Tiger: On the game

Memo to the Las Vegas Convention & Visitors Authority:

Boys, it’s time to re-retire that “What happens here …” slogan because it is so yesterday. Sure, there was an era when a man of privilege might come to Las Vegas to unleash his inner Don Draper, especially when it came to having carnal knowledge of women other than the one to whom he’s married.

But with all the prominent Vegas wankers that have been caught playing ‘hide the salami’ of late, perhaps it’s time for a slogan that more accurately represents the state of, um, affairs. Like, ‘What happens here will put your ass in a nationwide sling.’ (Or maybe, “There’s nothing wrong with that.”)

First it was a certain golfer (and occasional U.S. senator) who got his dad — casino baron Mike Ensign — embroiled in a pay-for-poontang brouhaha that was recently named the fifth-biggest scandal of the year. (We expected a better ranking but John Ensign always was kind of an underachiever.)

Now along comes another noted figure on the links, Tiger Woods, who’s sinking in a bunker of quicksand. Mr. Woods’ adventures in infidelity are starting to bring wider attention to an inconvenient Vegas truth: That casino hosts and nightclub hostesses have no difficulty or compunction about supplying their clients with a string of women of easy virtue.

This is scarcely a news flash around here. Heck, S&G‘s heard tell about high rollers getting blown on the casino floor (bringing a new meaning to the poker term “suck out”) and of prostitutes being allowed to peddle their wares in Strip casino bars, so long as security’s palm is greased. Heck, in the seamiest, sordid-est, most Columbia Sussexed days of the Tropicana Las Vegas, private investigators described encountering security personnel who were acting as the working girls’ protectors. The Nevada Gaming Control Board, per ancient custom, found nothing untoward in this.

Tiger Woods, obviously, doesn’t have to avail himself of the garden variety Vegas hooker. Besides, these women have standards. As one VIP host says, in praise of Rachel Uchitel: “She’s not a fucking floozy or nothing. She’s a real event planner. She’s not just some girl that lifts up the velvet rope and sucks guy’s dicks. She’s the kind of girl that when you talk to her, you know, she’s all business. She’s beautiful, she’s smart and her agenda is to land big clients — not big boyfriends.”

Very reassuring. I’m sure Mrs. Woods feels much better knowing that. And remember ladies: Don’t sleep with the “whales,” or your promising career in “event planning” will be — how shall we say? — screwed.