Tiger Woods is BACK. Back under the knife. A grand slam of back surgeries, now his FOURTH since September of 2014. That’s four for you! Four for you!

And about the only positive I can take from this is that at least The Cat tried out a new doctor.

Because whatever the last guy was doing wasn’t working. I mean, four back surgeries, in pretty much the same spot?! Seriously, who’s cutting this guy? A chiropractor working out of a kiosk at the mall?

And of course, as only Eldrick can do, he released the news on his own website, announcing that his “minimally invasive Anterior Lumbar Interbody Fusion surgery” — usually comes with a six month recovery, though every procedure and case is unique.

The Cat is talking the same tired game, releasing  that same tired statement with the same tired nonsense about how it’s a relatively benign procedure that he’ll be back to tearing it up before you know it: “The surgery went well, and I’m optimistic this will relieve my back spasms and pain. When healed, I look forward to getting back to a normal life, playing with my kids, competing in professional golf and living without the pain I have been battling so long.”

The Cat died a long time ago. And despite being done, dead and toast, he still refuses to quit. Normally, Not Dead, Can’t Quit is a good thing. But this guy is dead. And he really needs to quit. And someone is obviously going to have run a stake through him because he won’t quit on his own.

Just look at this dude’s medical chart. My man Evel Knieval said he broke every bone his body.  And the Cat is more jacked up physically than Evel was on his worst day.  Four back surgeries since 2014, to go along with a shredded left knee that has been opened up nearly a half dozen times. And an Achilles tendon that exploded.  Is this guy a 41 year old GOLFER, a 78-year retired offensive lineman for the Steelers?!

Just own what you are, and be what you are. Toast. Write a book, design a course or two; do whatever the hell you want. Just stop like acting like you’re a tour pro who would never play unless he knew he had a chance to win. It is what it is. And you are what you are. A washed up legend, with a spaghetti spine, doing whatever he can to feed the beast.

R-I-P C-A-T.


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