Half legend, half apex predator, all green. He took the hood, took the bow, and took his talents on-chain. Every shot is recorded, every lie is playable, and the green is the only colour he answers to.
Thirteen recordings, none of them explained. Somebody keeps catching him somewhere he has no business being. Drag to move through, or take any one and put it wherever you like.
Nobody knows exactly when the man became the animal. The hood went up, and by the time it came down there were stripes. He has been playing off scratch ever since.
Before the chain, before the bow, there was the red hoodie and a putt nobody thought would drop. It dropped. It always drops.
One feather on the chest, one on the ball. The hoodie changed colour the day he found a chain that settled as fast as he reads a break.
Somebody told him golf was a game of accuracy. He swapped the driver for a longbow and has not missed a green since.
Tap any one to open it full size and save it. All of them are free to use, repost, edit and ruin. That is what they are for.
Thirty eight plates — every meme, every avatar, every hood. Pick one, type your two lines, download it. Everything happens in your browser: nothing uploads anywhere and nothing is stored.
The round in order, the way it gets played. Holes clear as they clear, and the card on this page is the scoreboard — nothing gets marked until it is actually in the hole.
Tiger Hoods will have exactly one account on X, and the handle will be printed here the moment it opens. The contract address, the launch and every announcement go out there first — if you read it anywhere else before it appears on that account, it did not come from us. Check the handle against this page before you act on anything.
Tiger Hoods
