It might unnerve you, to say the least.


In anticipation of Woods' return to golf following his knee surgery hiatus, Esquire commissioned four of its top contributors to weigh in on what Tiger's domination of the sport means to them.
Shockingly, their respective essays ranged from disrespectful to spiteful to overtly insulting. The sense you could get after reading them collectively is that Tiger's a self-absorbed prick destined to die alone and unloved with his fortune and records.
In one wordy, derisive sentence, Tom Chiarella states that Woods will likely wind up, "like that old PGA guard - dried-up, irrelavant dicks..."
Scott Raab follows that up by typifying Woods as being "another cruel, lonesome bastard", "one crabby son of a bitch" and "so at ease with being hated".
Wasting no time in his essay, Chris Jones writes, "the thought of his Chiclets reflected in another shining trophy makes me want to punch a hole in the moon".
In the final (one-sided) volley of words, Charles P. Pierce pulls the proverbial punch: he abstains from attacking Woods directly, but compares his late, doting father Earl to a con man who foisted "unmitigated rot" on the media about his son's unlimited potential.
In all, it's surprisingly harsh reading. Woods' fans and detractors alike should wonder about the motives for these screeds.