Nothing takes the wind out of an expectant golfer’s sails
like a ‘Course Closed’ sign as he pulls into the car park. Heavy rainfall had
waterlogged the course sufficiently for the greenkeeper to send the early
starters packing and the place was deserted by 10am. Nonetheless, Keith and I
shared a couple of frames of snooker in the clubhouse hoping that the course
might be re-opened if we waited long enough. An hour later and our patience was
rewarded. No further rain, course open, green grass replaced green baize
(something of a blessing, I thought my golf was bad but hells bells I couldn’t
pot a plant never mind a red).
Two other guys, Craig and Graham, made up the fourball. I
assume Keith knew them since they kept calling him ‘Sheepo’, not something you’d
ordinarily address a stranger as. (Mental
note : ask Keith why the hell people nickname him Sheepo).
I had a quiet word with myself before play began. Keith, or
should that be Sheepo, by his own admission, had been a reluctant winter league
partner and the prospect of rising from his pit early on a Saturday morning
hadn’t been appetising to him, but he’d kindly relented. I needed to devise a
way of maintaining his enthusiasm, ensure his sustained interest, find a way to
keep him in the habit of golfing on a Saturday throughout the cold winter
months that were to come. So I hatched a plan.
In the first round I felt I’d been rather greedy with my
share in our combined betterball score of 67. I’d notched three contributions
out of the eighteen holes which while at first sight may appear paltry, was in
fact a stellar performance given I was suffering with a blocked up nose . So I
decided to step back a little this week, fall on my sword if you will, and
allow Keith rather more prominence, a more significant slice of the pie. If his
score was such that he could walk away feeling puffed up with his performance,
proud and invigorated, it would encourage him to come back again next week rather
than sink deeper under the covers to nurse the after effects of a Stoney bender.
I therefore proceeded to contribute precisely nothing to
this week’s score, that’s right, I quite literally didn’t improve upon Keith’s
tally on one single hole. Now some might suggest this to be overly generous of
me, perhaps bordering on the insulting that I should be so overtly full of
grace and goodwill. Let me say to such accusers that I understand your
standpoint. Why would someone be so giving in nature as to afford his partner all
of the credit when in truth the two of them were participating in a team game? My response to that assertion however is a simple one; what kind of world would this
be if a little benevolence wasn’t evidenced every once in a while? Our planet
is dominated by the selfish and the egotistical, celebrities are fawned over
and notoriety appears to be the only objective of our youth today. It’s vital, I
feel, that the brotherhood of man progresses from its single minded, self-centred
selfishness and instead encourages the fellow man to share the limelight once
in a while. We must surely, in all
humility, give a little. In my own small way therefore I feel I poured a little
of the milk of human kindness upon Keith by allowing him to score a singlehanded
63 with no assistance whatsoever from myself towards our team score (also of course, 63).
He made four birdies, thirteen pars and countless clutch putts, but I’d like to
think he sat before an open fire on Saturday evening, resplendent in his
smoking jacket, swirled a brandy around the rim of a crystal glass, and humbly
raised a toast to his winter league golfing partner, the man who had the humility to step
aside and allow him his moment in the sun. All I can say is that it was my
pleasure Keith and I haven’t ruled out repeating it (week after week).
No comments:
Post a Comment