Chiplomatic
By What the Chip
After a rather pleasant Saturday morning round of golf, I encountered someone I didn’t think existed here at PCGC, a critic. Some wags might suggest we have 325 of them, but not like this one. This unnamed member had an opinion on everything from our pace of play policy to course conditions to his constant lousy tee pairings. I didn’t dismiss him as a crackpot until he slandered the ascot. What nerve! He must truly be a troubled individual.
With my trusty cool beverage safely beside me, I climbed onto a new bar stool to ponder his views. He was right to say, even with a broken leg in a snow storm it shouldn’t take four hours to play here. I couldn’t find fault in his perception that the course was in bad shape and overpriced. He as even correct in his assertions playing here hurts his handicap.
I couldn’t allow myself to agree with this crackpot, I just couldn’t. I thought about calling Hillary to see how she dealt with it, but with her wounds so fresh and still harboring my backing Mike Love grudge, I did not. I didn’t want to invoke the ample wisdom of my usual council either, as this was a personal journey. I left the burdens instead to a jury of three, me, my beer and my bartender. Man’s most trusted trinity.
Mel, I said, why do I feel so bad agreeing with this guy? She told me that even the daftest of members, and we have many to choose from, must be given his due. Remember Chip, you are on the board, she continued. You can arrange never to have him in your foursome again. She, as is almost always the case, was right. Rank does have it’s privileges.