128 - Big Fake Grin...

I had the pleasure of visiting West Derby Golf Club today and I was quite impressed. My mate Alan is a member and kindly offered to take me around for a sneaky 18. As my game is all over the place I decided to caddy for him as he blasted his way around the pretty parkland course on the outskirts of Liverpool.

Having only ever played on municipals I saw the difference immediately. From tee to green the course was immaculate, totally devoid of the usual treats found on council run tracks – litter, unrepaired fairways, pockmarked greens and the occasional burnt out car in the rough (I think it is treated as an immovable obstruction in the R&A rulebook incidentally with the appropriate relief given).

I can see why people are drawn to private courses but they fill me with dread. I’m not sure I could be arsed with all the rules, the enforced etiquette and the general ‘know your place’ attitude from the old guard. I get that the rules are there for the good of everyone and in theory I support them but in practice I think I would struggle.

I found myself getting annoyed by the big ‘No Mobile Phones’ sign on the terrace outside the clubhouse even though I could understand that if you were on the green (a few feet away) the sound of some tool yapping away while you are trying to make a birdie would be off putting.

I understand the rule, agree with it but don’t like it being shoved down my throat (insert your own Carry On/Benny Hill gag here). It is as if we cannot be trusted to think for ourselves, or is it something more sinister?

Alan explained that he had to have an interview before he could join where he had to agree to attend a number of functions throughout the year and promise to be an all round good egg – seems like too much hard work to me although Alan assured me that the chances of him attending the Captain’s Black Tie Ball are slim...

And that is the paradox for me; I love the perfectly manicured greens, the spotless changing rooms and the comfy bar showing the football but the thought of grovelling to a bunch of old farts and promising to be a good boy grates to the point of anger. The alternative is surely worse though? Poorly maintained municipals filled with scalls in England shirts and Reebok Classics? Nah.

Maybe Alan is right, maybe I need to play the game with the establishment a little in order to play the game of golf a lot. No queues on the tee, polite and courteous players, friendly staff – sounds very tempting, all I need now is £1,000 I suppose oh and to practice my fake grin of course.