behind him is Rachel herself, holding a microphone, also wearing a Jackie Kennedy Onassis pink suit and a pillbox hat. The quarterback and the reporter look at each other agape.
Rachel snaps herself back into her professional mode. "Tiger! Did you have an affair with me all over the back nine at Lakeview Country Club?" she asks sternly.
"I'm not talking to anyone!" he exclaims.
"Eldrick." the funky QB says, "turn on the television."
Tiger hits the power button on the remote. A new all-sports network, ESPN, appears as a tall, skinny anchor named Chris Berman goes on and on about Tiger Woods' indiscretions.
"The world knows, cutie," say Rachel and the back-up simultaneously.
"My reputation is ruined!" Tiger moans as he weeps. "I'll never recover!"
"And the scorned one is the last to know," says Elin, who has taken this opportunity to channel Daisy Duke and change into denim short-shorts and a halter top, "And, furthermore, it's time to kick some girlfriend butt." She crouches and heads for Rachel.
"I'll never recover my sparkling reputation!"
A poof of smoke engulfs the room. Everyone holds their lungs and coughs. As the air clears, a lovely shorter woman appears in a little black dress cut to her navel. She is unrecognizable to the others, except Tiger. The dark pixie and beautiful brown eyes clue him in.
"Greetings from 2009!" Winona Ryder says. "I am here, Mr. Eldrick Tiger Woods, to reassure you that you can recover from your stupidity. After I used the five finger discount at Saks to the tune of 6,000 dollars, I hosted Saturday Night Live and played Spock's mom in the Star Trek movie."
"How can I believe you, Ryder?" asks Tiger with venom. "You've always been stupid."
"Now, darling," says Winona.
"You're not very bright when it comes to affairs of the heart," Tiger says.
"'Affair' being the operative word," Winona says with a great comeback.
"Hey, short stuff, you've been played by more musicians than 'Free Bird,'" says Tiger with a smile and a much better comeback.
"Like to have a hundred for every time I heard that. So, my Tiger, forget all about it and let's go for a drive!"
"Tiger!" shouts Elin. "Don't! You'll crash...you'll crash...you'll crash..."
Winona steps up. "We'll crash that White House party."
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