Winter League - It’s All Over

And it came to pass, after several gruelling months playing in the Winter League, that the Douglas & Russon combo failed to reach the final. In this week’s last qualifying round of the campaign, our performance ended up typifying our hapless season as we fluffed our lines yet again to end the competition closer to the bottom of the table than the top. For this I hold Douglas solely accountable, but more of that later.

It was a glorious blue sky Sunday when we alighted upon the first tee, myself in modest, understated navy attire, Douglas looking like a circus clown in bright orange breeks and sporting a naval touching beard. If you’re on your A game, by all means make a spectacle of yourself in garish orange, but if you’ve spent the winter hacking the course to within an inch of its life, it’s best to dress rather more soberly Douglas, you gormless goon. Regardless of his wardrobe malfunction, we crashed our opening tee shots alongside Hitler’s Bunker and set off on our final voyage, Douglas fluking a birdie on the 1st having thinned an approach shot which miraculously grabbed on the heavy turf when it deserved one bounce and oot.

We scored well on several of the early holes, both parring the difficult 2nd before Douglas notched another birdie on the 3rd, his reaction leaving a lot to be desired mind you, cavorting around the green as he did,  like a jack-in-a-box, high fiving imaginary spectators and cupping his ear in my direction. No class some people, but two birdies within the first three holes wasn’t to be scoffed at, I’ll give him that. 

But then the pantomime started. Standing on the 5th tee, he discovered he’d left his plastic fairway mat back on the previous one, so started a marathon trudge all the way back to collect it. Ten minutes and eight hundred yards later, he shuffled back without it only to discover he’d left the blessed thing in his golf bag side pocket, the cretin. He’d already had me walking back from the 2nd green to the tee earlier, to retrieve his 3 wood cover, and then as we crossed the gully, to complete the hat trick, he was handed his plastic rake attachment by club captain, Ian Wood, another accessory he’d littered the course with. It was like playing golf with a child unprepared for his first day at school, surely a miracle he’d managed to put his trousers on the right way round.

By now Douglas’s caperings with his golf equipment had muddled his mind and this in turn adversely affected his golf. Having given it the big one on the 6th tee, bragging about his three early birdies, he wasn’t to make another meaningful contribution until deep into the back nine, the 14th to be precise, and even then it was with a lamentable three putted bogey after my tee shot had wound up on the beach. (In my defence, I’d started to struggle under the endless weight of responsibility, finally it told. I’d played the four field holes in one under par while he was stinking them out, and I’d completed the gully in one under too, it was about time he came to the party).

Before we finished, there was still time for another three hundred yard yomp back down the 16th fairway when Douglas lost his wood cover yet again, although he did birdie the hole to be fair to him, but his two,  lame, missed short putts on 17 and 18 had us notch a final total of 64, a long way from earning us a finals day appearance. Still, at least the torture is over for another season, it only remains for us to wish the finalists well while we contemplate our navals in front of the telly. 

I’d like to thank Keith for his pleasant companionship this season, but I won’t , because it wasn’t. Instead I wish a pox upon his house and for a career opportunity to present itself in Outer Mongolia, one that I advise him to take advantage of. I’ll be looking for a new partner next year, one who can walk the walk and not just talk the talk, who can play golf under pressure and who performs to a standard at least remotely adjacent to his supposed handicap.

Over and out for another season 😎

Winter League - penultimate round

Just two weeks remain of this season’s winter league at Stonehaven Golf Club, the competition boiling down to the penultimate qualifying round this weekend past. The finals are to be held in a fortnight’s time and I now have grave doubts that myself and Douglas will be participating after our latest fiasco, a reprehensible 70 in grade A conditions. The fat lady hasn’t so much cleared her throat as completed her first verse as far as our chances are concerned, in fact she’s probably in her taxi home by now.

There’s no point sugar coating it, we were bowf this weekend, neither of us getting our act together until Douglas fluked a couple of consecutive birdies on the back nine. We started badly and went downhill from there, our mojo deserting us as we slapped, duffed and muffed our way to a four over par total when four under was begging to be carded. The portents weren’t good when Douglas’s electric golf trolley ground to a halt before he’d even left the car park, his overnight charging of the damn thing proving futile as, like a bucking bronco, it refused to comply with his instruction. We therefore had the ludicrous sight of him lugging an enormous pro bag all the way around the course and reaching a state of virtual collapse long before the 18th. By then he’d grumbled and mumbled his way to a collection of bogeys, aided and abetted by my own lame performance as the wheels came off of our winter league wagon.

Not much more to add really, the disappointment of our apparent failure to qualify rendering me speechless. A few years ago, when we last competed in the doubles together, we qualified for the final with plenty to spare, this time however we’ve spent the majority of the winter stinking out Stonehaven Golf Club like a decomposing pilchard on a summer’s day. I’m not prepared to take full responsibility for our demise since my handicap is significantly higher than Douglas’s, the onus was really for him to step up to the plate. While I’ve not played terrifically well myself, he’s underperformed on a scale akin to Liverpool FC this season and needs to have a long hard look at himself before deciding whether his golfing career really ought to continue. Every sportsman has his day in the sun but when that day passes he needs to take stock and consider if it be best to continue or hang up his boots, perhaps the time has come for Douglas. He’s had a good innings but is well past his sell by date, a membership at the bowling club might be a more prudent option, or twice weekly game of cribbage when the pubs open again.

One qualifying round left then and the finals to follow. With us seemingly out of contention, I might wear fancy dress for our last hurrah like away fans do on the last day of the football season. I’ll dig out my Gorilla outfit and Douglas can just turn up looking, and playing, like Mickey Mouse as per.

Winter Leaguery

I’m guilty sometimes of truth economy with my write ups on here, exaggerating my contribution to our team score a little. Keith Douglas and I play in the Stonehaven Golf Club winter league doubles competition, our best individual score on each hole counting towards the team total, and I’ve been known to big myself up on occasion, claiming a larger portion of credit than perhaps I ought. 

This week, however, I can confirm in no uncertain terms that I dominated proceedings, leaving Douglas to trail in my wake as I sank putts with gay abandon, he may as well have stayed at home. He chipped in here and there (not literally, his short game was bowf) but mostly it was my score which was scribbled onto the card as we departed each green. I was on fire with putter in hand, the hole the size of a bucket, I couldn’t miss, birdieing holes on the front and back nine while Douglas scratched his backside. No one warms to a big head so I’ll leave it there but believe me, my golf this weekend was SOLID, A1, gold plated quality, I deserve a plaque.

Not all of it was edifying though, for example we turned the 3rd and 11th fairways into X-rated zones during the round, both disrobing to reveal blubberous white torsos since the weather had become unseasonably hot. The sight of two out of condition, topless middle aged men, albeit momentarily, removing excess undergarments, is not one Stonehaven Golf Club needs to become accustomed to. If anyone had the misfortune to lay eyes on us I must apologise. If it’s any consolation, we didn’t remove our trousers and we bogeyed both holes. 

Other incidents of note; Douglas duffing his chip into a green side bunker on the 5th having bragged about out driving me, both of us birdieing the 6th (but me first so his was effectively meaningless), Douglas interrupting our game of golf with business talk when bumping into Neil Cattanach on the 11th (bang out of order, there’s a time and place), me completing the last three holes in one under par while Douglas fluffed his lines with a ball out of bounds (16th), a yanked tee shot virtually onto the 3rd tee (17th) and a hapless bogey (18th).

There are two rounds of the winter league still to play before the top four go through to the final. We lie 7th out of 9 teams, the two teams behind us having pulled out 😏. There’s work then to do, but we’re up to the task, I look forward this time next week to describing a barrage of birdies and a sub-60 round.