The public’s fascination with Tiger Woods is insatiable. At market checkout stands everywhere the tabloids are filled with lurid photos of Tiger’s alleged mistresses and his ex-model wife (soon to be ex-model, ex-wife). They hardly mention Brad and Angelina or Oprah (though one headline read, “Oprah’s mystery illness — three months to live!”).

Tiger’s popularity of 88 percent has plummeted to 33 percent. At this rate he could wind up as disliked as Dick Cheney! (If that’s possible.)

Meanwhile, a doctor who treated Tiger is being investigated by the DEA and the Royal Canadian Mounties! He allegedly provided athletes with performance enhancing drugs. One word: Yikes!

Some paparazzi are so hungry for dirt that they flew to New Zealand to interview Woods’ caddie. Why not his dry cleaners? At least it’s closer?

Tiger confided in his caddie that he was “having a few problems.” Evidently “problems” mean cocktail waitresses, and “a few” means 13 and counting.

It’s really nobody’s business who Tiger sleeps with. (Other than Elin’s.) What drew me was the fishy tale he told after the accident.

What was Tiger doing driving the Escalade barefoot at 2:30 a.m. speeding away from his estate? Getting baby formula? And Elin? Who rushes to an accident wielding an eight iron? (Unless you’d just used it to whoop your hubby upside his head.)

For predicaments like Tiger’s there ought to be a Web site where, in the privacy of your home, you could type the details of your peccadillo and the site would provide a series of plausible denials (just like the CIA). They could call it “CoverStory.com.”

The media continues to feast on Tiger’s tsuris (Yiddish for troubles). Sunday’s L.A. Times sports page ran a poll concerning his “indefinite layoff.” (Maybe “layoff” is a poor choice of words under the circumstances?)

The poll asked, “How long will Tiger Woods leave from golf last?”

A. Back before the Masters.

B. Miss the Masters, but back for U.S. Open.

C. Miss Masters and U.S. Open, but back for British Open.

D. Grows dreadlocks and moves to the Bunny Ranch in Las Vegas. (OK, I made up D.)

Actually, a lot of people owe Tiger for taking the heat off. Shaquille O’Neal’s wife, Shaunie, recently filed for divorce alleging that Shaq had sex with the pregnant fiancée of Washington Wizards star Gilbert Arenas! Thanks to Tiger, Shaq’s story is flying under the radar.

Jenny Sanford, the strong-willed wife of Gov. Mark Sanford (R-S.C.) has also filed for divorce. (Divorce is obviously a recession proof industry!)

You’ll recall Sanford, the family-values Christian (who kind of had two families) claimed that he was hiking the Appalachian Trail. In fact, he was rendezvousing with his mistress in Argentina.

CoverStory.com would have provided Gov. Sanford a better “spin” than that Appalachian Trail nonsense! And, if he truly wanted to save his marriage, CoverStory would have warned him about calling his mistress his “soul mate.”

This past summer, Tiger was criticized for moodiness and flashes of temper on the golf course. Hey, trying to win the Masters is stressful enough without text messages from 13 cocktail waitresses.

Meanwhile Elin has allegedly moved out, been photographed without her wedding ring, is using her maiden name, and has hired a high-powered divorce attorney. (Other than that, the marriage seems rock solid.)

On Wednesday, Tiger was named the Associated Press’ “Athlete of the Decade.” But there’s a nasty rumor circulating that Hustler Magazine will name him “Philanderer of the Decade.”

Currently, Tiger’s living on his $22 million yacht, which is so opulent it looks like it belongs to a Saudi prince. Ironically, the yacht’s name is “Privacy.” (I wonder if there’s a hitching post for the Royal Canadian Mountie’s horse?)

Tiger’s $100 million in annual endorsements is in considerable jeopardy. Accenture, a global consulting corporation, has dropped him, while Gillette has suspended his commercials, “We want to give Tiger the privacy he desires.” Translation: Tiger’s toast.

I admit I’m not a golf fan. I agree with Mark Twain, “Golf seems an arduous way to go for a walk.” (George Carlin suggested that all golf courses should be given to the homeless.) But I still marveled at Tiger’s remarkable exploits on the course. And I’m hardly alone.

When Tiger’s in the final weekend of a tournament the TV ratings are double those than when he’s not. Sans Tiger, men’s pro golf may sink to the popularity of men’s pro bowling, which is slightly more than men’s pro bass fishing.

So how can Tiger win back the public and maybe even his wife? It’s been suggested that, to gain redemption, he needs to appear on Oprah’s TV show and be honest and contrite (or at least fake it).

Going on Oprah is probably as good an idea as any. But, given the tabloids’ claim that she only has three months to live, he better do it soon.

Jack can be reached at Jackneworth@yahoo.com.