No sex please….I’m Tiger

No sex please….I’m Tiger

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Judging by the strenuous denials from the upmarket Bishopscourt clinic that is supposedly curing Tiger Woods of sex addiction I think we can safely assume that he is a patient there. Strenuous denials and no comments are as good as a “yes, he was here a moment ago, I’ll go and find him” to a tabloid journalist. Of course, the clinic staff may just be extremely clever and reluctant to pay for advertising. It could have been the staff that alerted the media to a Tiger spotting in Cape Town. Since he hasn’t been seen anywhere else in the world it’s as likely that he is in Bishopscourt as anywhere else. And if you’re going to be treated for sex addiction at a reputed R75000 a day then Cape Town is as good a place as any to test whether it’s working or not. Let’s face it, you’re not going to set up a sex addiction clinic in Pofadder because there is very little to get lustful about in Pofadder. I’ve been there three times now and kerb crawled through the dusty streets just to see if there are any sexual temptations to report back on. A woman offered me dates but that was about as auto-erotic as things got.

Anyway, let’s for the purpose of this column assume that Tiger is in the Bishopscourt clinic and has already sat in the semi circle of fellow sufferers and intoned, “Hi everybody, I’m Tiger and I’m a sex addict.” “Hi Tiger”. Tiger isn’t a particularly common name in Cape Town and it’s likely that fellow patients either thought he was bragging or was a famous golfer of the same name. So, cell phones being what they are, it’s hardly surprising that somebody tipped off the local newspaper office. At R75000 a day I would have attempted to sell the story to the highest bidder and even offered to secretly photograph his treatment sessions.

Speaking of which, what exactly does happen when you’re being treated for sex addiction? If it’s anything like drugs and alcohol it’s gradual deprivation and then cold turkey. You take a full bottle of Johnnie Black into re-hab and then work your way down to a half bottle and then a miniature. You have to wean yourself right off the juice under strict medical supervision and with the aid of expensive therapy. It’s probably the same with sexual addiction; three Ukrainian lap dancers the first week, two the next, one the third week and nothing but a copy of the Government Gazette and a box of Kleenex extra strength the fourth week. Then it’s off to Clifton 4 to see if it’s worked. The slight sign of dribble at the side of the mouth or unusually heavy breathing as you step over the bikinied lovelies from UCT and it’s back to solitary confinement in Bishopscourt.

No I don’t think so. It’s all a lot of cobblers isn’t it? Claiming to need treatment for sexual addiction is just a ruse to keep Mrs Woods’s eventual settlement below half a billion dollars. Drug addiction and alcoholism I can understand because there are a host of other factors that can push people towards drugs and booze, the chief of which is having too much disposable income. But claiming sex addiction is just bragging that your natural inclination to reproduce has been more successful than a guy with a 24 handicap and less than a billion dollars in the bank. And as with alcohol and drugs you’ve got to want to be cured. So who in their right mind would pay to be cured of sex addiction?

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