Is Tiger Woods the Antichrist?!
I have before me a document of earth-shattering import:
Headed "Antichrist Guidelines," it claims to be the "official guidelines from the Grand Master of Freemasonry to Catholic Freemason Bishops - Effective March 1962." Published in an Australian church magazine ten years ago, it lists 34 methods for destroying every facet of traditional Catholic life and urgently demands that "All brother freemasons shall report on the progress of these critical directives! (Update October 1993 for progressive plan for final stage.) All (free)masons working with the churches must undertake to…." - then follows the long list of destructive 'things to do' - like wrecking the Mass.
Hmmm... A Masonic blueprint for Antichrist? Or a post-conciliar laundry list of notorious Liberal transgressions prepared by over-zealous 'Traddies' with vivid imaginations and Masonic fixations?
Welcome to the apocalyptic world of endless Antichrist-End Time speculations. Oh, here's another from the pile on my desk: an alleged interior locution in Milan on 3 June 1989 in which Our Lady tells her chosen seer that "the black beast [of the Apocalypse] is Masonry." Just as "The seven heads [of the beast] stand for the various masonic lodges." Yeah, right. And the "red dragon" [Apoc. 12:3] is the Welsh Assembly!
Countless millions of souls are caught up with these fevered calculations and forecasts. Some, like Geraldo Neder, who is "suing church elders in Columbia after he gave away his home and savings when they told him the world was about to end," are ruined by them. Others build their lives around them, as with the countless Protestants in a constant state of readiness for the Rapture: when their suddenly perfect and immortal bodies will be whisked up in the air to meet Jesus, leaving the rest of us behind, rather rudely, to face the wrath of Antichrist.
The peril of straying asteroids is also guaranteed a large audience share of the End Time market (think movies like Armageddon and Deep Impact). The Man of Sin, it seems, will roar down from the heavens whooping like a space cowboy seated astride a very wide comet which will hit the earth with the force of a million Hiroshimas and "exterminate all life." The author of Prophets of the Apocalypse gleaned that vital information from the writings of St. John. (OK, I made up the comet-riding Antichrist bit. But the Royal Academy's September 2000 "Apocalypse" exhibition did feature a life-like model of John Paul II being struck down by a meteorite.)
And what about UN Resolution 666, adopted by the UN Security Council on 13 September 1990, and voted in by 13 countries. That's a helluva lot of devil's numbers in one sentence, never mind one Resolution! A Resolution, moreover, which just happened to concern Iraq, the cradle of civilisation and modern day home of Babylon, whose destruction, forecast in Revelation 18:10, seems to be taking place right NOW!
Meanwhile, the world elite should stop ducking for cover behind their fake names. Bill Gates, for one, has been exposed. His real name is William Henry Gates III, and by converting the letters to the ASCII numerical codes (which represent text in computers), then adding 3 for the "III" at the end of his real name, you get: 66+73+76+71+65+84+69+83+3 = 666. Bingo. Likewise, when we conveniently assign a similar-yet-different, conversion system (where A=6, B=12, C=18 etc.) to the word COMPUTER itself, we get 18+90+78+96+126+120+30+108 = 666. All sensational confirmation of our worst fears about Beastly Bill and his hegemonic Windows!
Then there is the mother of them all: The Bible Code. A runaway best-seller which spawned a mega-sequel, its author Michael Drosnin claims to have discovered (with the aid of computers!) hidden messages encoded in the Bible's ancient Hebrew text. When that text is laid out in one continuous strand of 304,805 letters and searched by highlighting every fourth letter, says Drosnin, it predicts every turning point in world history past, present and future, like the Kennedy assassination, September 11… and, naturally, impending Armageddon.
He had the first book passed to Bill Clinton by his Chief of Staff, who told him Clinton had it with him at Camp David when he announced a summit between Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Barak and Yasser Arafat. "According to the Bible code," Drosnin himself warned Yasser Arafat at a private meeting in April 2001, "we have five years." (As it transpired, of course, poor old Yasser had only three years and might have appreciated being told!) Both Arafat and the head of Israeli intelligence analysis believed Drosnin when he explained that in a search of encoded biblical text on his computer, "only 2006 matched both 'world war' and 'atomic holocaust'." Moreover, in Deuteronomy where "End of Days" appeared he also found the words "Arafat," "Barak," "Sharon," and "Bush." And there was more! The code of life (DNA) and the Bible code appeared to have the same structure and it seemed that "neither arose here on Earth." In addition, the Bible code found the word "alien" in the Book of Ezekiel! After verifying his thesis with Francis Crick, the Nobel-winner who discovered the structure of DNA, Drosnin breathlessly confirmed that "this quest was nothing less than a race against the countdown to the Apocalypse and everything was pointing to the idea that the code key arrived here on Earth in a spacecraft."
Pleeeeeeze. Enough! What is wrong with these people? We need to get serious and stop with the million and one ridiculous speculations and predictions - while there's still time! We need to start paying attention! By which I mean: if we were not so blinded by all this nonsense we would clearly see that the End Times are not about masons, billionaire computer gurus, the UN, comets or little green scripture scholars delivering the Bible to earth in UFOs. Rather, it's all about him! Yes, and if it wasn't for all these distractions we would've seen him coming!
After all, preternatural lights had been flashing on the horizon for half-a-dozen remarkable years, as he won the U.S. Junior Amateur Golf Championship three times running (1991-93) followed by an unprecedented three consecutive U.S. Amateur titles (1994-96). Though uncanny, I admit that this was still within the realms of the possible. Yet by the time he turned pro in August 1996, immediately signing endorsement deals worth a phenomenal $60 million, there was something eerie in the ether; a cosmic sense that not only golf but life itself would never be the same again.
Just eight months later, with two tournament wins already under his precocious belt, the wellspring of mercurial talent erupted like Krakatoa and dumped the most devilishly hard sport of all on its head. A clearly impossible 18 under par scorecard in his first major tournament, the 1997 US Masters at Augusta, Georgia, secured a preposterous 12 stroke victory, obliterating all records and humiliating the world's best golfers.
Suddenly, "awesome" just wouldn't do. Mesmerised pundits ditched their usual clichés in favour of elevated prose more worthy of the wondrous 21-year-old Eldrick (Tiger) Woods, a mixed-race, middle-class, African-American from Los Angeles. "A transcendent accomplishment" was the solemn assessment of his miraculous conquest of a tournament in which no black was invited to play until 1975 and where every caddie was black until 1983. Reflecting on the instant Tiger-effect, Sports Illustrated magazine noted: "Never before had one player attracted such a large following. Folks might have come out with the intention of watching another golfer, but each day the course seemed to tilt toward wherever Woods was playing. Never before had so many people stayed at the course so long, filling the stands behind the practice range, 1,500 strong, to watch a lone player hit thrilling wedge shots under the darkening Georgia sky."
Similar haunting, ethereal descriptions became de rigeur as overnight he soared to global heights of recognition and acclaim. His father Earl, a former Green Beret commando and Vietnam veteran who claimed telepathic communication with his son while watching him play on television, predicted that he would be sport's first billion dollar man - yet no mere sporting Messiah. "Tiger," he prophesied, "will do more than any man in history to change the course of humanity."
Crikey! Portentous or what! … Could he be... But surely not… Perhaps a little research (and a few beers) would calm my fears?
Not likely! It transpired that after his birth his mother, Kutilda, kept a mysterious "chart" on her only child. She later took this to a Buddhist monk who, perusing it, likened Tiger to an angel sent by God. Kutilda, half Thai, one-quarter Chinese and one-quarter white, called him The Universal Child. Her half black, one-quarter American Indian and one-quarter Chinese husband spoke of The Chosen One.
Whatever his destiny as foretold by the heavenly stars, he was very soon mixing with earthly ones, famously putting against golf fanatic Bob Hope on a TV show at the age of 2. Aged 3, he scored 48 over nine holes! Probably spooked themselves, Earl and Kutilda quickly handed Tiger over to Rudy Duran for golf lessons.
Duran had misgivings about taking on a 4-year-old pupil. He invited Woods to hit some shots on his practice range. "Tiger didn't even talk,'' Duran said. "He just hit four perfect shots in a row, then I said he could come and play and I'd teach him whenever he wanted. He hit pitches, and he could putt. He could hit it high and low when he was 4 years old. Most of our sessions were on the golf course.''
Establishing pars for Woods that didn't match par requirements for adults, Duran said: "He was 8 under his personal par when he was 5 years old, and that was picking his own clubs and holing all his putts. He had the poise and skill of a scratch golfer. He was by far a better player than I was when he was 5 or 6 years old. By 5, he was like a shrunken touring pro.''
An infernal dwarfish prodigy! ("Damien!?" I mouthed.) But it got spookier still.
Earl Woods had his infant son listen to tape recordings with subliminal messages to help him develop his self-control and discipline. Beneath the sound of flowing water and soft music the messages imprinted themselves on his sub-conscious: "I will my own destiny. I believe in me. I smile at obstacles. I am firm in my resolve. I fulfil my resolutions powerfully. My strength is great. I stick to it easily, naturally. My will moves mountains. I focus and give it my all. My decisions are strong."
And so, at the age of six, Tiger played his first international tournament - without a single negative thought to disturb his tiny humanistic mind. Only four years later he acquired his first sports psychologist - to further reinforce the Self.
By this stage the Twilight Zone intro struck up whenever I heard his name! For as Pope Benedict teaches: "We have not made ourselves. Therefore, self-fulfillment is a contradiction and is too little for us. We have a higher destiny." In which case, were the self-fulfilling heights to which Tiger seemed predestined of another, more subterranean order?
My finely tuned Iniquity-Antennae were buzzing like a pair of demented bumble bees! Though still early days, it was all adding up. I determined to wait, and watch…
Sure enough, his victories began accumulating at a rate not only hitherto unknown and unimagined but also positively unnatural in a game of inherent fickleness and microscopic margins of error: factors which had always shielded this ancient sport from individual hegemony. Tiger destroyed that notion forever. He redefined golfing "success." Once measured in terms of mere top ten finishes and the (very) occasional first place, it became instead a ledger of wins and losses. Tiger against the rest: his yearly schedule effectively built around defending titles!
Within several years he had won dozens of tournaments, some repeatedly, and half a dozen major championships. In 2000, after his sixth consecutive PGA tour victory, the longest streak since 1948 (the year they created Israel, I mused) he won the US Open by a ludicrous 15 strokes, the largest margin of victory ever recorded at a major tournament. He then proceeded to crush the British Open field by an absurd 8 strokes with a 19-under par total, a record score at the legendary St. Andrews course and the lowest ever at a major tournament. In the process, he became the youngest person (and one of only five people) to have won all the major championships. That he should do so "in the symbolic year of 2000," cooed one scribe echoing the general wonderment, "seemed to fulfil a destiny."
It was hard to argue. At St. Andrews there were 112 pernicious bunkers to be avoided, some so deep and sheer that elite golfers with God-given ability ran up quadruple bogies struggling to get out of them. Woods was never in one.
The most herculean of efforts to thwart him fell short. The following month, for example, Bob May broke the US PGA tournament record, shooting a stupendous 18-under par. "I think if you shoot three 66s in a major, you should win," he lamented, oblivious to the fact that the Beastly total he had just scored - 666 666 - was a lethal provocation. Accordingly, having spent all summer leading from the front, Woods stormed up from behind to share the record and crush the insolent provocateur in a play-off.
On and on he went as if immune to all the variables and vagaries so intrinsic to golf, the shards of shattered records scarring and debilitating opponents in his wake. After Tiger came from 8 strokes behind with a round to play to beat him in the Johnnie Walker Classic, the sublimely gifted Ernie Els suffered years of chronic self-doubt which his sports psychologist termed Tiger-itis. Britain's Nick Faldo even suggested that players might begin avoiding Woods, opting for a "Tigerless tour" in search of victories.
Worshipful passages about the "perfect synchronicity" of his mind and body and headlines like "Working miracles!" filled the press and kept my Antennae in a constant state of agitation. Even his coach, Butch Harman, was in awe: "I am 57 and have been in this business all my life… But I have never seen anything like we are witnessing now." 1989 British Open winner Mark Calcavecchia could only gasp: "He is the Chosen One." You bet! But chosen by whom, Mark? By Whom!?!
Two legends of the game summed up the general disbelief:
"Tiger is playing a game with which I am not familiar," declared the once untouchable Jack Nicklaus whose record 18 majors Woods was running down like a cheetah on drugs.
Tom Watson, winner of five British Opens, said: "He is something supernatural and is playing golf supernaturally." Supernaturally, or preternaturally, Tom? I longed to ask. "Every great player has always had an achilles heel," he continued. "Tiger seems to have none."
Indeed. And I wondered if I was the only soul on earth paying attention and pondering: How can that be? From what Power did he draw his powers to perform continual wonders? Like the three golf shots described by the Daily Mail as "the most amazing ever." On 8 November 2000, in an early morning practice round at Valderrama in Southern Spain, the World No. 1 sank a 110 yard pitch for an eagle three. He then asked his caddie to throw another ball into a green-side bunker, which he duly holed. He repeated the feat with a third ball. "I've never heard anything like it," said Irish golfer Paul McGinlay. "But he does amazing things."
Unearthly things, in fact. Hellish things, perhaps….
In 2001, at a mere 24 years and 206 days, Tiger became the first player in the history of this ancient game to hold all four majors simultaneously! "I think you would have to call that the grand slam," he said. Well, either that or a 'faustian pact'!?
"Woods keeps on being asked if he is human," they wrote, "and he keeps providing evidence that he is not." Quite.
By now he even had his own tournament! Which, of course, he duly won in breathtaking fashion (coming from four shots behind with ten holes to play to beat Vijay Singh) and immediately donated his prize of $1 million to his favourite charity - the Tiger Woods Foundation! A decent way to sign off for the year 2001 - twelve months in which he earned $65 million from endorsements, appearance fees and tournament winnings - it revealed the rapidly acquired influence and wealth that fuelled his emerging philanthropy.
"Four million is Tiger's asking price along with a few other extras," said a source closely aligned to Australia's Johnnie Walker Classic in Perth. "Throw in six first class air tickets for his entourage and a presidential suite at a five-star hotel and you're a chance of getting him to play." Only the week before, Woods had received $3.8 million just to turn up and play in Dubai.
As sponsors feverishly renegotiated ever more lucrative contracts and the money pile mounted inexorably towards that billion dollar peak forecast by his father, projected lifetime career earnings were now readjusted - to around £4billion!! In the best American philanthropic tradition, this wealth in turn gave rise to projects like the Tiger Woods Learning centre, opened by the omnipresent Bill Clinton. "Helping kids is what my life is going to be," said golf's extraordinary Man of Peace [1Thess. 5:2-3].
Accordingly, his socio-political cachet rocketed. As early as December 2000, The Sporting News, a U.S. magazine focused on team sports which never prints a word on golf, had put Tiger at the top of their "Powerful 100" list as the most powerful person in sport - a list dominated by movers and shakers, television moguls, sports administrators and sportswear manufacturers. Lagging in third place behind Woods, for instance, was media tycoon Rupert Murdoch. While International Olympic Committee chairman Juan Antonio Samaranch came in 17th.
"The man is amazing," raved the head of CBS Sports. "There is no-one who is a more dominant force or more powerful than he is today." Tiger naturally ducked the issue. "Powerful. That's kind of funny. The only time I ever feel powerful is after a nice work-out in the gym," he replied with the coy cunning of an angel of light!
The remit of the "Powerful 100" judges was to consider the person with the greatest "capability to effect significant change - or to prevent significant change - in the games we play." (The most controlling person? A dictatorial person, perhaps?) In other words, Tiger had not risen to this dizzy height with such chilling speed merely due to his ability, his achievements, his popularity or even his celebrity. It was surely owing to his mass hypnotic effect; people who would not watch golf watched the mesmerising Woods. Four million extra television viewers tuned in to golf tournaments whenever he played.
"We've never seen a combination of all his qualities in an athlete ever," said the senior vice-president of a major sports marketing company. "He transcends the boundaries of the game." In 2001 alone there were 41,149 press articles published about Woods around the world and he appeared on the cover of five prestigious non-sports magazines. "He dresses well, speaks well and conducts himself like a gentleman. He is a true ambassador … More people in the world would recognise Tiger Woods than the last five Presidents of the United States. He is… possibly the most famous person in the world," euologised golfing legend Gary Player. "We are so lucky that he has come along when he has. In many ways Tiger is a kind of saviour for golf."
In sum, Kutilda's Universal Child had blossomed into a global humanitarian ambassador, roaming and ravishing the world. "Every adjective associated with greatness fits comfortably within his aura," the Sunday Times proclaimed. It could have been the New People exalting American mystery-man Julian Felsenburgh in Robert Hugh Benson's Lord of the World: "When Mr Felsenburgh uttered his first words, it was in a stillness that was like a living thing… all faces were turned to that simple figure, as if the hope of every soul were centred there… he is probably the first perfect product of that new cosmopolitan creation to which the world has laboured throughout its history." Declared an emotional witness to Felsenburgh's triumphant address in London: "I saw the Son of Man. It was He for whom we have waited so long; and he has come, bringing Peace and Goodwill in His hands."
Hello? Are we all paying attention?! Let me spell it out for you: Felsenburgh lives! On a golf course! Just consider this description by the late Ian Wooldridge, the Daily Mail's peerless sports correspondent: "He flew in from Spain by private jet, charmed a crowd of 5,000 in Hyde Park, quipped with reporters, reduced a tough lady columnist to knee-trembling ecstasy and immediately flew out again, naturally by private jet. Is there anything the handsome, articulate, diplomatic, supremely gifted, massively rich and just 24-year-old Tiger Woods can do wrong?"
In fact, in the shadow of his incandescence there were a few flickering faults.
Early on, after exploding out of the professional blocks at the '97 Masters, Tiger suddenly faced the constricting demands of fame and media attention. Like young Damien Thorn (of The Omen trilogy) he struggled to come to grips with his (hidden?) identity and (sinister?) destiny. Along with the devilish give-away signs of on course swearing, spitting and occasional throwing of clubs, his cockiness and arrogance alienated fellow pros. In one highly publicised incident he even refused to sign a golf ball for a charity auction, for which graceless act he was strongly criticised. Shortly after he sulkily refused to speak to the press. All the while his entourage massaged his ego, defended him against the indefensible and guarded him from journalistic intruders.
Confused by the attention and hurt by criticism he complained bitterly to Arnold Palmer, "They won't let me be a normal 21-year-old." To which Palmer replied: "Tiger, normal 21-year-olds don't have $50million in the bank." It was the beginning of a strategic personal reinvention both to re-establish his peace of mind for the good of his game and gain the necessary respect from his peers: a process that revealed his clinical side. "He is utterly ruthless," wrote Wooldridge. "Since his short rise to fame he has sacked his lawyer, his personal agent and his caddie." Moreover, they were not sacked by father Earl, or by Woods' coach Butch Harman, but by Tiger himself - all replaced "by discreet men who know their places."
The excess baggage discarded, he was soon describing himself in surreal terms as "an ethnically global person" who had "established a brand plan as to who I am." The inner peace and unshakeable confidence of his childhood, implanted by subliminal audio messages, flowed back with a vengeance. He continued to hate the press because of intrusive stories about his private life and had to deal with the relentless demands of sponsoring companies and autograph hunters. But publicly Tiger controlled his temper, disciplined himself to smile at them all and return swiftly to the isolation ward of his unnerving self-possession. This enabled him to face extreme pressures both on and off the course which would crush a normal man.
He signalled this personality change after winning the US Open by a record margin. "All through the week I felt really at peace with my golf and with myself," he revealed cryptically. "It didn't matter if the wind blew or if a putt stayed out, I felt I was going to handle it." Elsewhere he claimed that the Buddhist faith acquired from his mother helped to control both his stubbornness and impatience.
Like Damien, Tiger had found himself! Yet not through the Christian faith or any Eastern religion but, rather, through the pantheistic philosophy of Buddhism; the pseudo-spiritual magnet par excellence for drawing unto himself a godless Western world primed for its syncretic Messiah!
A possible further defect was manifest, however. It seems that Tiger often takes detours through Las Vegas en route from one tournament to another. In return for his patronage he is treated like royalty by casinos competing for his business: places like the MGM Grand resort and the Mandalay Bay which keep luxury suites and a personal host at the ready, and maintain lines of credit for him of between $2-5million. When tournaments are within convenient flying range, he frequently jets into Vegas directly from finishing Sunday's final round. Blackjack, at up to $200,000 a hand, is his favourite along with the craps table.
Within seven years of turning professional, it was estimated that Tiger had gambled anything up to $50,000,000! A nefarious sum of $66, 666, 666, of course, would have let the black cat well and truly out of the bag. All totalitarian triumphs rely on deception. Indeed, we might well ask: is this a true gambling addiction? Or just another ruse to deceive mere mortals? Exciting even greater public admiration for the one indulgence which breaks the outward mould of his very proper, immaculate image?
Even devilish deception, however, has its limits. As the years rolled on and the golfing miracles multiplied, tell-tale signs of a grand unmasking became evident to all attentive punters!
More and more, eulogical press reports about Tiger's "immortal journey" and the "simple sense of privilege" of watching him play, contained eerie allusions to a darker force - an invisible hand - at work. "It is already an inexorable part of the Woods legend," read a 2002 despatch after he won his seventh major (out of 11!) and became the first player for 30 years to win the U.S. Masters and the U.S. Open in the same season, "that whenever he makes a mistake, the others usually stumble as well."
The report described a typically creepy sequence: "Woods followed up his two opening bogeys by failing to get the birdie on offer at the par-five fourth. But up ahead Mickelson was treading a familiar path, and making mistakes as well. A poor drive at the fifth brought a bogey, and then came another at the sixth. Sergio Garcia watched Woods' two three-putts and then did the same thing himself at the third. … So the whiff of an upset remained just that - a whiff [of brimstone?! - Ed.]. When Woods finally got a birdie putt to drop the lead was back to four and everyone was dusting down the record books once more. … Garcia spoke afterwards about Woods' sixth sense of accelerating just when others appear in his rear-view mirror."
They wrote darkly of Woods as "an other-worldly being with seemingly no questioning inner voices." There was disturbing talk of his "all seeing eye bearing down on competitors." And after winning his second consecutive U.S. Masters in 2005 they spoke openly about "this most gifted of sorcerers" and his "power to will a ball into the hole as he did after his chip of true genius at the 16th"! The same kind of sorcery that enables him to win all his majors when leading going into the final round: intolerable pressure for a son of Adam; child's play for the Son of Perdition.
By the time he won the 2006 British Open, amidst paeans of praise about galleries going "into rapture"(!) during "a round from the Gods," they were openly stating that "Tiger Woods also happens to have assumed a demonic presence in the life of Sergio Garcia"!!
In triumphal response to this impertinent 'outing' of his secret inner life, Tiger immediately marked his 30th year on earth and his 10th anniversary of turning pro with his 50th victory on the U.S. tour - by scoring four sinister rounds of 66!! (One 6 short of the telltale number, to be sure, but a provocative signal nonetheless - for those paying attention!)
Then scribes observed the most chilling characteristic of all.
In keeping with unspoken fears about his startling level of self-possession and ability to compartmentalise all aspects of his life, Tiger's phantasmagoric gifts mysteriously dissolved in team events. (Not a team player! Ringing biblical bells??) "Playing for anyone but himself is not normal for Woods," explained the Daily Mail's ever incisive Jeff Powell. "He is the ultimate loner in what is usually a solitary game. He wins his major championships from within the cocoon of his personal exclusion zone. … His prime motivations are personal pride, individual glory and, as a gambler on a quite heroic scale, money."
As if to underline this ominous character flaw, within a week of "being held captive with 11 team-mates" at the 2006 (U.S.A. versus Europe) Ryder Cup, where he drove his first shot into a creek and proceeded to struggle for several days, he returned triumphantly to his natural solitary habitat: posting "a dazzling 63" at the American Express Championship.
"That's the thing," wrote leading US sports writer Rick Reilly. "He's the No. 1 golfing gladiator. Until he gets to the Ryder Cup and then suddenly he becomes Dead Man Walking. It might be the only thing he sucks at. His Ryder Cup record is won seven, lost 11, and no wonder. He is not wired for team play. Why should he buddy up with people he's trained to swallow in two bites or less. Lions don't room with lambs."
Indeed they do not! And there, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we have the final dreadful biblical reckoning: this majestic Lion-cum-Tiger will, in fact, devour the lambs! We ignore him at our peril! Too mercurial; too self-possessed; too cool; too gracious; too mesmeric; too rich; too individual; too "ethnically global." And his teeth, even by American standards, just too white!!
"We are witnessing something unique," gasped an awestruck Colin Montgomery. Unique? How about "Scary As Hell!"
"He's like a forest fire coming and there isn't anyone to stop it," his late father Earl once cackled in a barely concealed reference to What he had spawned. "Tiger is pushed by history," he boasted, "by his own goals." He will become, he announced, "the new Ghandi."
Insofar as Ghandi was a man of peace and the Antichrist will also present himself as a philanthropic passivist, Earl was right. What he didn't say was that after the Ghandi-phase comes the No More Mr Nice Guy-annihilation!
But never mind. At least my irrefutable outing of Tiger should, as Sir Isaac Newton declared in 1704, "put a stop to the rash conjectures of fanciful men who are frequently predicting the time of the end, and by doing so bring the sacred prophecies into discredit as often as their predictions fall." It hardly matters that the great physicist wrote these words after reading the Book of Daniel and confidently predicting himself that the world would end in 2060. Decent guess, Sir Zac, but it'll all be well and truly over by then.
Yes, the Golfing Ghandi slouches towards Carnoustie as I write, an adoring world egging him on to a third consecutive British Open victory. The record books fall apart! Corporate sponsorship cannot hold!
Clearly, time is short. Since the Antichrist mimics Christ, I expect Tiger to fulfil his destiny in two years time, at the age of 33. Nor will his marriage and the recent birth of his first child, Sam Alexis, stand in the way. "I don't think marriage changed him,'' said his old coach Rudy Duran. "One of Tiger's gifts is that he can compartmentalize. He'll be able to compartmentalize parenting, personal life and golf." And fit in his three-and-a-half year reign of terror between tournaments!
To prepare yourself to withstand this coming onslaught, you will need a copy of my forthcoming lucrative best-seller: Tiger's Code, in which I sensationally enlist The Bible Code's Michael Drosnin and eminent biologist Francis Crick to analyse Tiger's DNA: to find out which planet he's from and how to rocket him back there at high velocity, for the sake of mankind and, above all, the mental and emotional health of professional golfers everywhere.
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