On Sunday, out in Thousand Oaks, a thousand trumpets blared.
If any other stuff transpired, prob’ly no one cared.
For Tiger Woods, the man about whom golfers long have dreamed,
Prevailed and won a tournament, and thus he was redeemed.
“Redeemed” may seem a bit extreme, but only to those clods
Who fail to see that sports is not just money, scores, and odds.
No, sports, if you’re a winner, is salvation without doubt.
You lose, and then you win again. It needn’t be a rout.
Our Tiger needed one last putt to drop out on 18…
And drop it did, and all that had been soiled was then washed clean.
You lose, and then you win again. You fall, and then you rise,
And those who have believed in you lift up their weary eyes
And praise your perseverance and their choirs sing your praise…
The choirs of the labels you endorsed in better days.
And once again you rise to claim the throne atop the heap
Of lesser fellows playing golf, and though the climb was steep,
That only makes redemption sweeter when it finally comes…
And hark! Those trumpets that I mentioned have been joined by drums.
It wasn’t quite the Open, was it? Nor was it the Masters…
No, just the Chevron Challenge, but it banished the disasters
That had piled up since Tiger crashed his car and lost his wife,
She having found that he’d been leading quite a different life
From what she – mother of his children – might have felt was right.
But all of that is in the past, for as of Sunday night,
Redemption has been Tiger’s, and the sport of golf, as well,
Ascends like helium balloons from that persistent hell
Where it had languished two long years while Tiger could not win…
Those days of darkness now have passed, and multitudes begin
To once again rejoice, for bad as all their prospects seemed,
The times are joyous once again, now Tiger is redeemed.