Author: Tim Andersen

A Clear Conscience and A Cool Pillow
by Chip Light

I was sad sipping, sequestered in the corner, on what most days is my favorite bar stool.  I was a wallow in the post-round blues, sullen, contemplative and down right un-Chip like. What was causing this funk?  Was it the latest Iran crisis, OPEC or maybe Korea? Was it the lack of viable presidential candidates? No, this malaise ran deeper than trivial world matters.  It was clearly a moral issue.

I had a conflicted conscience.  My play had improved to the point where a penalty was accessed.  The bible or Arnie Palmer clearly states "Where practice has improved, let no man reduce." (Book of Jack, 18:majors) The only way to get this Machiavellian penalty removed was to play in more tournaments at a lower handicap.

My dilemma, do I play a couple of "throw out" rounds to have my honestly earned handicap restored?  Do I purposely cheat (play poorly) or do I chase the light that is the integrity of this game?

Sweat dripped from my untouched beer as well as my forehead.  Finally, Bill the Web, broke my silent reverie when he said, "Chip we have a range, a chipping area and two putting greens. The opportunity to improve is right here, I don't get it."

Practice takes time, effort and a desire to improve I said.  Too many of our stiffs want the results without the work.  It is just like the public school system. They raise the graduation rates by lowering the standards.  This way everyone feels good about themselves.  They deserve Hillary Trump.  Easy Chip, said the Web, finish that beer, order another and we will discuss something easy like the deficit.   

Play hard, play fair, play fast!
Chip In Time

My editor yelled, in a thoroughly uncensored, highly agitated state which possessed style, originality and creativity, that my article was @#$%^^ing late.  He belittled my abilities to read a watch and a calendar respectively.  He was again on the verge of firing me from this unpaid job, when I mentioned that I was in the last group of a recent PCGC tournament. He paused, quickly nodded, almost apologized, and said for the first time in our relationship, "I understand".

Floored by those two words, I began to ponder why we play so slow. Jordan Speith, winner of the U.S. Open at Chambers' Bay played in the same five hours and thirty minutes it took me to play Poplar Creek.
The Open had forced carries, knee high fescue, young lions and an old Tiger.  We were playing lift, clean and place, had carts and not a tuft of rough.  WHAT HAPPENED? Is it possible that we have more prima donnas than the PGA tour?

My staff quickly commissioned an independent study to reveal whether it was possible to read Tolstoy's 'War and Peace' faster than to play our front nine. The findings show 'War and Peace' to be five minutes faster for the average reader.  Thirty minutes faster in English. Things must change, valuable bar time is being wasted.

In a somewhat sober search of local laws and the rules of golf, my trusty attorney Blue Moon Retainer, and I may have found the answer to improve the pace of play. Golfers found guilty of slow play will be sent to the range.  They will be marched out forty yards from the tees, offered an optional blindfold and cigarette, and told to stand still.  A select group of "archers", low handicappers in the Soo, Kmac, Ungaretti mold will be given 10 balls and a seven iron. In NCGA events, a wild card, free swinging 14 handicapper will be give 5 balls and a driver. Good natured wagering by the membership on who is the best "archer" will be encouraged. 

"It's good for the game, plus it will help me hone my punch shots", said Swingin' Mr. Stevens.  Keep up, speed up, or pick up!  

Handicaps and Other Tom Foolery
by Holy Chip

Blue Moon Retainer, my trusty attorney, and I trekked down to Monterey for an audience with the Pope of Slope.  After kissing his ring, diamonds inlaid on an emerald field encased in gold, we began a lively discussion of the merits of the handicap system.  So lively in fact, the Pope's security force, the Swiss Guard, was placed on high alert.  There is nothing neutral about the barrel of an Uzi.

Our main point of contention was how clubs could take established handicaps and lower them at will, with your blessings.  This, I argued, rewarded mediocrity at the expense of the honest golfer who practices and plays tournaments well.  He explained, a golfer should only shoot under his number 3 times in twenty rounds. Exasperated by such lunacy, I asked if the PCGC, our club, was trying to become AYSO.  Could we expect a hug and an orange slice at the end of a round?  Will we throw our scorecards into a hat, blindly draw and give everyone a chance to win? Where have the hard liners like John Noce (CSM), Bud Presley (Menlo), and Ricky Bobbie (SAG) gone?  If you ain't first, you're last.

The Pope placed his calming hands on our shoulders, had the Swiss Guard stand down, and then very patiently explained his position.  Between us, he said, my system is a flawed mathematical algorithm designed to baffle, bemuse and befuddle those with a handicap under ten.  I will never admit this in open court, sorry counselor, but I hate golfers.  I only do this job so I can ride around town in that bubbled golf cart. Clint doesn't even have one.  Now give me two "Our Fathers", and a "Hail Mary".  And you Chip, leave a little something in the basket.

*SAG=Screen Actors Guild 

Next month: who knows, just depends of the quality of the well scotch.