“Bouncing is what Tiggers do best.” (A.A. Milne)
Ah, and Tiger Woods is bouncing right now. Bouncing in a slightly different way from when he bounced from his mistress(es?) bed to wife’s, but bouncing nevertheless.
Bouncing is what tiggers do — that’s all they know how to do. Because a real tiger knows when he’s got steak at home versus hamburger from the fast food joint down the street (a la Paul Newman) and apparently Tiger Woods is really just a Tigger after all — all bounce and no bite. 
Because, ergo, it takes bite, not to mention balls, to not f*ck around. That’s the easiest trick in the world, cheating. C’mon, it’s so passe as to be, um, passe. Show me a man who can keep it in his pants — not because he has to, but because he wants to — and I’ll show you a real tiger in bed. Non-cheaters, and yes, I think I’ve known at least one in my life, are better in bed because they know how to partner for the long haul, not for the tigger-conundrum of “Oh, I like everything I see and everything I taste!”
That’s what happens when you have no character. Everything looks good when you haven’t an ounce of discrimination in your bones. You go from tiger to tigger in the folding back of the bedsheets.
You bounce, and you tippety-toe through likes and dislikes and fancies and non-fancies, and the wives you wed but no longer want to bed and the women you wouldn’t consider marrying but don’t mind bedding.
But let me say this: I could give a rat’s arse about Tigger’s alleged infidelities. It’s all in a nation’s work, that, and we’re a nation of cheaters — whether actual fornication occurs or not, very few are loyal — to our wives, to our jobs, to our collective “values”, to the people who elect us to high office, to our communities, to say nothing of our disloyalty to our own selves. Day in and day out. We deceive ourselves into believing something about ourselves that our actions say, blaringly loud, is categorically untrue.
Here’s the only person I feel sorry for in this case: The Woods baby. That kid will grow up thinking “Sheesh, my Dad couldn’t even wait for me to be out of the womb before he hit it with someone not my mother.” Well, he or she will have plenty of money for therapy visits, at least.
And a word of advice to Tigger’s wife, though I know she won’t take it: Leave him, sweetie. Leave him and never look back and don’t take a dime. Take the kid and work at Mickey D’s if you have to. The schmuck’s not worth the two seconds it would take to cash his check.