One of my golf buddies, disc golf that is, although pushing sixty like myself is a drummer who still rocks hard on double bass pedals with the twenty-something shredders. He mentioned that long ago he had given his son, a great disc thrower half our age now, an electric guitar for some birthday or other which never got played past the air guitar stage. I helped said son move to a new crib recently and he dug under a pile of ball gloves and skateboards and pulled out a heavily soiled Fender gig bag. "I know you know guitars," he says, "see what you can do with this." The gunked up zipper stuck a few inches down but I could clearly see it was a Mexican strat with maple neck. Once home on my bench began a forensic examination worthy of NCIS-Strat.