Entertainment

Why Tiger won’t talk

It’s a sad day when professional talkers who would sooner become serial murderers than give up on the biggest “get” of the decade are turning in their mics and giving up the fight.

“No” is the tragic word coming from know-it-alls connected to Oprah, Barbara, Diane and Matt about their chances of getting the Tiger to talk on TV about having sex with more women than Wilt the big Stilt (who claimed 10,000 conquests) and Charlie Sheen (5,000 women) combined.

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As far as I can see, then, the only difference between Tiger and those other alley cats is how Woods is handling it. The other guys didn’t hide the affairs, they boasted about them whenever they could get airtime.

Word coming back from Team Tiger is that he’s not going to talk about the scandal — because there would be way too much to explain.

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Mark Sanford had just one girlfriend. Eliot Spitzer never texted his love partners from the road. As far as we know.

In Tiger’s case, he’d have to talk about — what? — 12 girls before he could get to the all-important mea culpa. It would take — not a TV show — but a whole cable channel to get it out, say the handlers. The Tiger tale has gotten too long for TV.

But they’re wrong. I keep asking myself how it is possible that the first billionaire in sports doesn’t know the most important rule of big money celebrity: Always get ahead of the scandal by running to the most sympathetic TV host he can find.

How is that the TV talkers have all thrown in the towel without a fight because Tiger is famous for not giving interviews?

Tiger, honey, listen to me: You should run immediately into the waiting arms of Oprah and jump on the couch with shame. Or to Barbara, and say if you were a tree you’d be a weeping willow. Or even to Diane, where you’d hit softballs instead of golf balls.

Don’t do Katie (oops, bad choice of words). She might ask you about affairs and you might start talking about women named Svetlana.

Anyway, may I suggest that on this very special special you should dress in red golf pants embroidered with whales and a sweater vest to kill off any thoughts that you ever had sex — even though you’ve been living larger than Caligula.

And make a deal before you start: all upsetting questions that involve, say, a calculator are forbidden. Before the reporter confronts you, look directly into the camera in your best little boy face and say with great sincerity:

“You see, I spent my entire youth playing golf, competing in tournaments, and being encouraged — some might even say forced — to become the best I could be. There was never any time for socializing or being a regular kid.

“And before I could handle it, came fame, money, and, yes, women. I was like a kid in a candy store. A kid with diabetes, as it turned out.”

Dramatic pause, tear up, continue: “I’ve sullied the things I love most in life: My family and the game.”

Are you kidding me? You could get an endorsement deal from the Vatican after that.

And it sure beats hiding out with an enraged wife and her mother in a house with a thousand golf clubs lying around.