Once upon a time in the manicured, cucumber-sandwich world of golf, a man named Tiger Woods swung more than just golf clubs. And when the truth about his extracurricular activities came crashing through the media like a poorly aimed tee shot at Augusta, the world gasped.
But not Buick.
No, Buick didn’t gasp. Buick calmly adjusted its tie, sipped its lukewarm corporate coffee, and said, “Get that man a new car.”
For context—when Tiger’s then-wife, Elin Nordegren, found out about his legendary cheating spree, she did what most human beings raised on common sense might do: She grabbed one of his trusty golf clubs and gave his car a makeover. The car, bless its metallic heart, was suddenly more “abstract art” than “luxury vehicle.”
Now, most sponsors in the morally upright, khaki-clad world of golf would have quietly packed their monogrammed bags and walked away. Because golf is not football. Golf is a sport where people whisper on TV and clap like they’re at a Jane Austen book reading.
But not Buick!
Buick saw the smashed windows, the front-page scandal, and the shattered image of America’s golf sweetheart and said, essentially:
“This man may have destroyed his family, embarrassed an entire sport, and turned every suburban dad’s role model into a walking PR disaster—but hear us out… What a tremendous opportunity to sell more cars!”
Buick sent him a new car. Not because he deserved it. Not because it was the right thing to do. But because capitalism doesn’t care why people are watching—only that they are watching. Buick wanted front-row seats to the biggest train-wreck of the decade—and better yet, they wanted to wrap the train with their logo.
And what did that tell our kids?
It told them that careless choices—catastrophic, marriage-destroying mistakes—are fine, so long as you’re profitable.
Cheated on your wife? Smashed your car? Ruined your brand?
Here’s a shiny new Buick, champ. Just promise to do the commercials in time for the Masters.
This isn’t a story about second chances. It’s a story about brand management.
Ethics? Those were left back in the golf cart with the other outdated accessories like dignity and accountability.
And the marketing world? They took notes, yes they did. They watched as the public slowly moved from outrage to indifference, from disappointment to apathy. They realized the modern consumer isn’t looking for role models—they’re looking for entertainment. Outrage is just another form of engagement.
Buick didn’t sponsor Tiger Woods the athlete. They sponsored Tiger Woods the media spectacle. They sponsored clicks, retweets, late-night monologues, and meme culture before memes were even cool.
Buick did end up dropping Woods’ sponsorship, but not until months after the scandal—and not until they had raked in a fortune. But here’s the thing about hitching your wagon to a runaway horse: eventually, it runs away with you too. Fast forward a few years and Tiger Woods was in another car incident—this time a terrifying crash that landed him in the hospital and the headlines again. And guess what brand name the media casually tossed around while speculating about vehicle safety? You guessed it. Buick.
Turned out the car Tiger Woods was driving in the accident wasn’t even a Buick. But the media didn’t care about details. They only cared about headlines.
The company that once said “Drive like Tiger” was suddenly googling “how to quietly disappear from history.” Turns out, when you back someone famous for crashing their life, you might just end up crashing your brand along with them.
And in doing so, they left us with a new slogan for our kids:
“Do whatever you want—just make sure lots of people watch.”
Preferably from behind the wheel of a shiny new Buick.
We taught a whole generation that integrity isn’t priceless—it’s negotiable, with sponsorship terms and conditions. We didn’t just sell cars—we sold all our ethics, gift-wrapped in brand logos.
