Let’s face it, there isn’t a woman in the world who can resist the scent of a wounded boy.  After a self-imposed absence from my life, Captain America finally secured a touch down this weekend hitting mind blowing golf shots the rest of us can only dream about.

Now before I go on, I ought to admit my part in the troubled Tiger’s downfall.  I won’t say it was my shining hour but … actually, who am I kidding.

I’m reminded of one of our daily editorial conferences when both the news and features head honchos fought for the editor’s attention over top billing in the newspaper with a stream of steamy Tiger kiss and tells. I let out a palpable sigh.  Just how far from the pack had Tiger strayed? Seriously, enough already!

I had spent the previous three weeks promoting and syndicating our exclusives kicking off with some subbing brilliance: “Tiger is a Lion Cheetah” and detailing tawdry tales of his sexual encounters with a range of envious cocktail waitresses, good time girls, home wreckers and mistresses.

How many times could I possibly get Sky News to run more News of the World footage of teary mascara smudged escorts in pleated crimson frocks detailing their pleasures and heartbreaks to a family audience?

As a fan of the great man, even I was finding this ongoing series of revelations a tad weary. And despite my Tiger and tabloid loyalties, these emerging encounters with the world’s golf number one were fast becoming tortuous reads and frankly proving tricky to keep up with.  Fortunately newspapers routinely updated their readers with birdie tree graphics and for the avoidance of doubt, course layouts charting his latest cocktail inspired conquests.

“You’re just jealous because you’re the only female he hasn’t tried to seduce in a downtown restaurant car park,” sniggered a smug-married lad from the picture desk sitting to my left.

“Are you frigging kidding me?” I fumed back.  “I would no more take a chilled Pinot from that man never mind a chipping lesson and god knows I could do with both.”  The editor turned and glared at us. An awkward silence fell upon the room.

“Anything you’d like to share with conference Barlow?” he snapped.

My great and worthy opponent looked down at his note pad sheepishly.  So be it, this was my big suffragette moment, a real career clincher for woman’s lib.  “I was just er, wondering whether we might film these delightful gals in HD?” I mumbled.  The doodling, shaking halfwit sniggered.

Tiger lost my respect with his quasi-orgasmic ego trip during his ‘profoundly sorry’ press conference.  His orchestrated, contrived and manipulated drivel fooled no one.

But announcing a leave of absence from golf was his ace card.  That really got punters pondering about a game without Tiger.  Unimaginable!  And true to his word, he vanished from our screens and from our lives.  And with that, the obnoxious, petulant, arrogant brute he had become.

But it wasn’t long before we called for his return.  We missed him, his genius, his determination and his nerve.  It was time for the Tiger to step up and he did. Now he’s back where he rightfully belongs, a titan of the golfing world with a newfound respect, humility and appreciation.

Finally his name is in lights once again, complete with his trademark smile and arms firmly clutched around the Chevron World Challenge trophy.

So glad I played my part.