One Step Beyond

So it all came down to this, the final qualifying round of the 2016 Winter League. The three formats (Singles, Doubles Gross and Doubles Nett) would produce the finalists after this weekend's scores, leaving the rest to wonder what might have been. Douglas and I reckoned we needed a three under par total of 63 to guarantee our place in the Doubles Gross final.

We got off to a poor start, only parring the birdieable first hole and after the 9th we remained even par. We birdied 10 and parred 11 until the 12^th hole looked like derailing us completely, the pair of us almost coming to blows. Douglas had offered precious little over the first 8 holes and he knew it, his pride was taking a pounding. I was too polite to bring his shortcomings to his attention, nevertheless the awkward silence confirmed the elephant in the room. While he was hacking it up, I’d been canning putts left, right and centre and when I finally plucked up the courage to ask him to pull his finger out of his arsehole he didn’t take too kindly to my polite request. So we stood on the 12^th tee with Douglas’s face tripping him and it got worse after he drove into a fairway bunker. Uncharacteristically, I followed his tee shot by hoicking my drive out of bounds, and that’s when the trouble started.

“ F#ck sake, how did you nae just stick ‘een up the middle with your 3 wood”? grumbled a brass necked Douglas moments after he'd slogged one into a bunker.

“ Just put one up the middle? What am I Rory McIlroy? I can't just plonk drives up the middle on demand you cretin, I play off 10 not scratch”.

“ But you kent I was in the bunker you muppet” he whimpered.

“ That’s immaterial. I don’t suddenly develop a radar for the middle of the fairway each time you find sand”.

Douglas threw his bag over his shoulders, muttered some expletives in my direction and shuffled off up the fairway. To his credit he then scraped a bogey before stomping to the next tee, giving me pelters all the way for having the temerity to pull my drive out of bounds.

“ The 12^th is stroke index one Douglas, the hardest hole on the course. Do you honestly expect me to magic a par four out of nothing?”

“ ‘at’s nae the point Russon, you brainless gimp, you just needed to keep it in play, stay in the hole”.

Our futile exchange continued until the 13^th tee when mercifully he switched the head back on and birdied the hole. This pepped him up somewhat and a further birdie at 17 brought us home with a respectable 64, a shot short of our target but we hoped enough to qualify.

And the following day, after a rapid exchange of confessional messages between the competing pairs, it was discovered that we had indeed won through to the final, doing so by two shots. My commiserations to Messrs McAllan & Taylor.

Naturally, when one succeeds by a mere two shots after 180 holes of golf, one’s mind is drawn to those pivotal moments where qualification may have been won and lost. The stone dead pitches in terrible conditions, the bravely holed slippery three footers, the fairway splitting drives when your partner’s dumped his on the railway line. Yes, when I bring to mind the moment our qualification for the final was in effect secured, one specific memory stands out.

Twas the 18^th hole of our seventh round and once again I’d been the warrior of our partnership while Douglas had been the weasel. He’d been provoking me about the impending court action he'd instigated for slanderous comments he believed I’d published. His lawyer had been buoying him up, assuring him of an open and shut case against me, even to the point of suggesting I may face a custodial sentence. Douglas had also been reminded of the importance of completing our winter league obligations since this would stand his legal case in better stead, so our partnership staggered on despite the animosity. On this particular day Douglas had played so pathetically that I suspected sabotage, was he deliberately playing like an arse just to ensure we wouldn’t qualify for the final?  When he sent his tee shot on the final hole miles out of bounds, selecting a 5-iron where an 8-iron sufficed, my suspicions were confirmed. His lamentable attitude didn’t intimidate me however, instead I was encouraged. ' I'll show him' thought I, yes I'll show him what a real man is made of. And moments later, to my eternal credit, I nervelessly secured the four that, in the event, gained us passage into the final (yes I know the 18th is a par three but had I got a six instead we’d be out of the competition, don't let's be uncharitable).

So there we have it. Despite legal action and a near fist fight on the 13^th tee, the Russon/Douglas partnership lives to fight one final day, final being the operative word. We stand toe to toe with three other doubles teams next Saturday to play for the Winter League Championship 2016. Two aspects of this event have me partying in my pants; 1) I’m playing in my first final since the Sutton Coldfield Cub Scouts 5-a-side football competition at Wyndley Leisure Centre in 1977 and 2) It’s the last time I’ll have to play golf with Keith Douglas ever again. It won’t be the last time I see him though, the date has been set for our court case in six weeks time and I will have my camera at the ready when he loses his action against me and goes down for a hearty helping of porridge after my counter claim sentences him to a five stretch. Little does he know that I today secured the services of the finest lawyer in Aberdeenshire. 

Winter League Qualifiers as follows...

Singles
S McGhie, I Smith, G Docherty, M Ritchie,
S Hutcheon, J Nowak, D Hepburn, A Darragh

Doubles Gross
B McGillvary / S Dempster
N Irvine / H Roulston
W Pittendreigh / Go Adamson
A Russon / K Douglas

Doubles Nett
N MacArthur / D Henderson
M Halliday / S Campbell
A Barnett / T Simpson
I Wood / K Duncan