The World Against GolfPunk's
Yesterday we introduced you to golfpunkonline.com’s latest contributors, Tim and the rest of his fourball. Well their report from last weekend is in so join them again on their familiar journey of golf, banter and i-pods.
The Spring Tankard Gets the Season Underway.
Ahh. The Spring Tankard. A sunny day, with more than a hint of spring as the daffodils greet me driving up to the clubhouse for a 10.52 tee off. The hangover was mild, the children dropped off at tennis so I had done my bit, and now I was going to handle the pressure of being 8.4 and the potential of dropping to 9.
Ray and Michael were already there – Ray on the putting green and Michael moseying around the pro shop picking up putters. Jeremy Mills was joining us to add his 20 handicap to Ray’s 5, my 8, and Michael’s 19. High low seemed appropriate so it was Michael and I for the 50:50:£1.00 match. I know, some of you readers will be amazed that we play for such enormous stakes, but we can handle it, as long as we visit the sports psychologist during the week.
I handed Michael my iPod to listen to the Golf Made Simple podcast that seemed to have been written for him, being as it was all about lowering expectations and the like. Oh how this simple act was going to come back and bite me on the arse with vengeance.
We wafted our clubs about and Ray teed up. Driver. No-one else in the club uses a driver off the first, but Ray just loves to wellie it and so what if it ends up in the trees on the right (which it does 3 times out of 4). What’s the problem, he just chips on and birdies it about 2 times out of 4. This being golf we were already into the chat.
“What about Bob Woolmer? Incredible, like something in a Hercule Poiroit novel.”
“Incredible, takes the shine off Ireland’s win a bit”
“Was it fixed? The match?”
“Who knows?
I step up and manage to fly the bunker on the right, so far so good.
Michael melts a drive down the middle and Jeremy tops his down the hill. We’re off.
Second shot, a well struck five iron drifts into the bunker. It is GUR. I drop behind. I hit it back into the bunker with my trusty lob wedge. A horrible thought hits me. Did I nearly shank that? I drop again. I chip over the green. I miss the putt. I miss the short one back. I start with a ding. Ray pars.
“Well are the DUP and Sinn Fein going to do a deal?” We chat about this, which will be of no interest to anyone outside Northern Ireland, and to be honest not much to us either, but we feel obliged to say something every week.
“Probably. Big Ian doesn’t want everyone to blame him for the water charges”
I clip a good drive down towards the bunker, but it is sliding away. I look away and watch the others. We natter on about this and that as I approach where my ball should be sitting, pristine on the fairway. What the…? It reached the bunker. Damn. I play out. It’s a par five. Ray lays up, which in Rays terms means he is about a foot short of the green. Michael has done something that is unusual for him and hit a second good drive. And a good second. Jeremy is a bit out of sorts. Well to be honest he is all over the place. He over swings, but I don’t know him well enough to tell him.
Ray wins the hole with a birdie. Me. I ding it. Two holes, no points. The third goes peacefully. I manage to pick up a point. Whoopee.
Then the fourth. Par three. I shank it off the tee. Ray is five feet away from the pin. I am under a tree. I am losing the plot. I walk away from the ball, worried that I might break the club against the tree. The others move away from me, with that concentrated look of people who have decided that it is dangerous to say anything. Another ding. Ray has a five footer for a birdie. Michael is looking at a four. Ray putts. He misses. He putts. He misses again. He putts. He misses again. He putts he holes it. Four putts from five feet.
So I can now tell you the main difference between Ray and the rest of the human race who play golf.
He smiles. Shrugs his shoulders. “Didn’t see that coming”
I would have been in bits. A nervous shambles, anger and despair fighting to take over my body. In fact I was already a bit like that having one point from four holes. Michael won the hole so we were in the chair. He drove. Another good one. I drove. Drifting out right. “Wait until you see, under an effing tree no doubt” Hoping that my prediction would ensure that it was lying well in the light rough. Walk down. There it is. Right under a tree. Loads of room around for it to have gone. But no. It is right under a tree. That is it. No more anger, just complete understanding that the golfing gods were repaying me for giving Michael the iPod. Basically saying you are a smug bastard – take that.
But it is not over. My drive at the eighth, slight hook – moving wide of the bunker – moving so wide that I may be in trouble. Clips a tree and appears to be leaping towards the fairway. So what do you think. Did it reach the flat grass. Did it hell – of course it rebounded into the bunker, under the lip and another hole without scoring. Michael and I managed to win the dosh, so I am £1.70 better off, with Ray getting three points for his birdies, and us a couple for oozlers.
It was so ridiculous that the other three laughed, and I joined in.
As it turned out that was the last of the golfing god’s jokes for the day. I had scored five points after eight holes. I got a par with a shot at the ninth, for three and then sixteen on the back nine for a total of twenty four. Ray ended up with thirty seven, including four birdies, Michael had to disqualify himself for thinking that there were preferred lies through the green, and not just on closely mown areas. Jeremy. Well, lets just say that he can play better.
It’s the Master’s time again, which is the annual time for saying “Jaysus – it’s the Masters time again, it only seems like about a week since the last one”.
To all the players out there – do not lend anyone your iPod, it wrecks your game.
Golf Punks
4/12/2007 4:10:26 PM (GMT Standard Time, UTC+00:00) 
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