Bogey,
Knowing Tiger, I'm not sure he would have chosen to take residence in an ethereal place infested with harp-playing cherubs. Depending on your beliefs as to what constitutes a reward for a life lived, well, not *too* far from the boundary of propriety, I see Bernhardt''s hereafter involving membership at a cosmic Cypress Point - with naked runway models in the caddy shack and a clubhouse menu serving only high tone whiskey and dripping rare rib eyes.
Bernhardt was a manly man he was.
Her Redness once noted that John was not the best looking guy she had ever met, but definitely one of the most charming. We once intentionally seated him across the table at a dinner party with a pretty single gal - and it took less than five minutes for that cheeky grin and southern boy line of bullshit to have her completely mesmerized. That one lasted until he couldn't travel anymore.
John came back from his first bout with "the C-word" at 110% - it was like it never happened. It seems the best guys get shot down at full stride while nasty pricks who make everybody miserable live forever. The one consolation is Tiger B. skinned every cat in the alley, did it all twice and never once looked in his rear view mirror. I guess there is a lesson there . . . . . .