Round 10 - Brutal but bostin'.

This weekend’s round encapsulated what winter league golf is all about. The conditions were deplorable and only a handful of us braved the weather, but we were rewarded with a good laugh and a sense of achievement. It’s a shame for the collection of grinning herberts who lined the clubhouse windows as we set off, they don’t know what they’re missing. A spot of rain shouldn’t put Stonehaven members off a game of golf, are they mice or men? I’ll leave Brenda to check their droppings and decide.

Reprehensibly, my winter league partner Keith Douglas was also ready to park himself in the clubhouse rather than play. His face was a picture when I pushed my trolley into view from the car park. There I was bedecked in waterproofs and ready for action, while he greeted me wearing his casual clothes, assuming we weren’t playing.

“ F#ck sake Russon, I’m nae playin in ‘is” came his typically cantankerous greeting.

“ It’s the winter league Douglas, the clue’s in the title. Get changed you wimp, we’re playin”.

He shuffled off to the changing rooms while I exchanged pleasantries with our impending playing partners. One of them, Martin, was equally as reluctant as Keith to play; “ don’t do rain, meh, no fun this, glasses get wet, should be in my bed etc etc”. When Douglas returned from the locker room the chuntering between the two of them reached a crescendo, their resistance however was futile, there was no way I wasn’t playing today after all the hassle I’d gone through to get clearance for this round of golf. My good lady wife had a prior commitment herself which I had trumped, my attendance at the golf club earning me several marks in her debit column.

Thankfully Martin’s partner, Colin, was as enthusiastic about his game of golf as I was so we commenced our round with a modicum of good humour.  Colin was in agreement that golf in adverse weather conditions makes you feel alive as you walk into the teeth of a wind, driving rain against your face, feeling at one with nature. Douglas didn’t share our enthusiasm, his face tripped him for the first four holes until he finally got a grip of himself. I had suggested he bugger off home and leave me to it after he’d skulked his way through the first three holes but he said he’d stick around just to watch me suffer.  

Martin lasted four holes before throwing in the towel. By then Douglas had cheered up a little, my golf trolley had disappeared upside down into a bunker which had made his day, the shallow no-mark, he couldn’t get his camera out quick enough. My trolley has no brakes, if I leave it on a slope the damn thing takes a trip of it’s own. It made a dash for the cliffs from the 17^th fairway a few months ago and later on in today’s round departed in pursuit of the railway track by the 10^th before capsizing in the rough.

Stoney weather plays cat and mouse with you. After the 8th the weather cheered up a little, persuading me to remove my waterproof jacket, but by the time I reached the 9^th green it was back on, the brief rain respite short lived. We were in two minds whether to play the field (9^th-12^th) in proper sequence. Play had slowed up and we wanted to play the gully first (13^th-15^th), to avoid slow traffic, but Keith’s phone call to the clubhouse while we waited on the 7^th tee persuaded us not to, the feedback suggesting we risked contravening rules. As it happened play speeded up anyway, the twosome in front of us walked in after the 11^th and the fourball in front of them followed suit after the 12^th.

In the event Douglas appeared to enjoy the remainder of the round in a kind of gallows humour kind of way. My trolley mishaps and the madness of playing golf in such atrocious conditions seemed to cheer him up, plus we were putting a good score together which always helps. Following my imperious birdie on the 1^st, we’d exchanged pars right up until the 11^th where he birdied to put us two under. I’d contributed the pars on the tougher holes (5^th, 9^th and 12^th) while he nudged in pars on the simpler ones.  He chunked his tee shot embarrassingly on the 7th, only just keeping it in bounds, but somehow scrambled a par, this aside he largely left me to rescue our card once again.

Colin was soldiering on, tolerating both the conditions and routine abuse that Douglas and I shared. Our day in court approaches, Douglas issued me with a lawsuit regards perceived slander on this blog if you weren’t aware, but we’re duty bound to complete our winter league obligations so have to endure each other’s company through gritted teeth. We almost came to blows on the 13^th tee when he threatened not to play the gully claiming he was fed up of me taking all the glory for our scores there in recent weeks. I talked him out of this petty lunacy but needn’t have bothered, he bogied the 14^th after a minor lapse on my part required him to step up to the plate. Perversely however, his failure encouraged my resolve and I atoned for his pathetic three putt on the 14^th by notching birdies on 16 and 17 to have us three under as we stood on the last tee.

A number of folk had remained in the comfort of the clubhouse and were looking on as we teed off on the 18th. I lofted an admirable 6-iron onto the green and stood aside for Douglas to try and match me. He didn’t. The moment it struck the ball, his club left his hands and disappeared fifty yards down the fairway. The imbecile had managed to throw it almost as far as he’d hit his ball. He whinged about having wet hands or some such while the clubhouse onlookers guffawed, he then scurried away to retrieve his club and address his second shot which wasn’t much better, crawling onto the green to leave him a thirty footer. Miraculously however, he drained his putt before I had chance to tap in for my par and we ended with a triumphant 63 which might well cement our place in the winter league final.

The moral of the story? Get out there and play. It might be wet, it might be cold, but after a week’s hard work you owe it to yourself to get some exercise, embrace what nature throws at you and give yourself a few hours fresh air, away from the hurly burly of life. Get up there gentlemen, get golfing, grow a pair or buy yourself a handbag.