I now have something in common with the great Tiger Woods. No, I'm not a great golfer. In fact, there are putt-putt courses that I still curse (I'm not good with clubs). No, the similarity is that Tiger and I both have had collisions with fire hydrants. Now, there are a few differences, namely:
- Tiger was at his home in Florida when his accident occurred. I was visiting my home-away-from-home (Vegas) when my incident took place.
- Tiger ran over the hydrant with an Escalade. I don't own an Escalade. In fact, I didn't hit the hydrant with my car at all. It jumped out of the sidewalk in front of the Flamingo and gashed my knee. That's right, I said it was the fire hydrant's fault.
- Tiger was reportedly sober. I was reportedly searching for a place to have lunch after consuming a few rum and cokes. Now, I know what you're thinking - "rum and coke is not a breakfast food." True, but I was not drinking them for breakfast. Technically. I was drinking them at 11am West coast time, translated as 2pm East coast time, which is where I live. So it was more like brunch.
- The minute Tiger smashed into the fire hydrant, every tabloid this side of California was all abuzz. But when I skinned my knee? Nobody knew about it - until now. You see, although it happened about 3 years ago, it still leaves a scar. No, not literally. My knee is fine. But emotionally, I am fragile. I fear that fire hydrants everywhere are popping up with their sharp edges and knobs. Sure, they're bright red and yellow and stand out in a crowd. Sure, they save lives when called upon to put out fires. Wait, where was I going with this?
Viva,
Mike
