Tiger is Back

Tiger tied the biggest comeback of his career
In the hole went the final putt
Guys wearing tiger masks in his gallery
Everyone watched through the waning light
Return to winning form

Improved career wins to 66
Sean O'Hair picked the wrong week to play well

Birdied to win just like last year
ACL is healthy
Champion at Bay Hill six times
Keeps his number one world ranking

John's Last Round of Golf

Four golfers playing a high stakes match are on the last hole.
John lips out a three foot putt to lose $1000, clutches his chest,
and drops dead on the green.

Nick looks around and asks, "Someone has to tell John's wife.
Who will it be?" They drop a tee, and it points to Phil. The
others tell him to be discreet, be gentle, and don't make a bad
situation any worse.

"Gentle? I'm the gentlest golfer you'll ever meet. I can stop
a flop shop on a dime. Leave it to me."

Phil goes over to John's house and knocks on the door. John's wife
answers the door and asks what he wants. Phil answers, "Your
husband just lost $1000 playing golf and is afraid to come home."
"Tell him to drop dead!", says John's wife.
"I'll go tell him." says Phil.

Golf Poem: Hickory Dickory Dock

Hickory dickory dock
My golf ball hit a rock
The clock struck three
The ball hit me
Hickory dickory dock

Hickory dickory dock
My group was on the clock
The clock struck five
I hit my drive
Hickory dickory dock

Top Ten Signs that Tiger Woods is Back

The swallows have returned to Capistrano.

The Treasury is printing the million dollar bill again.

Cats and dogs are sleeping together.

The Maytag repairman is lonely again.

That giant sucking sound is Nike shareholders letting out their breath.

Steve Williams goes back to being New Zealand's richest athlete.

The Hatfields and McCoys have declared peace.

Scrooge will start celebrating Christmas again.

Beauty queens can go back to wishing for world peace.

The top golf story will no longer be speculation about Tiger's return.

Golf Poem: The Tiger

Tiger, Tiger, burning bright
Who hits his drives out of sight,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
What hand weaved your swoosh attire,
Red Sunday shirts like a fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
Was your golfing fate complete?

What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare his deadly putting clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the hack make thee?

Tiger, Tiger, burning bright
Who hits his drives out of sight,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?