27 - Lucky And The Klingon Putter...

After our round at Bootle the other week Lucky decided his putter needed to go. Apparently the mallet that came with his set is too heavy meaning that it is his putter’s fault he hilariously hit the ball so hard on the green that he had to chip back on. It wasn’t his lack of talent, no way; it was all down to that evil putter.

Being Lucky he selected his next putter with care. He jotted down a wish list, decided on a budget, did thorough research including trying a variety of different makes and models at his local Pro Shop before committing to his next purchase. Who am I kidding? He did an online quiz and then hotfooted it to eBay to see how little he could pay for it!

He did the quiz on the Odyssey website which asked him all kinds of questions about what type of Odyssey putter he preferred then Odyssey used all their years of experience in the putter business to suggest what they thought would be best for him. Unsurprisingly they suggested an Odyssey. They reckoned an Odyssey Sabretooth (right) would suit him down to the ground…or an Odyssey White Hot XG…or an Odyssey Dual Force 2. Those guys are good.

In the end he settled on the Odyssey Sabretooth as it was their first suggestion. It had nothing to do with it looking like a Klingon Battlecruiser at all and any suggestions of the type would be wide of the mark. Lucky is not one to be swayed by cosmetic flippantly, he would never, for instance, buy a set of clubs because the woods that come with them “look like a Beluga whale”!

To be fair, it does get a lot of decent reviews in the mags and it does looks great (an important factor I’m sure all you serious players out there will agree). We are going to try and play a round again soon so I’ll have a few putts with it to see if it really makes that much difference. Actually I want a Titleist Scotty Cameron beast but it cost £200 fucking quid…for a putter! Not happening. Why is it that Titleist does so many objects of desire?

26 - Swanky Clubs, Cheap Hybrids And The RSPCA...

So, now I’m back into the game (and I’ve just been paid), I thought I would indulge in my new favourite pastime of drooling over golf porn (not the bunker babes (click here to check out what I’m talking about, it isn’t pictures of Eva Braun either, wrong sort of bunker) or the likes of Natalie Gulbis or Michelle Wie – do a search), I mean clubs ‘n shit.

I started flicking through the reviewed section of Golf Whine Monthly to see what was shiny and new and the answer was a fucking lot. Ping have got some weird aluminous green shafted monsters called Rapture V2 that look the absolute dogs bollocks. Apparently they are even good for people with high handicaps…I wonder what they are like for useless clowns like me though? Hmmm, might investigate.

Talking of clubs that are good for people with high handicaps, TaylorMade have whipped up a set of clubs called Burner Plus which are apparently “ultra, ultra forgiving”. The magazine goes on to say “Game improvers should strongly consider these new irons”. Well that is me sold! The only problem is, they are TaylorMade and I would look and even bigger bellend than I already do if I step up to the tee with a set of swanky clubs only to start hacking the shit out of the fairway/rough/bunker with them.

Anyway, that kit is off my radar until I’m good enough to be classed as shit (as opposed to fucking useless – the rating I have at the minute. I need to whip up a table showing my progress from where I started all the way up to my ultimate aim of average). I need to improve before I can justify the expenditure of a set of clubs which is why I’m experimenting with the likes of my £10 56* wedge. This brings me on to my latest purchase, a £10 Howson Comp Plus Hybrid Wood.

I’ve had a couple of cracks on the Driving Range with other people’s Hybrids and they felt good but I didn’t have enough time to practice to see if they were worth blowing cash on. I saw that little Howson on offer for just a tenner and thought it was a bit of a no-brainer buying it. When it arrives I’m going to give it a full test at the range to see if it will improve my game. Reading magazines and websites it seems these clubs are a revelation so I’m hopeful they can help me.

My golf bag has more mongrels in it than the local RSPCA dog’s home. The bulk of my bats are Callaway Steel Head irons and Big Bertha woods but there is also the Knife 56* wedge, the Howson Hybrid and the recently acquired Hippo John ‘Arthur’ Daly driver. Add to this a rogue Dunlop 6 iron that I noticed the other day and it is fair to say it is literally a mixed TaylorMade bag (which has a Nike umbrella and a Maxfli towel attached to it incidentally). I’m such a brand whore.

Richie has lectured me in the past about buying random stuff. “Will it improve your game?” is the chant from him. “Fuck that, does it look good?” is my retort. He has given up now and just tells me to buy whatever I like as he knows he will inherit it once I chuck the towel in and give up. At this rate he is going to have some utter shite in his bag!!!

25 - Operation: Snide Round...

To see if I was going to continue playing golf in the future I gave myself two tests to pass. Firstly, I had to have a good session at the driving range with Richie (including reducing my horrible slice, getting the balls to go in the general direction I wanted them to and, most importantly, to enjoy myself). Secondly, I decided to play a round at Kirkby on my own to see if I could do it without any help or encouragement.

I had fallen out of love with the sport in the last few weeks. I had been putting the effort in, practicing hard, devoting time and money to the game yet was getting nowhere fast. To be honest, the only part of golf I was enjoying was writing this blog and drooling over golf porn (monster drivers with weights you could customise, expensive wedges, putters that look like ships from a Star Trek film etc).

If things didn’t go well over the next two days then I was going to jack the lot in or at least drastically reduce the amount of time I was devoting to it.

Yesterday I went to Aintree with Richie and had a great session to be honest. I even won the blue net challenge! He tweaked my game slightly (back to what I was doing properly a few weeks ago ironically) and I was back on track. All I needed was a decent round at Kirkby and there would be no more hissy fits and no more posts on here filled with tales of woe and sorrow, I could get back to trying to improve and hopefully enjoying the game again.

I wanted to play in peace so I arrived at the course at 7:10 confident that I would be the only person there. Was I shite. The car park was a quarter full and there was a queue to tee off. Haven’t this lot got anything better to do than be playing golf on a beautiful, crisp autumnal morning? Hmmm, just read that back and think I know the answer!

History will show that I always slice my first shot on a course and today was no different. Knowing that I would slice the ball I compensated by aiming at the river which runs the length of the first hole to the left. I may have compensated a little too much though as my training, allied to the Hippo John Daly driver Paul from work lent me helped the ball sail perilously close to the water, eventually rolling inches from the rough on the left of the fairway.

A decent, if a little short, second shot put me within chipping distance of the green. Time to bring out the 56* wedge and get the control on the green I needed. After today’s round I know I need to practice my chipping…a lot. I managed to top the ball which resulted in the ball fizzing across the green and into the trees at the back of the hole. A second chip was required. A third was needed seconds later as the ball shot back to where it had originally come from. Fuck this, I decided to use the putter from the fairway, it is easier. Minutes later I had a six on the first par four – a par in Rob’s Scoring.

This was pretty much the pattern for the entire round. Decent tee shot (majorly happy with this by the way), half decent iron to the edge of the green (sometimes in the rough though but you can’t have everything) then hacking the ball all over the bastard place with my wedge or 9 iron (pain in the arse) before two or three putting (not happy with this, my putting has gone down hill I reckon).

Playing your second shot from the fairway makes a big difference. The last time I played Kirkby and all through the round at Bootle my second shot was usually an exercise in trying to get the ball back into a playable position rather than going for the green.

I was impressed with the Hippo club Paul lent me. I was able to hit the ball relatively far and reasonably straight which helped me attack the green with my second shot. I was so impressed with the wood that I sent Paul an email via my BlackBerry on the 13th green to say that he wasn’t getting it back and asking him how much he wanted for it. “A 20 spot” came the reply. Job done, it now lives in my bag permanently!

Talking of the 13th, it is a big dog leg right par five that I struggled with last time. With the help of the ‘Arthur’ (John Daly – Arthur Daly…geddit?) and two good iron shots I was on the green in 3. I three putted to give me a score of 6 or a birdie in Rob’s Scoring! Get in. Oh and I managed not to completely fuck up any of the son-of-a-bitch par 3’s either! At this rate I’ll crack the magical sub-100 mark in the next 12 months I reckon…

I continued my way around the course and even played through four auld fella’s who seemed to spend as much time arguing as they did playing! As I was passing them they were discussing a ball one of them had found in the rough, I swear (and so did they – a lot) the conversation went some thing like this:

“Have you found your ball yet because there is one here? What are you playing?”
“Golf.”
“I know you are playing golf! What fucking ball are you using?!”
“Well why did you ask what I was playing then soft arse?”
“I meant what ball are you playing.”
“Well why didn’t you fucking say that?”
“For fuck sake. What ball are you playing?”
“A white one.”
“Are you taking the piss?”
“Eh? Oh, does it say Terry on it?”
“No, nothing. Hang on John, who the fuck is Terry?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well why would your ball have Terry on it?”
“You never know!”
“Are you trying to fucking wind me up?”

I played through, laughing my head off. It was good to see that it wasn’t just me who got frustrated with the game. I heard them effing and blinding on a fairway later on in the round and in the car park on the way out. After all the abuse they dished out to each other and all the ripping the last thing they did was arrange another match next week. The power of golf is strong!

After just over three hours I eventually trundled up to the 18th tee and was knackered to be honest. One last swing of Arthur left me perfectly positioned on the fairway, a cracking iron shot put me in chipping distance of the green, after a fluffed chip I eventually got the ball about 20 feet from the pin. With some people looking on from the putting green behind the 18th dancefloor I stroked my best putt of the day to finish on a five – a birdie in Rob’s Scoring!

I wanted to strut off the course in a “do you know who I am” kinda way but my legs had gone so I shuffled over to the benches behind the first tee and sat down for 10 minutes while I worked out my score. I did the front 9 in 55 and the back in 52 giving me 107 in total.

I started this post by stating that I had given myself two tests to pass. Last night’s driving range session was passed with flying colours and after knocking a massive 12 shots off my first score around Kirkby it is fair to say Operation: Snide Round was an overwhelming success too. Maybe I’ll give this golf lark another bash!!!

24 - Reports Of My Golfing Demise May Have Been Greatly Exaggerated...

Your sweary golf blog entertainment might continue after all. I had threatened to jack it all in if tonight’s session at the torture chamber, I mean, driving range went badly. I’m pleased to say that tonight went well…almost as well as it ever has. I blame Richie entirely for this.

While I practiced Richie stood behind me with his judging eyes, checking, ready to point out where I was going wrong. So it was inevitable that I hit six (it is always in groups of six remember) balls fairly far and fairly straight. I was embarrassed and a little bit pissed off. I had specifically asked Richie to come down to sort all my problems yet they had mysteriously disappeared.

Saying that, Richie still spotted a couple of things that he thought needed working on. In order to control my swing he suggested that I grip the club down the shaft a little. Apparently reducing the swing will mean that I’m not as wild and should have more control over the ball which in turn should stop the hideous newbie slice. Fuck me it worked! It worked so well I got adventurous.

Anyone who has ever played golf will tell you that the driver is the hardest club to use accurately which is why, on my two trips to a golf course so far, I’ve avoided it like the plague on the whole. Tonight my mate Paul from work (not Lucky Paul, another Paul) decided he would pop down to Aintree for a bit of a whack. He brought with him a present in the form of a metal shafted, John Daly signature, Hippo driver. He said I should use it to see if it would help my slice.

With Richie’s advice ringing in my ears and Paul’s wood gripped firmly in my hands (oo-er) I let rip and…the ball flew straight and true. For a change it went a properly decent distance too. Was it a fluke I asked myself? Was it fuck came the answer as I hit more and more balls acceptably straight and satisfyingly long. I switched to my 3 wood to see if I could replicate the magic and was more than pleasantly surprised to see I could.

Next it was on to my 5 iron. I wanted to show to Richie that although I might be a ham fisted gimp when it came to driving, I was doing alright with my irons. I hit my first shot so bad that he was laughing at me when I turned around. What a mate he is!!! The problem was easy to spot and quick to fix. I was standing too close to the ball and not keeping my head down.

Adjustments made I was back on course. The yellow basket challenge was on again and I failed once more. I got the same words of encouragement from Richie that I usually get from Alan though; I was getting close enough to be on the green and in a good position to two putt. I was back to being proud of my little ‘Fivey’!

Time for the wedge and the blue basket challenge. The game is simple; there is a blue basket around 50 yards away and we each in turn try and chip into it. So far I have played this game with Alan and Lucky and lost on both occasions. This time, armed with my 56* wedge, I was determined to win. After a few shots I realised that the wedge was just too lofty, the ball was flying higher than further.

I switched to Lucky’s 9 iron and, in the immortal words of Stifler, it was “on like Donkey Kong”. I was there or thereabouts from the start so it was only a matter of time before I hit the jackpot. A few balls later I was laughing like a loon as I bingoed the target. Get the fuck in! I won, job done, game over. Richie went one better though by doing a ‘Crossbar Challenge’ (watch Soccer AM on Sky) on the basket…the bastard.

With the prize won I moved to a spare bay, relaxed and fired a few balls off. It is amazing how much easier this game is when you have no pressure on you. I hit lots of creamy shots into the crisp Aintree night with a smug smirk on my face. I finished off with two 3 wood drives that were the best of the night. It is good to be the king.

23 - This Is A Low...

As you may have noticed after reading the last few posts on this blog, I’m not the ray of sunshine I usually am. It would be fair to say I’m about as happy as a bulimic with no fingers. The reason is simple; I’m not getting any better at golf despite putting a lot of effort in. I practice three times a week and get to a course every couple of weeks yet I’m still utter rubbish.

If I’m being honest I think I have actually regressed. When I first started I could hit the ball far but without any real accuracy, now, after all those hours of practice, all the tips and all the help, I can’t hit it as far as I could originally and I’m just as inaccurate. A lose/lose situation I’m sure you’ll all agree.

A few weeks ago, although I was what’s know in the trade as ‘shit’ I was enjoying it. Now I’m finding it more and more difficult to motivate myself to bother any more. The driving range used to be a place where I could practice and have a bit of fun, now it is starting to feel like a torture chamber where every screwed up shot hits me like a nail in the knackers administered by a particularly sinister jailer.

The last straw came the other night when even my 5 iron refused to play ball. I went through about 40 balls without hitting one straight (the vast majority not making it past the scrub in front of the bays before the grass starts if I’m being honest). Earlier my ‘fixed’ 3 wood went on the blink as the auld slice returned and then I couldn’t chip the ball into a basket just 50 yards away with a club just designed to chip the ball just 50 yards.

Even Alan’s words of encouragement couldn’t lift me and before you could say “you’ve just wasted an hour of your life and £4 because you couldn’t hit a cows arse with a banjo let alone the ball properly” I had wasted an hour of my life and £4 because I couldn’t hit a cows arse with a banjo let alone the ball properly. It was my worse performance at Aintree by some margin.

I’m meeting Richie at the range tonight and he has promised to give me some tips. I have a sneaky plan for Friday too but if these two sessions don’t go well I might have to face the fact that golf just isn’t for me and jack it in as a bad job. This is a low.

22 - Close Your Legs You Big Hussy...

After the good session at the range the other night I was eager to get back down there. I had started hitting my 3 wood properly by simply moving my left foot back half an inch (I know it shouldn’t work but it just does) and wanted to see if I could replicate the magic with my Big Bertha. I couldn’t. This game is shit.

I cannot understand how something that works on one club can fail so spectacularly on another. I was properly trying too. I was giving it so much thought and putting so much effort in that when it didn’t work I wanted to smash my driver to bits. I was on the verge of giving up in a girly huff, especially as the 13-year-old kid in the next bay was pinging the ball high, straight and handsome – the little shit – instead I moved on to my 5 iron, he wouldn’t let me down.

Sure enough auld ‘Fivey’ was as reliable as a Volkswagen. Time after time I got a good connection and more often than not the ball went where I wanted it to go. Again me and Alan had a showdown trying to get into the yellow basket thing 150 yards away. Again Alan won but only on a technicality as he had a Sally Gunnell that bounced into the net…the cheat!!!

Right, on to the cheap wedge that I’m trialling to see if I can justify buying a Vokey. Instead of doing any real practicing I was experimenting with the little fella, seeing how the ball flew differently when I hit it in different ways. Not too productive but I did get another little tip which worked a treat when Alan explained that unlike a prostitute I should have my legs closed to make it easier to get to the hole.

Closing your stance, keeping your arms straight and gently pushing through the ball will make it fly straight and true…if you hit it correctly that is. Currently I have an annoying tendency to top the ball making it fly low and far – pretty much the exact opposite to what I want it to do.

According to Richie I should give the driving range a miss, get on a field and hit the balls until I’m making contact with them consistently. After that I can start hitting the ball harder to work out what I can do with the club. I desperately want the wedge to work out as I know, from my two rounds, how important it is to get close to the pin when on the course…oh and then I can justify buying that lovely, lovely Vokey!

21 - [RANT] The Fucking Ryder Cup...

I knew having an interest in the Ryder Cup would mean that Europe would lose, it was a cert. I have watched the competition over the last few years with a bit of interest but nothing too serious so this year, now that it actually matters to me, I could have bet a kidney on the fact that Team Gluttony & Arrogance would triumph over the brave, brave Europeans.

As predicted, it was a whoop and holla-a-thon from the unwashed masses that did their best to ruin my enjoyment of the tournament. I went on (at length) about that lot in another post but they exceeded even my expectations. “In the hole!”, “Bo USA!”, “Bomb Eye-ran” and other shite for three fucking days…utter, utter bellends. But the players were no better.

What is the deal with that bloaty headed fucker, Lil Kim? I saw him have a ‘mare, get saved by a peach of a shot from Phil Mickelson (the exception to the rule when it comes to arrogant Americans from what I’ve seen of him) then he sank an easy 4 foot putt and danced across the green like he had just hit a hole in one…on a par 5…with his putter. I was so pissed off with him I turned over.

Then there was that fat tit who was riding a pretend horse down the fairway. My toes nearly curled off at the sight of an adult prancing around like a backward kid at a birthday party. All he was missing was a tiny pointy hat and cake around his mouth. Yeah, the Ryder Cup was in Kentucky where they have a famous horse race, we get it.

The difference between that shower and us is that if the Ryder Cup is held in Amsterdam in two years time for example we won’t see the likes of Ian Poulter running around butt naked, firing ping pong balls out of his arse with a big, fat spliff in his grid despite the Dutch capital being famous for hookers and drugs.

So the weekend was ruined by the American players and fans and now my week is on the ropes by what can only be described as cunts. Me and Alan went to the driving range tonight and the place was heaving. The Ryder Cup has gotten people into golf which is surely a good thing? Well no it isn’t and I’ll tell you why.

Out of the 40 or so bays at Aintree, 35 of them were filled with kids or dickheads arsing around. Now, I’m no pro but I am trying to have a go which is why it messed with my head having to wait for a free bay and then put up with all manner of tosser who tuned into Sky Sports on Saturday and now think it is hilarious to spend two hours trying to hit 100 balls.

We had three bays behind us filled with what looked like the kids from Hansen (all shoulder length blond hair and faces you wanted smash in with a house brick) whose primary aim, as far as I could see, was to scream at the top of their squeaky voices every time they managed to hit a ball. Bliss.

The two bays in front of us were being used by a group of Spaniards who tried to smack the coating off of the ball in-between chain smoking about 600 ciggies each. Actually, that is unfair, they did stop smoking to swig their lager and spout incomprehensible nonsense at each other.

We were surrounded by people you would cross the road to avoid, all brought together by the power of the Ryder Cup. They had wiped the dust off their 10 year old bats, bombed to their nearest driving range and were all merrily trying to push me over the edge by screaming their head off, smoking and drinking. Oh yeah, this lot were good for golf.

The only plus point is that they were even shitter than me so they won’t bother coming back once the novelty has worn off. Talking of not coming back, if I don’t improve soon I swear to God I’m gonna put my clubs on eBay, throw my golf clobber in the bin and jack the fucking lot in. If this site suddenly disappears you know things haven’t gone well…

20 - Half An Inch Can Make All The Difference...

I got sick of waiting for a break in the apocalyptic weather so it was off to the driving range…for a change. I met Alan there armed with my trusty, but misfiring 3 wood, my 5 iron (the blue eyed boy of the bag) and my all new 56* wedge. The wedge is a just cheap club I’m using to see if I can use and get any use out of it. If it does nothing for me I might draw my little roo on it and give it away in a blog based competition! Watch this space.

After a couple of practice swings I realised that the wedge felt a lot different to the Callaway clubs I’ve been mistreating over the last four weeks. The club felt heavy and rigid and at first I thought it was just because it was new and therefore hadn’t been broken in but on engaging my brain it was simply because it was a totally different design to the Callaway’s.

The expensive clubs use flexible graphite shafts and have computer designed cavity backs. The wedge is a lump of iron on a metal shaft but you get what you pay for I suppose, although initially I thought a tenner was too much. It wasn’t until I started using it like a wedge did it start to make sense. The quarter swing magic worked again with the ball flying high but close, perfect for those little shots around the green.

After a few more shots I decided to use the latest tip given. My mate Ste said that the best bit of advice he ever got was to use the ‘club putter’ shot around the green. Yeah, I didn’t have a fucking clue what he was on about either. Turns out that you get a high angled club when you want a sneaky chip and run but play it like a putter with stiff, straight arms pushing the ball onto the green. The idea is simple and, after trying it for five minutes, works a treat! I’m desperate to try it on a course.

With the wedge evaluation done I moved on to my beloved 5 iron. As usual she didn’t let me down with shot after shot going a reasonable distance and, more often than not, straight. It is weird but I’m starting to feel good about using certain clubs, before long I’m gonna turn up to play with four clubs in my bag.

Then it was on to the errant child that is the 3 wood. For weeks it has been my saviour on the tee but at Bootle the other day it was about as much use as a condom machine in the Vatican. Time and time again I sliced the shit out of my drives to the point where I was almost teeing of at right angles to the fairway. Time for another piece of advice from Ste.

I was explaining to him how shit I had become and he said he had the same problem. He fixed it by moving his left foot back about half an inch. Now to be honest, I thought this was the biggest load of shit I’d ever heard…right up to the point when it worked like a dream. What the fuck?

Another simple tip that has worked miracles. I line the club up with the ball, get my hands right, sort my feet out but before pulling the trigger I slide my left foot back about half an inch. Apparently this makes me hit the ball square on thus counteracting my hideous newbie slice. At first I thought it was a fluke until I hit about seven or eight straight and long with only two stray shots when I got tired.

I went to the range excited about my new wedge and come home thinking about my 3 wood. Sometimes I don’t get this game. I tell you what else I don’t get; the prices in club shops. How can Aintree Golf Course have the barefaced cheek to try and charge £8 for a fucking Sharpie marker pen? The fella behind the counter even delivered the line with a straight face, like £8 for a crappy pen was perfectly reasonable.

Needless to say I went elsewhere for it. At ASDA they were a pound each or four for £3. I should scrawl a strongly worded letter to them in colourful permanent ink suggesting they are taking the fucking piss.

As we were leaving the range Alan lent me a book called ‘The New Guide To Golf’ which he said would be useful for me as it goes through all the basics and should help me improve from clueless golf clown to unskilled municipal hacker. You have got to have a dream haven’t you?

19 - Golf Trinket...

Yesterday I had a choice. Go shopping with my better half and her mum for food or wander around JJB Sport drooling over golf porn. So I was standing there, surrounded by all manner of putters, wedges, drivers and clubs wondering again if there really is THAT much difference between the different makes and models? I can see that if you are good slight differences might help hone your game but for clowns like me does it matter?

I did finally get to see that Titleist Vokey wedge I was talking about the other week. As I thought, it is stunning (well I think so anyway). If you have seen one you will know that they have what Titleist describe as an ‘oil can finish’ which is a fancy way of saying it is like a bronze colour. As the club is used the coating starts to get worn away and the face starts to rust. This is deliberate as the rust makes the face rougher and helps the ball spin more thus giving more control. Genius. Personally I’m getting one because it looks good.

There were a couple on display in JJB, one that was brand new and one that had been swung a few times. The second one was starting to rust and looked even funkier than the pristine version. They cost £80 though which is a lot for what could end up a fashion accessory so I had to get some sensible advice.

“If you can’t hit a 9 iron properly what is the point in buying a lob wedge?” Richie’s advice wasn’t quite what I wanted to hear. He explained that I should only buy one if it is needed to improve my game and that buying one because it looks good is “fucking stupid”. Pah, what does he know?! In the end he said I could borrow his 60* wedge to see if it made any difference.

Try before you buy sounded tempting but not as tempting as the cheeky little 56* wedge I spotted on the rack. The wedge was made by a company called Knife and was available for a very reasonable £10. Even Richie was happy. Spending a tenner on a club I would discard after two weeks is a lot better than wasting £80 on a ‘golf trinket’. I was sold.

Richie said I should buy one of those golf ball tubes and spend a couple of hours on a field practicing my chipping to see if it was worth splurging on the Titleist. He even said he would give me a load of old golfy's to use and help me learn how to hit the ball properly. I must say that both Richie and Alan have been brilliant with advice and help since I took up this ridiculously difficult sport, I like to think I’m giving something back with the constant mentions in this soon to be award winning blog!!! ;)

I left JJB with a shiny new wedge, a golf ball tube and a new glove (I inherited a couple from Alan with my set but there is nothing like your own, is there?) When we got back to my better half’s mums she had a present for me in the shape of two dozen Dunlop Loco golf balls. Perfect, they went into my tube and I was ready to go. All I need now is for it to stop bastard raining.

18 - Why Is The Ryder Cup held In Viking Heaven?

I’m getting excited about The Ryder Cup. I watched the history of the competition on ESPN Classic the other night and as we speak I have got ‘How The 2004 Ryder Cup Was Won’ on Sky HD. Normally The Ryder Cup is something I have a bit of interest in but this year I can see myself setting up camp in front of my big arse telly for the entire weekend.

It was interesting to see that the original idea by Bert Ryder was for a gentleman’s competition (in the spirit of the word gentleman not just that woman aren’t allowed to play even though they aren’t coincidentally) where fair play and chivalry were as important as winning. Each year the captains try and reinforce this ethos yet it seems to fall on deaf ears as far as I can see.

Looking at the highlights of the last few competitions it became apparent that despite getting mullered by the Europeans, the Americans still had an unbearable arrogance about them. For example Jim Furyk looks like he is doing everyone a favour turning up whilst Eldrick Woods looks like he would rather be at home, counting his billions (which he probably will be this year as he hasn’t bothered his arse turning up this time).

But it isn’t just the players, it is the fans too. Every time I hear some ‘stars and bars’ clad, hick gobshite scream “get in the hole” I want to ram a sand wedge up his big, fat, yokel arse. Shut your fucking mouth, what you say makes absolutely no difference to the inanimate object that has just been pinged up the fairway or stroked across the green. Screaming barely coherent drivel isn’t going to change the direction, trajectory or power of the ball and just makes you sound like a dick.

Every putt made by a yank is greeted with the same sort of screams of ecstasy usually reserved for a 2-4-1 offer on at Pizza Hut and if they actually manage to win a point there is virtually a tickertape parade on the green. Now, I’m not saying there shouldn’t be passion but that shower take the piss in my opinion. Are they acting in a gentlemanly manner? What do you reckon?

Saying that I’ve seen a few clowns from the right of the Atlantic too. There was a bloke done up as a Pearly King with his arm around a tool dressed as a leprechaun. Although it was toe curling it did show how golf can bring people together, I mean, do you think they would be embracing each other so readily when the IRA were trying to blow up big chunks of England and our soldiers were gunning down protestors in Ireland?

This years event is held in the Viking heaven of Valhalla which strangely seems to be in America rather than Asgard (ruled over by Odin) so I expect my ears to bleed with the sound of whoops and holla’s every time a USA player moves a muscle while every miss or skewed shot from a European is cheered like the opening of a new McDonalds.