45 - Practice Makes Permanently Shit...

As I’m getting some free lessons from a genuine golf pro I thought it only fitting to practice my bad habits fully so he can show me where I’m going wrong (I know, I’m a giver). There was only one thing for it, a trip to the trust driving range. A couple of texts later and Alan was in. After goading Lucky, he decided to come too in an attempt to teach me a lesson or summat.

It is fair to say that after a lack of golf for a few weeks I was rustier than Christopher Reeves auld wheelchair. I couldn’t hit a cow’s arse with a banjo. ‘Arthur’ was all over the place with me managing to hook the shit out of the ball and slice it widely with annoying regularity. Thankfully ‘Dougie’ Howson was as reliable as a Volkswagen. Shot after creamy shot flew long and straight into the freezing night air.

It took me a good 15 balls to hit one good shot with ‘Fivey’ which had me more worried than usual. I could spot some obvious mistakes like slicing the ball a few feet away because I was standing too close to it but other mistakes had me baffled. Why am I finding it SO hard to hit the ball in the sweet spot? Why to I almost break my fingers with another shot off the toe or rattle my fillings out as the heel cracks the ball. I changed everything I could but was still all over the place.

I had a bit more joy with ‘Mac’ the Knife 56* wedge. I showed Lucky’s lad how to chip the ball high with the wedge but then couldn’t do the shot myself. After a few minor adjustments I was back on track, firing balls 20 feet down the range covered in snow (not literally you understand – as soon as it starts snowing I will be making snowballs to throw at the North Face wearing scalls who litter our streets – ahem).

After the warm up me, Alan and Lucky started the Blue & Yellow Basket Challenge. We were all over the place at first but Alan was the first to find his range as he peppered the baskets with crappy yellow golf balls. Soon after, Lucky got his act together and missed the target by inches a few times to howls of derision from the stocky ball of fury. I never got close. At all.

Eventually Alan bingoed ‘Big Yeller’ to win the long game but we all failed to chip into the blue basket despite it being within pissing distance (if I would have had a full bladder after a few pints obviously). I came away from the range happy to have smacked a few balls and met my mates but nervous about how crap I have gone. The pro is going to have his work cut out…