This article may be a tad brief, much like my sexual stamina, but my quest to make (very small) waves in the Canadian film and television industry is taking the majority of my focus this week.
I have the lead role in a screenplay reading taking place at the National Film Board of Canada. My character, Tim, is described as “every inch the GQ man”, but “self-conscious about his intelligence.” Check and Mate.
Also, I have an audition for the lead in an independent production of a romantic comedy/drama called “Waiting for Summer”. My character, Zach, is described thusly: “a charming and flirtatious single Caucasian male . . . [who has] been floating around in life, but is looking for a new start.”
I think I’m being typecast.
What I really wanted to talk about is the return of golf’s prodigal son, Tiger Woods. My fawning appreciation for Mr. Woods was expressed eloquently in my Mancrush Dissertation. I’m what you would call a casual golf fan; I tune in to watch about 5 or 6 tournaments a year and play approximately the same number of rounds myself (in an interesting twist, golf is the only sport in which Gretzpo can beat me; this fact brings me great shame).
But when Tiger’s involved, I become some kind of golf Rain Man. I can recite the most inane Tiger statistics and I have no problem stapling myself to a couch for six hours in mid-July to watch him anally rape a 7,500 yard golf course (that’s a sodomy references in back to back columns; paging Dr. Freud).
Over the past eight months, my interest in the PGA Tour has waned drastically as Tiger rehabbed from his ACL reconstruction surgery last summer. The news that Woods would be returning this week at the Accenture Match Play Championship caused immense joy in my loins and lessened the crippling depression associated with my Seasonal Affective Disorder.
Now that The Man is back, I’m following his progress so intently online that I have a Single White Female infatuation going on right now. I find myself refreshing Jason Sobel’s live blog on ESPN.com every 12 seconds (I’m hoping that by mentioning Sobel’s name, I will cause the traffic to this site to undergo a geometric expansion).
Watching the highlights from Tiger’s first round victory, it’s obvious that the golf world has missed his presence as much as I have. I mean, the guy’s an absolute rock star. He’s the only player on the PGA Tour who has the body and/or athleticism to a play a sport other than golf or darts.
Two things make my brain hurt thinking about where Tiger could end up in terms of career victories and Major wins.
One is that this is the first time in his career that his body is functioning as a sound unit (his knee has been bothering him for years and he’s already had a couple of arthroscopic surgeries). Woods does not have to worry about a wonky knee affecting the rotational forces of his swing. He can now play with complete peace of mind without having to worry about the physical ramifications to his body.
Two is that Tiger, with his unparalleled physical fitness and mental fortitude, can realistically play at a high level for another 20 years. Where is his eventual career ceiling? 120 victories? 30 Major titles?
Figuring this out is more mentally taxing than trying to fathom how Keanu Reeves keeps getting acting roles.
The dream matchup that everyone is pining for is, of course, a Tiger-Phil smackdown on Saturday in the semifinals (Fuck you, Tim Clark). While it would be fantastic to see the sport’s most popular golfers duke it out over eighteen holes, I have a different proposal I would like to put forth.
Have Woods and Mickelson play the front nine on Saturday, but replace the back nine with a tickle fight between Elin Woods and Amy Mickelson on the 18th green. What red-blooded male wouldn’t want to see these two Sirens strip down to bra and panties and go at it (20 bucks says Hal Sutton has a raging hard-on in this picture)?
(Oh well, there’s always next year)Enjoy your weekend.
Tewks is a frequent contributor to Gretzpo’s Sports Blog.
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