The sun will rise as scheduled. The moon, too, will behave.
The rivers will flow seaward. Spendthrifts will decline to save.
A million other certainties will offer no surprise,
For golf is as it should be now, all thanks to Tiger’s rise.
Or re-rise, for he fell, of course, as everybody knows.
He gave into temptation, and on lots of TV shows
He was the butt of joking, and he lost his family, too,
By doing things a married man with morals shouldn’t do.
He did these things a lot of times with lots of different folks,
And thereby earned, I guess, the snickers and the nasty jokes…
For who among the multitudes that gazed up at the goods
That Tiger had piled up could help but mock a chopped-down Woods?
There was writer named Fitzgerald who announced one day,
That in our land there are no second acts, but who can say
That Tiger Woods has failed to bring the curtain up again
On him as Number One? He is once more what he was then.
At Nike, where they make commercials, everybody musta
Prepared some time ago that ad to run before Augusta:
It’s winning that takes care of everything the ad proclaims:
A credo that cannot be paired with all that many names.
But Nike’s selling shoes, folks, keep the context in your head.
The motive here is profit or they’d make them here instead
Of making them in countries where a year of labor brings
A millionth of what Tiger takes home every time he swings.
And now, he’s Number One again, come back to get him some
Of what he seemed ordained to get before he was a bum,
All that we thought he would achieve before he shanked his life,
And said so long to both his kids and goodbye to his wife.
A good man’s hard to find, they say, and I suppose that’s true,
No matter what a man should choose each working day to do.
But credit where it’s due, I guess, when all is said and done.
For what it’s worth on scorecards, Tiger Woods is Number One.