Sadly, for me either. The clock has run out and I write this farewell from the blazing magma below.
Providence has thrown me into the pit of perdition for all my snarky comments, insults disguised as observations and complete intolerance for roughly 90% of the various demographics.
At the bottom of the well I have been issued a set of left-handed golf clubs (XS blades, 4 degrees upright) on a Nicklaus course and forced to the black tees with three beginners from Japan. Barbara Boxer is the cart girl, serving warm non-alcoholic beer - my balls have stripes on them.
It is hot, very hot, and I am wearing tight rain pants, a sticky polyester shirt and golf shoes with flaps. It turns out that David Fay was right, Rees Jones is God . . . . . and he is going to make me pay for eternity.