Thank you, friends, for coming here, <br />and sitting quietly, <br />While I read the sixteenth draft <br />of my apology. <br /> <br />I’m sorry that I hurt my Mom, <br />my fellow pros on tour, <br />my charitable foundation too, <br />by thoughts and deeds impure. <br /> <br />I’m sorry that I let you down. <br />These last three months were tough <br />I’ve entered into therapy <br />to curb my taste for muff. <br /> <br />It’s truly my entire fault. <br />There’s no one else to blame. <br /> Not one of those platoon of Ho’s <br />Who’ve cashed in on my name <br /> <br />I cannot blame my lovely wife- <br />Did you notice she’s not here.- <br />She had to get the kids at school <br />While dressed in Nike gear. <br /> <br />There’s been no domestic violence. <br />Let me make that quite clear <br />There’s been no domestic anything <br />since Turkey day last year. <br /> <br />I’m sad my Caddy’s unemployed <br />And can’t help shoulder Blame. <br />I’m sorry for the sponsorships <br />I’ve watched go down the drain <br /> <br />My therapist is curing me <br />of my mad lust for strange. <br />My favorite hole is on the course <br />My home is on the range <br /> <br />I will return to golf one day <br />and play a round, I’m sure, <br />I’ll tee it up with Ernie Els <br />once I’m back on the tour.<br /><br />John F. McCullagh<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tiger-s-apology/
