07 - Slaughter on the Dancefloor...

With Richie’s words of wisdom ringing in my ears and about 400 balls smashed away down the driving range I decided it was time to take the next step – play a round. I contacted Alan and he said he could finish work at 3 on Thursday so why don’t we just book a round and get on with it. I like his spunk – in a non sexual way you understand, I mean in a get-up-and-go kinda way.

I phoned Kirkby Golf Course and booked a tee time. We were to go to war on the green battlefield at 3:15. When I say war it was no doubt going to be a slaughter as Alan can play and I can only just manage to keep my shots within the confines of a driving range that is literally half a mile wide.

I turned up early and got all my shiny equipment out and ready to use. I looked like a complete blert to be honest with my gleaming shoes, pristine kecks, polo shirt and Callaway cap. Even my clubs were sparkling. I read in Golf Whine Monthly that a dirty club face can ruin your shots and seeing as I was useless to begin with I didn’t need anything else hindering me. I spent two hours the night before with a golf tee scraping shite out of the grooves.

I wanted to get away from the clubhouse as quickly as possible as I couldn’t relax so it was a knap that my tee shot flew 30 feet to the right and into some trees. I put another ball down, closed my eyes and spanked the piss out of it. Predictably I sliced it but was happy as it went about 150 yards and got me away from the sniggers. Alan was full of encouragement which helped but there was no escaping the fact that I was just fucking awful.

After a crap second shot I hit a peach of a 5 iron to get on the green in three which was ok. I eventually sank my putt and got a six on a par 4 which was great in my book. Before starting Alan said I should give myself a target of two shots per hole as I hadn’t played before (so a par 4 is a par 6 to me etc). So far I was on target for a shit, but acceptable, score.

The next few holes flew by…well, flew from rough to bunker to woods with the net result being one seriously pissed of new golfist. Why is this stupid game so bastard hard? HOW can it be so bastard hard? All you have to do is hit a ball up a field. Oh, and if I play another son-of-a-bitch par 3 in my life it will be too soon. I’m no expert but 9 shots on a hole that is only 160 yards isn’t good.

That par 3 was the low point in my golf life. I was just about to throw my sand wedge into the River Alt when Alan gave me a stern “don’t”. I half jokingly said I give up and was going home when Alan hit me with some Zen like words of wisdom. He basically said that if I give up now I might as well not bother anymore as I’d just be a loser like the whining bastards he has played with in the past. They have never felt what it is like to win and are happy to be losers. I didn’t wanna be a loser!!!

Alan said I should forget what has gone before and focus on my next shot. Make my next shot be the best of the day. Guess what? My next shot was shit. Bastard. A few shots later though I hit another peach of a 5 iron onto the green to get my second par of the day! Oh yeah, I got a par earlier in the round, forgot to mention.

To be honest, with the exception of my aberration on the par 3, I was starting to get into it and my scores were coming down. After the first nine I was looking at scoring something like 140 but after the back nine it was down to 119. If I’d have doubled my back nine score I would have got 92 which is pretty good considering I didn’t actually know what I was doing.

I traipsed off the 18th and slumped on a bench by the clubhouse. I was shattered. Thing is, I wasn’t fed up or disheartened; I was literally just physically shattered. It has been mentioned that the average golfer walks around 6 miles per round. With all my forays into the wilderness I reckon I zigzagged around 8 miles all in. My back, thighs and shoulders were stiffer than a Saudi jail sentence by the time I got home.

That night I ended up thinking about shots I had played earlier that day. Trying to break down where I had gone wrong, trying to fix my mistakes. I think I have the golf bug.