Ah, a mystery starring Tiger Woods. A case for the eminent Belgian detective? We may need Hercule Poirot before the air is cleared in Windermere, FL, the Woods’ residence until Tiger’s new estate is completed in Jupiter.

It’s 2:25 in the morning. The hour for serious slumber, but what do we have here? Tiger Woods exiting his driveway in a Cadillac Escalade. The car strikes a fireplug, then a tree (in a neighbor’s yard) and the rest is fogged over. In fact, nothing is verified yet, the mystery heightened by the fact that more than 12 hours pass before it was reported by the local police. And all of us know that a celebrity such as Woods can hardly develop a cold before it’s a headliner.

Now, first of all, where was Tiger going at 2:25 in the morning? Some kind of emergency? One of the children ill? Couldn’t have been Mrs.Woods. She reported she came out with a 9-iron in hand—in any golf story the club must be identified—and she reports that she used the 9-iron to break a back window in the SUV to help her husband free himself.

Then we read that he “is in and out of consciousness” as he lay on the ground. Much of this was reported, it is said, by Glenn Greenspan, identified as “Woods’ spokesman.” Glenn is a straight arrow, a friend of many years, chief press officer at Augusta National when Tiger hired him to conduct his public relations affairs. Poor Glenn now has a hot potato in his hands.

Rumors will fly. Dissension in the Woods household at this early stage of their marriage? Just on the fringes of Tiger’s 34th birthday? With one of his “silly season” tournaments coming up in California?

Some of us writers have wondered how Tiger might be able to blend being a husband, a father, a demanding professional career, and all the other travails that accompany such an amalgamation. This, however, is somewhat beyond whatever we might have imagined. Stand by for further developments.

This is a little story that has been lingering on my mind for so many years it has a beard by now. It was dredged up by my pastor Sunday morning when his sermon was titled “Thank You—Thank You Very Much,” straight out of Elvis Presley’s entertainment dialogue.

Back when, Early Maxwell was the king of the entertainment world in Memphis. Top of the heap. Any star who chose to bring his (or her) show to Memphis went through Early Maxwell. Tall, bald, humorous, and a good guy and as far as I know, honest as a banker—most bankers.

This is his story, told direct to me, among others, one night during the Masters in Augusta. As Early tells it, he was sitting in his office one day when a rather shy young fellow with bushy hair knocked on his door. Early invited him in and asked him what he could do for him. The kid had a guitar case with him, so Early had an idea what was on the kid’s mind. He was a musician, sang and played and was looking for someone to be his agent. Naturally, coming from around Memphis (via Tupelo, Miss.), he’d heard of Early Maxwell.

Early was busy. He had a big show coming to town, but he took the time to give the kid some advice.

“Look, I’m tied up. I don’t have time to take you on,” he said. “Tell you what. Why don’t you check with Colonel Parker, just down the hall. He’s not every busy. Maybe he can give you a hand.”

Elvis was crestfallen – said he’d do it, but he might be back. He never did return to Early’s office, though. Col. Tom Parker had a gold mine tossed into his lap. Early never cried a tear, although wasn’t too long after, Elvis became Memphis’ “top dog”. But Early still had his gig. Colonel Parker had Elvis, and all lived happily ever after. Well, all except Elvis, who died by his own undoing while still a young man. But that’s another story, and not one for today.