“See here, Silliman, the Tiger meltdown has even affected his impersonators!” former neighbor Lyle lays an AP story on me about how the guys making a few bucks as Tiger look-alikes are suffering. “Guys who call themselves Tiger Woo and Tiger 2 can’t buy a job. Nobody’s even asking for autographs. They used to show up at ribbon cuttings, now they get booed.” Lyle then went on the internet and showed me all the websites touting Tiger impersonators.
    “I didn’t realize it was such a big industry,” I said.
    “Hey, it’s not hard,” says Lyle. “Just get yourself a Nike hat, a red shirt, have nice teeth and be either Black or Asian… and you’re there.”
    “Don’t you have to have a good golf swing… or some muscles… or that steely determined look in your eye?”
    “It didn’t stop people from impersonating Elvis,” shouts Lyle. “In 1977 there were 28 Elvis impersonators. Now, at last count, there are 78,000.  And Elvis was white!”
    “What? And, oh nooo,” I’m imagining. Lyle is going to claim Elvis was hard to look alike whereby Tiger being part Asian and part African American… I’m not even going to go there.  Not even when I know Lyle generalizes a great deal.
    “Here’s what I’m thinking, Silliman,” Lyle starts off. I should have stopped him when he mentioned the word ‘thinking’ but I didn’t. “I’ve looked at these websites and some of these guys resemble Tiger really close. One of them even lives in Windemere, Tiger’s home town. But they all have little flaws; one’s shorter; one wider in the face. Y’know, little things.  But what if there was a double out there that would fool Tiger’s mom?”
    “What if there were?” I bite.
    “This guy might not be in it for the car dealership openings and the local commercials. He might not even care about the money. He might…” Lyle whispers, “be double-dealing on his double deal. He might be in it for the glory and the gals.”
     “What are trying to say?”
    “Well, you know how we all couldn’t figure out how Tiger could keep such a busy schedule and then have nineteen mistresses on the side? Maybe it’s an exaggeration. Maybe Tiger only had eight mistresses… or nine, and Mr. Tiger 7 or Mr. Tiger 22 collected a group but the mistresses don’t know it’s the wrong guy and the real Tiger lost count.”
    “So you’re saying when Tiger had a press conference and admitted to a big number he might have lost track or had been lying, also?”
    “Yes, I’m saying he probably didn’t keep track and then he rethought his position and decided that if he sticks with eight mistresses, he’s having affairs… but if the number balloons to nineteen… it’s sex addiction!”

    “Oh, now I get it,” I say. “Tiger realizes someone is impersonating him to get dames, but goes along so to bolster his sex addiction case. That’s insidious. For that to work the doppelganger has to talk like Tiger, get a cell phone in his name. Gee, even for you, Lyle, that’s ridiculous. Imaginative but still…”
    “Did I tell you there are female Elvis impersonators? Even a Mexican named El Vez!”