Beware of the match play desperados waiting for a slow moving train! This precautionary sign, which hangs on our club house door, has bewildered members for years. Some believe it is a homage to Swinging Mister Steven's and Cabo Nick's childhood in San Mateo's wild west past. It runs deeper than these legends in knees pants and broomstick horses, let me explain in that familiar Chip style. The low indexers begin to ride into town at the end of February wearing bandoliers of Pro V 1's and swagger. They constantly complain about how bad their games have gotten, all the while watching every swing on the course. They are cold and calculating with beady eyes and perfect manners. They can usually be found on the range giving out tips and encouragement while secretly psyching us out. They mask compliments cleverly behind confidence eroding word. "You have really task tamed that duck hook of yours. Hey Blue Moon, you're putting like a pro, six feet past the hole". They have sub conscientiously enter doubt into our games. If we play them, they will quickly remind us of the o.b. on the right, or how slow the greens are (compared to Augusta). Subtle, but deadly. You will be scratching your head in wonderment, when at the turn, you are down four. Any efforts to talk to Dana and ask for advice will have to wait until after "beat the pro". It might not be a good idea to speak to clergy either, as the second round is on Sunday. True, you haven't been inside a church since your nephew's wedding six years ago, but why, at your age, chance it? The pro and clergy are out. Time to handle this issue like a man. If you come into contact with one of these desperados on the range or in a match, treat them like you do your wife. In one ear and out the other. It will frustrate the gunslinger the way "honey, you haven't noticed the new curtains or my mohawk haircut, does you. You can beat this outlaw at his own game! Viva Match Play.