The papers are awash today with photos of "the world's number one" (w***e monger?) making his first trip to Europe since the (w***e mongering) scandal, to grace JP McManus's Pro-Am tournament in Limerick.
There's pictures of him being applauded uproariously by two ban gardai (one of which seized the chance to squeeze his bicep), famous faces (including that of Samuel L. Jackson, Hugh Grant, Michael Flatley, Eamon Dunphy, and [I'm beginning to notice a theme here] Michael Douglas), legions of "beaming fans", and beyond excitable pre-pubescent boys, as he took a "six hour walk through adoration."
There are also pictures of him signing his only autograph of the day, after a six-year-old girl called Ava managed to breach security (they're starting young) after being coached by her dad, Colin. When interviewed by The Irish Sun, "proud" Colin said: "I told her 'that's him over there, run like hell, smile politely and say 'thank you'."
In fact, the only negative headline today comes from the paper that always likes to have a wildly differing front page, The Irish Daily Mail. They've gone with 'Armed Guard for a Cheat', along with the sub header: "Golf courses aren't renowned for riots... so why on earth has a philandering golfer been assigned give gardai - one of them armed - to protect him?"
And as for the article on page seven, well, they've gone with: "It's depressing that Tiger Woods - whose infidelity cause his wife so much pain - is lionised by crowds at a golf tournament but it truly beggeras belief when two on duty female gardai treat him like a hero."
Yeah, but that's not really surprising though, is it? The Guards love their brush with fame as much as the next randomer. Sad, but true. Although, one could argue they were just delirious from finding themselves in the presence of Pringle golfing jumpers that weren't adorning the surging amount of slumped bodies strewn around Talbot Street...
Nope, it's the dad instructing his six-year-old daughter to ambush someone who reportedly gets kicks from verbally abusing and mock throttling strippers/waitresses/hostesses/'party girls', which I find most unsettling (although maybe I'm just easily traumatised by such interactions; my mum made me kiss Charlie Haughy when I was 4. Still haven't forgiven her).
The man's famous for poking a ball into a hole, and a sordid variant on that theme. What is wrong with us?