Wasif's World

A lot of you may have read or witnessed the abridged version of the Tiger apology, but here is the unabridged version of his original speech, featuring text that went unsaid:

From Pointe Vedra Beach, Fla.

Good morning and thank you for joining me. Many of you in this room are my friends. Many of you in this room know me. Many of you watching at home have received texts from me, but I am not going to mention that here. Now every one of you has good reason to be critical of me.

I want to say to each of you, simply and directly, [deep breath] I am deeply sorry for my irresponsible and selfish behavior, regardless of how naughty it was ... and it really was naughty, especially with the event planner in Florida; she knows what we did -- er, uh, selfish behavior that I engaged in.

I know people want to find out how I can be so selfish and so foolish. But I mean, come on. I’m Tiger. Duh. But my obvious greatness aside, while I have always tried to be a private person, there are some things I want to say.

Elin and I have started the process of discussing the damage caused by my behavior. As Elin pointed out to me, my real apology to her will not come in the form of words. It will come from my behavior over time ... and a payment plan that includes incentive bonuses for each month she stays with me.

I am also aware the pain that my behavior has caused to those of you in this room. I have let you down. I have let down my fans. But most importantly, I have let down my sponsors. There are tens of millions of reasons I beg for your forgiveness.

But still, I know I have bitterly disappointed all of you. I have made you question who I am and how I could have done the things I did. Again ... I’m Tiger [expletive deleted] Woods. Now ask the question one more time and see if you can’t come up with the answer.

I have a lot to atone for, but there’s one issue I really want to discuss – frequent flyer tickets.

I spend a lot of money racking up flyer points with Delta, but then when I go to use my points for a free flight, these seats are unavailable because they’ve given them away to people that have flown partner airlines. I mean, what is that?! I’m loyal to you and you give the freebie seats to someone else? I should buy your crummy airline and fire the lot of you.

But I digress. [sigh] Some people have speculated that Elin somehow hurt or attacked me on Thanksgiving Night. It angers me that people would fabricate a story like that.

Elin never hit me that night or any other night. There has never been an episode of domestic violence in our marriage ... at night. EVER! ... at night.

Elin has shown enormous grace and poise throughout this ordeal. Elin deserves praise, not blame. [leans into microphone, whispers] Though if anything ever happens to me, you’ll know where to look. She’s really freakishly strong and has a dark side.

I knew my actions were wrong, but I convinced myself that normal rules didn’t apply. I never thought about who I was hurting. Instead, I thought only about myself ... Tiger Woods ... the most popular athlete in the world. Seriously, put yourself in my position. No brainer, right?

[strange, disapproving woman looks at Tiger’s mom who seems to be asleep with contempt, then back to Tiger]

I ran straight through the boundaries that a married couple should live by, not to mention the tree outside my estate with my Escalade. I felt that I had worked hard my entire life and deserved to enjoy

all the temptations around me. And boy, did I enjoy them.

But I don’t get to play by different rules. The same boundaries that apply to everyone apply to me ... Tiger Woods ... the greatest golfer in the world.

I hurt my wife, my kids, my mother, my wife’s family, my friends, my foundation, kids all around the world who admired me, and one special lady I hooked up with after a tournament at Pebble Beach. Well, I was trying this maneuver I like to call “dog leg left” and there was a slight tremor from a nearby fault line. I refuse to elaborate on this any further, other than to say she’s okay and recovering comfortably at her home.

It’s up to me to start living a life of integrity. And that starts by never repeating the mistakes I’ve made. Therefore, I have called Verizon to have my texting plan discontinued as a show of faith and to save some of the money I’ve missed out on from lost endorsements.

As I proceed, I understand people have questions, I understand the press wants to ask me for the details of the times I was unfaithful. I understand people want to know whether Elin and I will remain together.

Please know that as far as I’m concerned, every one of these questions and answers is a matter between Elin and me. These are issues between a husband and his wife and his daily blog, tigersmaritalstrife.blogspot.com

Some people have made up things that never happened. They say I used PEDs. This is completely and utterly false; at least until some rock solid proof is uncovered at which point I will hold another press conference and grant an interview to Katie Couric.

My behavior doesn’t make it right for the media to follow my 2½-year-old daughter to school and to report its location. How would you guys like it if I followed your kids to school and took pictures of them and blew them up to lifesize, then cut out the head and pasted it to a blow up doll which I danced around my bedroom with in my underwear to a Michael Bublé song?

It’s kinda creepy, right? So knock it off.

People probably don’t realize it, but I was raised a Buddhist and I actively practiced my faith from childhood until I drifted away from it in recent years. Buddhism teaches that a craving for things outside ourselves causes an unhappy and pointless search for security.

Obviously, I lost track of what I was taught. As I move forward, I would continue to receive help, because I’ve learned that’s how people really do change.

Starting tomorrow, I will leave for a Tibetan monastery where I will spend my days deprived of creature comforts learning the ways of the monks. I am giving up my fortune and place in this material world. [long pause] Nah, just playin’. I’m off to some more sex therapy.

I do plan to return to golf one day, but I just don’t know when that day will be. I don’t rule out that it will be this year. So let the Vegas pool begin!

I want to thank the PGA tour, Commissioner Finchem, the players, and most of all, my sponsors, both former and current ... and former sponsors who will be my future sponsors – [aside] we can talk – for their patience and understanding while I work on my private life.

Finally, there are many people in this room and there are many people at home who believed in me, including one poor soul, unfortunate enough to stumble during the “dog leg left” incident. Today, I want to ask for your help. I ask you to find room in your heart to one day believe in me again. And to my sponsors, you know where to reach me.

Thank you.

[hugs mom, holding her for a minute and a half]

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: Personally, I think Tiger did well to adapt his original speech for the words he said, but the only thing I found curious was how a guy who always looks like he’s about to cry, didn’t cry. Just a thought. I wish Tiger well with his rebuilding his marriage and career.]

J.W., this pitch is hot! And I wanted you to get first crack at it. All the other studios were begging me -- BEGGING ME -- to pitch it to them first, but I said, “NO! Not until I let the man who built this industry into what it is today hear it first.” And that’s you, J-dub ... Oh, I see you have some top-shelf brandy over here. Mind if I? ... Thanks.

So picture this, our story begins in a gated community in central Florida. It’s hot. But not the kind of hot you turn the air conditioning on for.

Cut to: A man. Collared shirt, ball cap, pleated pants and cleats, all crisp and new. He steps out of his black Escalade. He’s perfect. Almost too perfect.

Muffled arguments heard behind sliding glass doors in the night. Suddenly, a car engine roars, the squeal of tires, acceleration and then -- CRASH!!! An abrupt stop not three seconds after acceleration.

Car totaled, airbag deployed, driver groggy. But wait! Through the spewing water of the damaged hydrant comes a figure, an angel. No, she’s angry! She has a golf club -- a 3-iron, maybe a pitching wedge ... or a putter. Something metal.

She’s 5’0” if she’s an inch, maybe 100 pounds tops. And she raises the club to the sky and starts hacking at the back window like John Henry driving steel. Once, twice, three times! Glass sprays from the vehicle under the brute strength of this slight, Nordic goddess.

Knocking the remaining shards away so as not to damage her flawless alabaster skin, she crawls into the back and disappears. There’s no light. There’s no sound. It was as if she got sucked into a black hole.

After what seems like an eternity, she reemerges, pulling the semi-conscious man, her husband, the vision of perfection we’ve come to know, from the back seat and tossing him over her shoulder with the same ease she did the golf club. She places him carefully on the ground and they make love.

But no, that’s not what happened at all!

Am I losing you, J.W.? ... Oh, yeah, that is a funny billboard outside the window across the street ... Anyway, here’s where it gets good.

He holds a press conference to say nothing’s happened. He lashes out at all those that bandied about ludicrous claims and asks for the media to respect his privacy, which they do in round-the-clock coverage from his front lawn.

The cops arrive. But he won’t talk. “You can’t make me talk, copper!” he says brazenly. He’s protecting the woman he loves. But which woman is that?

Cut to: Interior -- a Perkins restaurant. A girl serves an elderly man a bowl of vanilla pudding. It's 4 p.m. and dessert is included in the early bird special. The elderly man thanks her and she smiles, but we can tell her mind is elsewhere. On our hero, perhaps?

Back in Florida, without a lead and about to give up on the case, the dam bursts wide open. Police uncover text messages from one girl, a nightclub promoter.

Scrambling, our hero calls her to stop the flow of incriminating evidence, but it’s too late. And that call is the final nail in his coffin as the girl has recorded it and sells it to the 6 o’clock news for a lifetime subscription to US magazine and a $200 gift certificate to a neighborhood pilates studio. They’ve got him dead to rights asking her to take her name off her phone.

What of his wife, the woman we saw earlier saving his life after the car accident? A lawyer counsels her. She begins looking through very expensive jewelry catalogs. Her mother shows up from Sweden, wearing clogs and one of those hats you’d see on Pippi Longstocking. She announces she’s staying to see her daughter through this terrible ordeal.

All settles down and then, the night air is cut again, this time with the sound of a siren. It’s an ambulance. The same house. A lady is taken on a gurney. She needs the jaws of life. We can't see who she is. The ambulance speeds away.

And then, an Escalade, similar to the one before, but this one is in mint condition ...

What’s that? ... Well, they could own two of the same car ... Yeah, I suppose it could be a loaner for the damaged one ... Y’know, let’s just make it an Isuzu Tracker ... with tinted windows. We can’t see in. But we catch a glimpse through the front windshield.

It’s her! Our golden bombshell from before. But is it her? For she has a twin sister!

But it is her and not her twin ... or were you thinking it was the twin? We can make it the twin if you want ... No?

Okay, so they’re trying to resuscitate the woman as they're doing 95 along I-95 -- (have you ever wondered, J.W., what would happen if the speed limits were actually equal to the route numbers? ... Future script idea: “Speed Demons on Route 293”) -- they’re driving along trying to resuscitate her, but strangely, our hero, Mr. Perfect, isn’t there.

He’s at home, alone, pining ... pining ... pining. He holds a picture, but not of his wife.

Smash cut to: a seedy bar in another city. A woman, the one from the picture, leaves the bar and walks next door to the National Enquirer building. She’s crying. She holds documents, photos of her with him, and tape recordings as she whispers, “Oh, baby, I hope we can still be friends after this.”

Back to the hospital. It’s a media circus. And then word trickles out that the patient was, in fact, the mother-in-law. She heard that her son-in-law was cheating and her heart couldn’t take it anymore.

Will she survive or won’t she? Doctors tell our blonde heroine there’s a 50/50 chance of survival, but only a 10 percent chance of those odds being accurate.

She’s distraught. All the while, Mr. Perfect’s sponsors are leaving him in droves. He begs them, pleads with them. “I’m not perfect!” he screams. But it’s too late. They’re gone. He cries so passionately that he exhausts himself and passes out in front of his house under the tree he hit with his car. He wears his cleats and collared shirt, but no pants.

We pull back into the dark night air and slowly dissolve to this guy as a youth, 3 years old, thwacking a plastic golf ball with a plastic Fisher Price golf club in his backyard as his father looks on. His father wears no pants. Fade to black.

What do you say, J.W.? ... What do you mean it’s too far fetched? And George Clooney playing Batman wasn’t? Fine.

I happen to have another gem, this one even better, that I want you to be the first to hear. An incredibly gifted NFL quarterback and successful pitchman wins 26 straight regular-season games. He enters the playoffs and everything is going great until ...