Physio 2

I needn't have bothered buying a new pair of pants for my second physio appointment, I could have worn my tired old Y-fronts after all. Last week my physio had me stripped down to my undercrackers before I'd finished saying " good morning", this week she only wanted me topless. That's bad enough mind you. My wife barely sees me without a shirt yet here I was stood stripped to the waist before a young lady half my age. Some blokes might be delighted at the prospect, I was horrified. It's okay if you're formed like a Greek Adonis, bulging biceps and ripped pectorals, it's no fun though when your pathetic, pale white torso droops apologetically beneath sagging moob action.

I'm ashamed of my body, so to have a super fit physiotherapist regard it from a distance of two paces was chastening indeed. I stood with my handlebars of flesh rolling over my waistband, my one pack hiding itself behind an ocean of blubber and my man breasts hanging forlornly, crying out for a sports bra to give them comfort. This was agonising but worse was to come. She asked me to put my hands on my hips, lean backwards and tell her if there was any pain, there wasn't. I was then instructed to bend forward and touch my toes and in a double whammy of disaster I saw my stomach form three embarrassing tyres as I leant forward and, mortifyingly, I inadvertently broke wind. Mercifully an odour didn't result but the audible guff squeak was enough to cement my deep embarrassment. She pretended she hadn't heard it but there was no denying I'd dropped my lunch, we shuffled across to the physiotherapist bed, wordlessly, while I waited for the ground to swallow me up.

I've never had acupuncture before, not that women haven't been tempted to put needles into me over the years, form an orderly queue ladies. Today though I was to experience it for the first time as my physio pierced the skin at the base of my spine with several pins while talking about the weather. The stretches and excercises I'd been doing hadn't worked so already we were on to acupuncture, if this doesn't work I expect amputation's next.

It was soon over and I buttoned my shirt while she diarised our next session. The back pain persists and my golf remains under threat, it's no fun swinging a club while your back is screaming for you to stop. I'll keep going back though until they fix me, I'll try to keep my sphincter closed next time mind.

Official Apology

In the absence of a golf report (course closed due to snow), I thought I’d share with you the following letter which I received from a solicitor this week. It reads as follows –

Dear Mr Russon

It has been brought to our attention by our client, K Douglas of Stonehaven, that you have been publishing libellous material against him. Upon examination of your blog Stoney Baloney, we are in full agreement with our client and hereby demand action is taken before legal proceedings are sought. We have been instructed to act in the strongest possible terms and, if you’ll pardon the vulgarity, been requested, in our client’s words, to “ take you to the fu#*ing cleaners”. We therefore insist that you both publish a full retraction of your slanderous comments and issue a comprehensive apology. If action is not taken within 7 days, we have been instructed by our client to sue you for every penny you’ve got and pursue you to the ends of the earth in this regard.

We await your response.

Yours sincerely

B. Hind Barrs Solicitors

As you can imagine, it was quite a shock to receive such a letter and not a little unsettling. My children have subsequently had nightmares believing I’m going to prison and my wife has threatened to leave me. However, if my winter league partner is without sufficient honour to deal with this man to man I have no choice but to fall on my sword and carry out the instructions given by his solicitor. Moreover, if I’m to retain any hope of seizing the winter league trophy I’ll need to fulfil the remaining fixtures alongside Douglas so I’d best keep him sweet. I therefore issue the following response ‘in all sincerity’ and confirm that the accusations I made against him were indeed ‘a figment of my imagination’.

Dear Keith

I write to confirm that you did not thieve money from my golf bag while I was putting out on the 7^th green (even though you were the only person present within 500 yards). I also now accept that the suggestion that I carry you around the course while you contribute nothing towards our team effort  is inaccurate (please return the bill sent to you by my back physio). In addition I confirm you do not have poor etiquette, shocking dress sense, halitosis, bad flatulence or a potty mouth. You did not stand me up when I kindly arrived to collect you for a lift into Aberdeen before Christmas, you don’t belch in my backswing and at no time have you let my tyres down in the club car park.

I hope this ‘heartfelt’ apology is satisfactory to you and that you will continue to form a partnership with me for the remainder of the winter league. You are indeed a fine upstanding pillar of the community, a man of integrity and it is my great fortune that you stooped low enough to accept me as your partner (even if everybody else had turned you down flat). I’m sorry for any distress I may have caused you, rest assured there will be no repeat of the inaccurate criticism I have levelled your way.

I look forward with relish to our reunion next Saturday on the 1^st tee, please don’t be distracted by the welcoming committee of black suited bouncers from the boozer I used to drink in when residing in inner city Birmingham. Furthermore, do not be disturbed by their surly manner or the vast array of instruments of torture which they’re likely to exhibit. Your safety is, I guarantee, assured.

In closing, I also apologise for the discovery of a horse’s head in your scratcher this morning, I accidentally misplaced it when driving home from work.

I hope this puts an end to the matter.

Yours without contempt and in friendship alone

Alex Russon 

Let's get physical

I’d never been to a physio before today, hells bells it’s all a bit previous isn’t it? I ambled in complaining of back pain and she had me down to my underpants within ten minutes. You mustn’t blame the woman, I can’t help being irresistible, but we could have exchanged pleasantries for a little longer first. Soon she had me bending forward, bending back, stretching here and there before lying me on the bed to work on my stiffness.

The sharpest pain was in my buttocks (there’s a joke there somewhere but I’m too tired to work it out) so she turned me over and worked on my right arse cheek. There’s something disconcerting about having a woman touch your arse when you’ve barely said hello but she was grinding her elbow into it to locate the pain’s epicentre. She kept grinding away, freeing up internal fibres matted in my bottom she said, “ that’s what I do every morning changing Ernie’s nappy” I snorted, she didn’t laugh. Next, as I remained face down, she pushed her palms hard up and down my back, searching again for the source of pain. “Any pain yet” she enquired. “No” I lied. There was pain alright but it was in my testicles as she pushed so hard on my coccyx that my rollocks were getting flattened against the bed beneath, but I wasn’t going to tell her, I was too embarrassed, so the pain went on.

Eventually I returned to my feet, middle age spread tumbling over my elasticated underpants, my meat and two veg trussed up like coconuts in a hammock. Damn, why didn’t I wear something more flattering? I stretched some more until, mercifully, she allowed me to put my feeble body back into a pair of breeks and a t-shirt. “ Same time next week?” she said. “ Fine” I grunted. I’ve now got seven days to find myself a decent pair of Y-fronts. Meantime, on to the gratuitous Olivia Newton-John video.

Gay Abandon

A return to golf after a sustained break can go one of two ways, you either play like a demon or stink the course up. I usually play quite well after a rest from the game, my head free of the paralysis of analysis that otherwise blights my golf, I just stand up to the ball and hit it. Mind clutter is the bane of any golfer’s life, so many thoughts crowd your head during the backswing that you’re a shivering wreck by the time your club reaches the ball. A break from the game frees your mind of these fears, gives you a blank slate devoid of the energy sapping thoughts of swing mechanics. Well for the front nine at least.

The torment of golfing paralysis is indeed horrible, equally tragic however is the first tee terror that takes over when playing before a sizeable audience after a lengthy lay-off. He won’t thank me for broadcasting this but my brother Stuart experienced a meltdown regards this affliction at a plush corporate golf day in Nottinghamshire some years ago. Our fourball teed off in full view of dozens of folk milling around the front of the clubhouse. His face set in stone, eyes on stalks and stricken with apprehension he began his backswing and in a grotesque movement lasting barely a millisecond, completed less than a quarter backswing before lurching at the ball in a state of utter panic. His shoulders stiffened, his knees dipped and he delivered the fresh air shot to end all fresh air shots, his clubhead swishing the air a clear six inches above the ball. Playing partners coughed, Stuart gulped, tumbleweed blew across the tee.  It was a horror show, X-rated. Give me paralysis of analysis over first tee fresh air shots anytime.

But enough of Stu’s personal hell, let’s move on to today’s game, round 6 of the winter league four weeks after our previous round, an opportunity to play with gay abandon (not Keith’s stage name).  A chance to play without fear but with freedom and panache.  It was with a degree of excitement that I looked forward to a knock. I cleaned my clubs, polished my shoes, even washed my ball pocket. I had the demeanour of a child awaking on Christmas Day, full of expectation. Imagine my disappointment then when at the eleventh hour, literally, my winter league partner cried off citing fatigue due to a bout of late night poker in Dundee. As excuses go, ‘lame’ doesn’t even cover it. I suppose I should be grateful for the twelve hour notice of his impending absence but given I was notified by text in the dead of night, I was asleep for eight of those hours. I shouldn’t be surprised, he has form regarding this kind of behaviour, only last month standing me up when I’d had the good grace to turn up to give him a pre-arranged lift to Aberdeen. 

Once again Douglas’s behaviour proves itself to be beyond the pale, it leaves me questioning the wisdom of partnering this oaf in the winter league pairs. It comes to a pretty pass when the man you’ve been carrying through the winter league competition then has the brass neck to cry off when you’ve virtually pulled into the car park. Perhaps with his poker winnings he can buy himself a mirror and take a long hard look into it, meantime I’ll diligently practice to compensate for his on-course shortcomings.We now have five weeks to play our five remaining qualifying rounds, here's hoping Douglas turns up next week though I'm not holding my breath, word has it he's off to purchase a chocolate fireguard upon which to model himself.

Doomed

I spent Saturday evening watching Villa’s winning streak of one solitary game come to an end as we drew with Leicester. The last time we won two games in succession Tommy Docherty was still in management. This has been our anus horribilis, twelve points from twenty two games equals definite relegation. Hells bells, we could be playing Walsall in a league match next season, that it should come to this.

It didn’t used to be this way. We won the league in ’81, the European Cup in ’82 and had plenty else going for us; great tradition, iconic ground, big support, even our kit was bostin. Then it went pear shaped. We appointed Billy McNeill as manager in ’85 who rewarded us with immediate relegation and we’ve never truly recovered apart from fleeting League Cup success in ’94 and ’96 and some half decent seasons under Martin O’Neill. We had some good times with Graham Taylor I suppose, he brought us straight back up after McNeill relegated us until England decided he was their man (though it turned out he wasn’t). 

A few seasons under Big Fat Ron were entertaining. He brought bojangles, whitened teeth, an orange permatan and wore a brillo pad upon his head. He also brought entertaining football with lots of goals including a Goal Of The Season winner in Dalian Atkinson’s mazy run and shot in the rain at Wimbledon, made famous by the Villa fan who came on the pitch with his umbrella to protect the scorer as he celebrated.

But that was then, this is now. We’re going down and deservedly so. It’s been coming for years to be frank, we’ve stayed up by the skin of our teeth a few times but finally chickens have come home to roost. You can’t replace average players with poorer ones and expect to get away with it. Our forward line is toothless, midfield powder puff, defence absent without leave and our keeper couldn’t catch a cold.  We’re gone and no mistake, people like me can only gaze at photos like this and remember the good old days…

10th & final rule change with full list attached

Remember It’s A Knockout, that wacky game show in the 70s/80s? The less said about its’ presenter the better but the concept of the show was a good one. The best bit was when a team played their joker to win double points and I’ve decided SGC will adopt this idea in 2016 Stableford competitions.

From the beginning of the summer season each player will nominate a hole on the front and back nines upon which they’ll play their joker. Double points will be awarded on these holes, for example a par will earn four points and not two. But you need to get wise with it, there’s no point nominating the 9^th if that’s the hole upon which you regularly falter, double zilch is still zilch. Better to choose a hole upon which you score well if that’s not stating the bleeding obvious.  Players cannot nominate the holes retrospectively and must make clear, before their round commences, which holes will benefit from double bubble.

And in a cheeky twist to encourage a level playing field, those with handicaps below six will have a reverse joker whereby the number of strokes they play on the holes they nominate are doubled not their points tally. For instance, if they show off with a 3 on the first this is doubled to 6 which equals a blob. Indeed they’d need to eagle the first to score any points at all. This may appear a touch harsh but will bring the swaggerers down to size and how beautiful will it be when their birdies count for naught on the very same hole a high handicapped player’s birdie earns them six points! Sweet.

And it is with this tenth and final initiative that I conclude my proposed amendments to the SGC constitution. Happy golfing to everyone, letters of appreciation for my inspirational blueprint can be addressed to the club secretary and nominations for my knighthood sent to the queen.

Summary of the 10 new introductions to the Stoney constitution 2016 -

1.Mulligans

2.Not clearing the humps

3.12^th becomes a par 5

4.Fill in the gully.

5.New club championship rules

6.7^th green plaque of honour

7.Club twinning arrangement

8.Stroke Index revision

9.Disciplinary amendments

10.Joker holes

New Rule #9 Disciplinary Measures

Discipline

“ Spare the rod, spoil the child” the saying goes. While not advocating corporal punishment for the non-repair of divots, I feel standards of behaviour mustn’t be allowed to degenerate. I therefore propose a suite of measures that will ensure SGC safeguards its’ good reputation in North East golfing circles.

-Prohibition of ankle bangers. Senior members will no longer be permitted to wear their twenty year old breeks at half mast.

-6 month ban for the playing of Penfold Commandos or Dunlop 65s

-Golfers who take fresh air shots will be reported to the police

-Players scoring over 100 will be placed into stocks on the practice putting green and pelted with rotten fruit

-Anyone taking four putts on one hole to be suspended

-Following sayings are now banned from putting greens; you dropped your lipstick, dead sheep, does your husband play?

-Failure to clear the gully from the tee will require the culprit to reload wearing a bell encrusted jester’s hat

-Banning of tee pegs with mini pomp poms attached

-Two consecutive shanks will attract a lifetime ban

The introduction of these measures can only enhance the reputation of the club. We cannot expect respect when ill attired players are swishing air shots over the top of Penfold Commandos which they've perched on tees that are linked by string to bright yellow pom poms.