Most other VIPs did not pay to be present but were guests of corporate donors, meaning attendees were either valued clients or workhorses for an insurance company or a phone conglomerate.

They were moneyed, though. During the auction, a $33,000 SUV featuring one Tiger-autographed visor fetched $46,000.

One minute later, an auction's assistant scanned the American Express card of Bill Sopko of Cleveland, Ohio, for every penny.

"I love Buicks," Sopko, who is in "manufacturing," explained nonchalantly. His plans for the sport utility vehicle?

"I'm going to take it to a restaurant and say, 'This is a Tiger Woods car,' and they're gonna say, 'No, it's not,'" he said.

Tiger was in attendance, naturally, limping to the stage four days after undergoing arthroscopic surgery on his left knee. But first, two large video screens flashed career clips of Tiger sinking unsinkable eagles on sun-kissed days of his golden years.

"Well," Tiger, 32, joked to diners, "that was back when I could putt."

After someone spent $42,000 to buy Tiger's blazer at the auction, it was time to saunter up to the Events Center, where the very important people flowed into the larger crowd of Van Halen fans who proved more thrifty, as they had spent a mere $200 each on best-available tickets to see Van Halen.

Tiger limped on stage there, too, to announce the band in front of hooting fans: the lady in the pink "SuperBitch" trucker's hat; and the woman in the black-tights one-piece stretching from neck to toe; and the gentleman in a black skullcap. For the most part, though, fans just looked like normal 40-somethings in jeans, designer T-shirts and dresses.

"Diamond" David Lee Roth sang and acted like a lovable goofball as always, tossing top hats to the front row, twirling his mike stand like a baton, and kicking roundhouses, pow!

Because of typical Van Halen turmoil, bassist Michael Anthony was out, replaced by Eddie Van Halen's kid, Wolfgang, a boy of 17 who looked like he should have been playing the video game, "Rock Band," but instead he was performing on tour with the rock band of rock bands.

Wolfgang's dad, Eddie, 53, smiled without fail, standing shirtless in board shorts and red hightops, playing insanely impressive guitar solos. Freshly returned from undisclosed medical work, Eddie at one point dialed his guitar knobs so as to buzz muted tones, fingering classically structured runs that were prettier and more difficult than celebrated violin solos.

It was shocking, unique and other rare adjectives reserved for geniuses.

He resurrected nostalgia for "Hot for Teacher," "Jump," "Panama," "Jamie's Cryin'," "And the Cradle Will Rock ... ," "Beautiful Girls" and "Runnin' with the Devil."

The show ended two hours later at midnight. Fans chanted a hallway din of "Eddie! Eddie! Eddie!" Some stopped at souvenir shacks to buy Van Halen panties for $15.

So "Tiger Jam" was this amalgamation of riches and regulars, watching the legendary consequences of fathers and sons.

That is, the day had begun with a son named Tiger, who was guided into golf by his now-deceased father, who taught Tiger the rules before his son learned to break them.

Then came father Eddie, who was self-taught; that's why he devised the idea of finger hammering speed harmonics, because he didn't know the rules he was breaking three decades ago.

And here was his son Wolfgang, whom Eddie named after Mozart, the ultimate genius who, like Tiger, was brainwashed by his father into greatness.

And there for the sake of charity and mass entertainment, they filled big rooms, hobbling on wounded knees and secret ills, pleasing those who paid top dollar for a glance, a glimmer and a growl.

Doug Elfman's column appears on Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays. Contact him at 383-0391 or e-mail him at delfman@reviewjournal.com. He also blogs at reviewjournal.com/elfman.