Let’s see. Woods went and married Elin Nordegren. They were the ritzy-glizty talk of the town. That wasn’t enough, though. He had to go and cheat on his wife with about a dozen women who — all of ‘em need to run around in the shower to get wet — looked just like her. As does this new chick, Lindsey Vonn.
What in the name of what makes sense is with this guy? Doesn’t his mansion have any mirrors in it? Or does he wake up every morning, rush to one them and hope that today is the day his fairy godmother has tapped him on the head during the night and he woke up Brad Pitt, Leonardo Di Caprio or some other blue-eyed beach boy? After all, in choosing a soul mate, we do, to some extent, pick someone in whom we see ourselves reflected.
Of course, those as wrapped up in the denial of self-loathing as he is go looking for someone they wish like hell reflected what they saw in themselves. There is, accordingly, no amount of common sense anyone can offer that will get through to him the painful truth that no matter how tightly he holds Linsdey Vonn all night long, not so much as a spec of her skin is going to rub off and stick to his.
Well, not enough, anyway to cover the fact that — Yo, Tiger, one fourth Indian, two fourth Cantonese, three fifths Martian, hate to break it to you, but, you Black homeboy.
With his insatiable obsession for built-like-a-coat-rack blondes, Woods would, of course, feel right at home here in the Twin Cities where you can hardly swing a dead cat without hitting some Black man walking around with a White woman — some of whom you’d be lucky if the worst that could be said about her is that she’s skinny as a stick.
Must be something in the water, but you can go around Minneapolis and St. Paul and find Black man after Black man with a White woman, whether starvation-scrawny or fat and homely, that most White men wouldn’t be seen with on a bet.
I have, swear to God, had sistahs tell me with a straight face that they have out-of-state relatives — cousins, brothers, what have you — who’s asked, ”If I come there can you fix me up with a White woman?”
If you think I’m picking on folk unfairly, I’ve got some 2400 witness who will corroborate that when Chris Rock came to the Historic Orpheum Theatre several years ago, he walked straight to the microphone, didn’t say so much as ”Hi, how y’all doin’?” or ”Good evening, everybody.” The very first words out his mouth were, ”Does every brother in Minnesota have a White woman?” I rest my case.
Though, of course, there are some mean and evil Black women — some of whom, from the venomous rage on their scowling faces as they leaped to their feet in a standing ovation for Rock — would make any other color woman look good. They are principal proponents of the I-Don’t-Need-No-Man school of thought, which, of course, is exactly why they don’t have one.
And, it goes without saying, a lot of personally and physically attractive Black women around here drink from same well as Black men — preferring a White man. So, yeah, it can be tough in the Cities for a Black man to hook up with a Black woman, but, well, the plain fact is, more than a few manage to figure that one out.
Something else. Haven’t you noticed that whatever’s in the water, Black people ain’t the only people of color drinking it? You could call the Twin Cities a so to speak mecca for interracial relationships, except there’s not much inter-race about it. You rarely see, oh, Mexican and Hmong or Native American and Korean. But there is sure is a whole lot of White and everything thing else under the sun.
A whole bunch of folk of color bolstering their self-esteem with White bedmates and White folk shopping around for ethnic exotica. No, not that each and every pairing can be thusly described and dismissed. But, come on. You can’t tell me all this many something-and-White couples is by coincidence.
Anyway, back to getting on Tiger Woods’ case. The guy is pathetic, a blueprint role model for young Black — yes, Tiger, Black — men who aspire to grow up, be successful and have, as the ultimate testament to their triumph in life, a female with fish-belly skin, string hair and a pair of them funny-colored eyes. And you can bet good money he will claim, ”I’m not with Lindsey because she’s White. We just happen to be in love.”
Yeah, right. And pigs have wings. Love may well be colorblind, but one thing for sure, Tiger Woods is not.
Dwight Hobbes welcomes reader responses to P.O. Box 50357, Mpls., 55403.