Bob Cramer's Blog

I chipped my front tooth playing tennis the other night.  Yup, trying to gallantly hit a reflex volley, your athletic blogger missed the ball completely but connected directly with teeth formerly known as pearly whites, sprinkling tooth fairy dust all over Court 1 at my fancy schmancy country club in the heart of Buckhead.

For the next 48 hours, everyone I encountered was treated to a close up view of my chipped tooth.  In fact, I used the word, “chipped”, so many times that it has became an obsession, as if everywhere I look, chips are taking over.  So here I go:

On TV, I hear about Chipper Jones and Chipotle;  At Holiday parties, chips galore.  I don’t have a chip on my shoulder, but in business, owning blue chip stocks, using bargaining chips and taking some chips of the table could make rich;   At my fancy schmancy club, the reigning tennis champ is named Chip;  “Chip and charge” might work at tennis, but chipping is my achilles heal at golf.  I’d be honored to be called a “chip off the old block”. Chips Ahoy, anybody? (Not sure where the Chippendales fit in all of this).

Now that I have that out of my system, one guy not phased by all this chippiness is my rock solid Dentist, who in less than an hour restored my smile to its original off-white glamour, thankfully.

Looking ahead to Christmas, I wonder what Santa has in store for me.  In past years, when I haven’t blogged enough or wrote badly, lumps of coal were my usual gift (I have stockpiled them waiting for coal prices to recover but that is another story).  As I have been a bit better this year,  when I sit on Santa’s knee in the next few days,  I might have to ask for a little more to compensate for the recent tooth trauma and being such a good sport during the recovery.  You guessed it:  a bag of wood chips might be in order.