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In Defense of Tiger Woods

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Warning: This column was written by a man.

While it's virtually impossible to stay current with the jaw-dropping allegations in the evolving Tiger Woods sexual explosion, two things are clear: First, Tiger sorely needs some guidance in how to be a player. Secondly, Tiger needs to be defended because you can't have sex by yourself unless you're masturbating

Now that he's been accused of flirting and having mind-numbing sex with around 12,394 women (many of whom look virtually the same) when he wasn't vanquishing golfers, Tiger obviously has devoted more time to perfecting how to play under par than he has spent time playing the large field of women who throw their body and undivided attention his way and respond to his lame come-ons.

To be sure, my cell phone hasn't stopped ringing with calls from irate male friends, colleagues and acquaintances who are absolutely furious that there isn't a man on earth who can claim to have given Tiger at least a few playboy tips.

These men are besides themselves with anger that Tiger has committed a number of transgressions, as he labeled them in his public statement, by violating the basic, tested and proven protocols on how you juggle multiple women in your life -- especially when you've convinced them that they're the love of your life ... outside of your friggin' wife.

Actually, let's talk about the 12,394 women who are claiming that they've had affairs, sex, relationships and conversations with Tiger.

Jamie Jungers continues to claim that she honest to God didn't know that one of the most visible people on the face of the earth was married.

Really.

If there's a slither of truth to that, either Tiger is the embodiment of Michael Jackson's "Smooth Criminal" or Jamie is the epitome of a lying dingbat who could screw up a one-car funeral.

And all of the other Barbies who lay claim to seeing Tiger's putter in places other than the 5th hole at Augusta National, they too were hoodwinked, bamboozled and led astray about his marital status. Therefore, they should immediately return to their greeter job at Walmart.

But there isn't -- or shouldn't be -- a man alive who believes that Tiger is solely and exclusively responsible for his multiple affairs. His infidelity should not be condoned. Period. His wife, Elin, and his corporate sponsors and partners will make sure that he pays a literal and figurative price. So, too, will the attorneys who squeeze hush money out of his camp to keep shut the mouths of these 12,394 women.

But to conveniently forget that it takes two to tango is to also forget women have affairs, but typically for reasons different from those that motivate men, especially uber-successful, obnoxiously rich, meglamaniacal men who have the world at their fingertips.

He obviously was not happy at home. Did Elin deserve to have the female competition she didn't know she had? Of course not. But does Tiger deserve to be outed and raked over the coals by the very women who found the time and opportunity to be available at his every beck and call, and to do things to and with Tiger that his wife couldn't or wouldn't?

Ok, well, that depends on who you ask. And if you ask more than a few of the guys who've called me and sent scathing e-mails, the answer isn't some nuanced, parsed psychobabble designed to act as a red herring.

In other words, the truth will set you free -- when it's your version of the truth.
If Tiger had received some lessons from the Michael Jordans of the world, for example, in how you live the debaucherous life you think you've earned and that is readily available, no way, these men tell me, would he have identified himself AND used his own cell phone when he pathetically called Jungers to plead like a busted 5-year-old that she remove her name from voicemail recording.

Real players, like some of the men who've reached out to me, know that if you have Tiger's limitless resources, you use a disposable phone; you use your agent's phone or your caddy's phone or your publicist's phone; or you send your women a year's suppply of throw-away phones. YOU dictate when and where and how you meet. YOU call all of the shots because you're Tiger Woods, and she is not.

She's looking for fame by being associated with you. She's looking for money and a life that she could never access in her wildest dreams. She doesn't love you. She loves what you can do for her. Period.

Somebody please help me defend Tiger. He looks so pathetic right about now. Well, he would look pathetic if we could catch a glimpse of him.

Moreover, the real men of world are silently suffering as one of their idols has fallen on his gold-plated sword out of ignorance, inexperience and sheer ineptitude.

The joys of infidelity will never be the same. Damn you Tiger.

I warned you this column was written by a man.