Tiger Woods is struggling with his game, and everybody--we mean
everybody--wants to help. Last week an anonymous hacker contacted
SI claiming to have penetrated Tiger's laptop, and he forwarded
to us the following e-mails, purportedly from Woods's helpful
email@example.com You know the deal, son: If you're not going
to win majors, I have to ground you. You can keep the car until
the U.S. Open, but if you don't win at Shinnecock, I'm afraid
I'll have no choice. And would it hurt you to call every now and
firstname.lastname@example.org I wanted to explain why I called Phil
Mickelson to congratulate him for winning the Masters and didn't
call you after your victory last year. I'm sure you know enough
about politics, being a Stanford man and all, that you'll
understand. It's an election year. Simple as that. Warmest
regards from Laura, the girls, Barney and me.
email@example.com Sorry to see you stall just when you were
almost halfway (eight majors) to my record. When I got into a
slump--and it happens to all of us--I would go see Jack Grout,
my old coach. If you have somebody like that, go see him for a
checkup. If that doesn't help, the problem is probably your
equipment. I could set you up with Nicklaus irons, and there'd be
some big money in it--how does $10,000 a year grab you?
April 25, 2004
firstname.lastname@example.org Put away the sticks, dude, and come
snowboard with me. The powder is bitchin'.
email@example.com All of us here in Ponte Vedra Beach were
rooting for you at the Masters. Especially since negotiations for
our next TV contract are coming up, and with you on the ropes, so
to speak, our ratings are falling faster than Jason Giambi's
weight did. I certainly wouldn't want to put any pressure on you,
big guy, but you're the franchise, and if you stop winning
majors, we can kiss those $5 million purses goodbye. Look, I've
got Butch's number, Leadbetter's, Flick's--even Johnny Miller's
if you're desperate. Anything you need, let me know, old buddy.
We're here to help.
firstname.lastname@example.org You definitely should take time off
to regroup. You've been pushing yourself too hard. Take a break
and come back refreshed--in 2009.
email@example.com Don't worry about the Masters, T-Dub. We've
all had our lemons (just a mention of the Reatta gives me the
shakes). I'm no Butch Harmon, but if the club is getting stuck
behind you, don't put it there. You say you're close, so relax,
there's plenty of time to gear up for the last three majors--the
Buick Classic, the Buick Open and the Buick Championship. You da
firstname.lastname@example.org Finishing second in a major is never fun, but
finishing second to you when you were Tiger-slamming us was more
like an honor. Now I have no excuses. Get well soon, bro.
email@example.com Thanks for your support. I wanted to clear
the air about my previous e-mail, in which I may have
inadvertently mentioned your winning the Masters last year. Of
course, Mike Weir actually won last year's Masters, but I'll
never forget watching you, with a tear in my eye, help him don
the blue jacket. That was special. BTW, my dad asks that you pick
up your pace of play.
firstname.lastname@example.org I'm available anytime and can have
you swinging like Adam Scott before you know it.
email@example.com Maybe it's your caddie. Just a thought.
firstname.lastname@example.org We must not waver, which reminds me of my
last e-mail. Condoleezza Rice was responsible for the wording.
We--she--may have mentioned how you helped Mike Weir "don the
blue jacket." Of course, she meant to say the green jacket, and
I'm sure you'll win it back again. Anyway, I enjoyed watching you
play among the azaleas at Augusta and, like every American, was
awed by the unmatched beauty of Maine in the springtime.