Tiger's tale too tawdry ... to turn away from

Hate Mail: Time flies

The sex life of Tiger Woods matters to me.

There. I said it. And you can believe it, because it's true. This isn't reverse psychology or sarcasm or anything else. This is an admission: I'm fascinated by Tiger Woods' sex life.

Nobody else would write that, because it's not the proper thing to say. The proper thing to say, and I've seen it written all over the Internet -- here's one example, and here's another, and I like both guys very much -- is I don't care if Tiger Woods has been cheating on his wife. Not my business. Doesn't interest me.

You can't ignore this story -- even if you want to. (Getty Images)

Part of that sentiment applies to me as well. Not my business? Well, duh. Of course it isn't. Apparently, Tiger Woods has been having sex outside of his marriage. Definitely, it's not my business. But if it's raining illicit information, what the hell. I'm going outside without an umbrella. Gonna get absolutely soaking wet.

This stuff is fascinating, and to pretend otherwise is dishonest. Reality television is all the rage, and there's a reason -- down deep, we're voyeurs. Most of us, anyway. We love to peek into another person's life, preferably all the way into their bedroom. Sex sells.

Sex involving Tiger Woods sells huge -- and I'm buying. Not because I'm gay (not that there's anything, you know, wrong with that). But because I'm human. And because he's Tiger Woods.

So don't tell me to move along, that there's nothing to see here. Nothing to see? Lord, I hope that's wrong. I hope there's plenty to see. I want pictures, and I'd prefer video. Already I've heard the audio of Tiger calling one of his alleged mistresses, asking her to "take your name off your phone ... just have it as a number on the voice mail." Why? Because Tiger's wife apparently found his phone, and she found the other woman's number, and she might be calling. And she's pissed.

And that's not supposed to interest me?

Again, this isn't about my right to know, because that doesn't exist. I had no right to hear that voice mail. Three different times. Neither do you. So don't click this link.

Likewise, I have no right to know the names Rachel Uchitel, Jaimee Grubbs (on left) or Kalika Moquin, at least not in the context of "women who might have been sleeping with Tiger Woods." It's not my business. It's not any of our business.

But I'm not turning that information down -- and this is not a free pass to paparazzi, either. Those leeches deserve a place in hell, but they're not setting the tone on this story. The women in question are. They're leaking info all over the place, including that voice mail I listened to four times, as of now.

If a woman is offering her name as a member of Tiger's harem, I want to know it. If there's a story, I'm reading. If there are pictures, I'm looking. Show me the link, and get out of my way. This is Tiger Woods, people. Probably the most famous athlete in the world. I'm supposed to be interested in his club selection from 176 yards out ... but not in his voracious sexual appetite? Please.

For the nearly two decades that he has been a superstar, Tiger Woods has been beyond my comprehension. Literally, I cannot comprehend his golf skill, his wealth, his poise, his competitiveness, even his 28-inch waist. I don't have any of those things. I can't relate. And after a while, it starts to get old. Tiger won another tournament? That's great. Really. I love how good he is. But it's not exactly interesting, because it's old news. I've heard it before.

But this is new material here. Tiger Woods, who is private and polished and unflappable, has been sending racy text messages and e-mails to beautiful women all over the place, and I'm sure I've never heard that before. So I'm interested. Plus I can relate. I don't comprehend a 7-iron to the pin 210 yards away, but I comprehend this. So like I said -- I'm interested.

I'm interested in a lot of things. How does someone as smart as Tiger Woods send such damaging texts and e-mails to these women? But if he does send that stuff, what does this fiercely private man say when his guard is down? And who does he say it to? And was his wife chasing him out of their driveway, smashing out the rear window of his car as he drove away, because she found that woman's phone number?

And what was Elin Nordegren's club selection?

On second thought, you know what, never mind. Not only is this stuff not my business, but it's not even all that interesting. If I'm going to read about a golfer, I'll read about that fascinating Ernie Els character.

If you were looking for sarcasm in this story, that was it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got things to do. Maybe another woman has come forward. Maybe there's more gossip. More pictures. Maybe even some video. The prudes among you would tell me I don't have the right to know this stuff.

But you can't stop me from looking.