It's nearly choke o'clock

Described by many as golf’s fifth major, the Stonehaven winter league reaches it’s climax this weekend . Ryder Cup points are up for grabs but the pride in lifting this prestigious trophy is reason enough for the finalists to strain every sinue over Stoney’s hallowed turf. Somewhat controversially, the event has been billed merely as the season’s curtain raiser two weeks ahead of the Masters, something of an impertinence to say the least. In truth the SGC winter league final is nobody’s bitch, Amen corner doesn’t hold a candle to Stoney’s gully and as closing holes go Augusta doesn’t have a graveyard next to it but we do. It’ll come in handy tomorrow, we’re going to bury McGilvary and Dempster in it after they complete the biggest choke since Greg Norman in 1996.

Yes Douglas and I are in the final and won’t be taking any prisoners. Well I won’t anyway, if rumours about Douglas’s pre-match plans this evening are to be believed, I doubt he’ll be able to tackle a fish supper come the morning. I’m proposing a light pasta salad for my supper, followed by an early night with a cool flannel placed upon my forehead, Douglas however has his name on a crate of Becks and a 4am taxi booking for his return from the casino. With such wanton disregard for golf’s first set piece event of the year is it any wonder he’s facing court action from me this summer? I had my first appointment with the solicitor today, initially it was to address my defence in Douglas’s libel case against me however I’ve now been advised that the appalling behaviour of Douglas throughout the winter league qualifying period presents me with a cast iron opportunity to sue the bloke’s ass off, something I fully intend to do.

There are three categories to be contested tomorrow and each is there for the taking. Qualifying scores are carried into the final so some competitors hold a slight advantage, however you can’t discount the power of nerves, all it takes is a panic filled grubber off the first tee to shatter your confidence. Take Messrs McGilvary and Dempster for example, word has it that they’ve already booked Aberdeen’s swankiest restaurant to celebrate with their families tomorrow night. Jumping the gun a little aren’t we gentlemen? Let’s hope humble pie is on the menu after you’re pipped to the trophy by a barrage of Russon birdies, I’ll buy you both a knife and fork to mark the occasion. Don’t throw your victory speech away though, I’ll be needing that to light my cigar.

Final day nerves are sure to apply to the singles competition too. The leader, S McGhie, lies two stableford points ahead of the field after a dominant display in qualifying, but a dose of the eebie jeebies on the first couple of holes and that lead can evaporate in a flash. Who’s to say he won’t shank one onto the 18^th green off the 1^st tee and dump one down the cliffs on the 2^nd? Before you can say Jack Robinson his lead’s gone, he’s playing catch up and his opponents can smell blood and diarrhea in equal measure. It’s a ruthless business top level golf, no place for pansies, and Finals day sees the cream rise to the top. Equally, the doubles nett competition finds McArthur & Henderson peering from atop the leaderboard with an advantage of two shots but again, that’s the slimmest of comfort blankets, more of a comfort napkin.

The doubles competitions are intriguing in terms of the varying dynamics evident between the respective playing partners. Some partnerships are warm and friendly, plenty of back slapping along the fairway and the sharing of encouraging words. Other partnerships, Douglas and I for example, smoke with hateful animosity yet somehow work. Douglas hates my guts, similarly I wouldn’t urinate on him if he were on fire, however our low regard for one another matters little, it’s the digits written on the scorecard that matter, regardless of the fact that nine times out of ten those digits are mine. Despite the fact that we wish a pox upon each other’s houses, there we sit in the penultimate playing group on Finals day, Sky’s cameras watching our every move. The three teams ahead of us may be planning to walk off hand in hand into the sunset,  their friendships blossoming as they skip gaily around the course, but has their love-in yet been put to the test? It’s easy to be pals when you’re nonchalantly nudging your balls around the course over ten comfortable qualification rounds, let’s see how supportive they are of each other in the white hot atmosphere of Finals day? The wheat is sorted from the chaff when you reach the business end of golf’s fifth major, just you watch as these partnerships splinter like a tree being attacked by an axe.  I look forward with relish to the disintegration of our three opponent’s partnerships as Douglas and I march grimly on to victory. Golf is about blood and snotters winning, not airy fairy losing. A three shot deficit doesn’t intimidate us, we’ll have that wiped out before you’re lining up your putts on the 4^th green Mr McGilvary. By the time you approach the field you’ll be in tatters Mr Dempster. You deal in pars, we deal in birdies so stick that up your arris. The fat lady hasn’t even waddled onto stage yet gentlemen. Have it.