In case you're wondering, you need a passport to get into the FBR Open to prove your citizenship.  The U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service recently determined that tanned, plastic looking people have in fact taken over the TPC in Scottsdale on an annual basis only to defect to their ultra-lounge havens to hibernate until the following year. \n\nI'm really not sure what to think of this.  They speak English (but very faux surferish) and look American, but act completely juvenile, foolish and quite frankly, foreign.  Additionally, while waiting for the shuttle bus at Barcelona - ground zero for these immigrants, you can overhear the most ridiculous conversation.\n\nMost of these immigrants started drinking at the makeshift bar in the Barcelona parking lot. One woman talked of her plan to sacrifice her bra and panties on the 16th green in her effort to score Super Bowl tickets.  Another woman (while in the bus) rated men walking down Hayden as we drove by \"10!  You're a 9. You're more like a 7.  Ew, you're a 5.\"  The men were not to be outdone.  Who needs shuttle buses when you can just walk down Hayden, strip down to your bare, over-tanned chest while ladies driving by ask if you need a ride.\n\nIn a traditional immigrant mating call, women wore the most appropriate golf course attire they could find. On a cloudy 60 degree day many opted for mini skirts, tank tops, tacky fake Chanels, high heels and gawdy jewelry.  Men meanwhile chose over-gelled hair dos, flip flops or tube socks, shorts and Ed Hardy tees or golfy looking sweaters that they could spill their double-fisted beers all over.\n\nSuffice to say, that was a quick synopsis of some of the crowd at the FBR. Some people actually went to watch golf, enjoy a few $7 brews on a glorious winter afternoon in Scottsdale and watch the rowdiest, drunkest spectators in all of golf boo, jeer and hiss at the 16th hole.  Greenskeeper tix and Corporate Village tix are bonus if you can land them.\n\nThis event hasn't become a national attendance breaker on the PGA circuit for nothing.  FBR Open is to Phoenix as Mardi Gras is to New Orleans. Drunken debauchery. This event has come to embody Phoenix for better or worse and as a locally grown event, from its fledgling days at the Phoenix Country Club, that says a lot.  I have a good time every time I go -- plastic Scottsdale immigrants or not.  Five stars.