After many lonely months on a personal sojourn to find the perfect golf swing and peace in the Middle East, I have returned to reality. My hajj did not take me to Mecca or Jerusalem, instead it took me to the bar at Mariners Point, ours is still closed, pondering life, golf and overpriced domestic beers. The latter is a true crime against humanity. Seated on the stool next to me, was many time PCGC champ Bryan Ungaretti, on the other side was a local drunk. The drunk, overhearing our conversation said, I had more comebacks than The Rolling Stones. I took this as an insult. The Stones are beloved, aging rock band known worldwide and have millions of fans. I am known from Colma Creek to Poplar Creek, have a readership of less than ten, and have no groupies. Has Mick ever broke 80 after two Mel-garitas? It was at this time the clouds parted, the sun shone brightly and I heard Mike Bradley’s voice coming down from on high. He demanded, in that teachers voice, reserved for an unruly classroom, that I get back to being Chip and not to squirm so much on my barstool. I was perplexed, with fist on chin, I wondered if I was hearing this, or was it the beers talking? Then the sky opened up and rained range bars down on me. I quickly looked over at the son’s of civil servants and noticed they were all “double fisted.” They were not responsible for my ambush. It must be a sign, an omen from Mike. JPrez shook his head either in agreement or at the sight of the golf balls bouncing on the floor. He said, “Chip, you have awesome responsibilities here. After you clean up these range balls, they are a slip hazard, you have to decide if you are going to entertain and confuse our membership with your unique advice as you have for the last 14 years.” He was right. I scooped up the balls, it was a medium bucket, and vowed to write again! In honor of Mr. Bradley, I hit the balls into the lake on nine. I remembered that was the way he played the hole. Merry Chipmas