80 - The Aches And Pains...

I’m writing this immediately after having my first session at the driving range in 6 months. I’m sore. My back is killing me, my calves are killing me, I can’t grip properly, I’m sweating and I’m knackered. Other than that I’m fine, actually I’m not. I’m a little disappointed as the session didn’t go as well as I hoped but on reflection I was probably being over ambitious.

I’ve been studying my books, poring over my game improvement supplements and practicing my grip at my desk ready for my trip to Aintree with Richie and it was mostly in vain. My shots were slicing like they were the first time I visited the range last August; it was like the last 12 months have been a complete waste of time.

Looking back at it though I can see a few positives. Although just about everything I hit with my driver curled majestically towards the right of the range the other clubs faired a bit better. Using my Howson recovery club produced more consistent and accurate results. I was able to drive the ball just as far as I could with my massive Mizuno MX560 driver with the bonus of it flying quite low and relatively straight.

Afterwards Richie asked why I would bother using my driver when I was getting better results with a cheap hybrid. It was a good question but I couldn’t give a good answer. I suppose the main reason is because I’m a vain sod who wants to be able to drive the ball effortlessly off the tee rather than see my Srixon scuttle its way down the fairway after being farted on by a poxy hybrid.

In hindsight I think it would be more beneficial in the long term to get some quick wins so I’m going to continue to hone my shots with the hybrid and try and wrestle some straight drives out of my driver as a secondary exercise.

It is better to be straight than long (no knob gags please, my ego has already taken a bashing tonight)

Another positive was my chipping. I only hit a few shots but it didn’t take me long to start lofting the ball high and straight at the target (which wasn’t the blue basket as they aren’t there anymore – gutted!) I took one of my new wedges and it was a hit with Richie who complimented its weight and feel. He is a lot better than me so it was reassuring to get a good second opinion from someone I trust.

The night ended on a high though with me fizzing a drive about 250 yards straight down the range. On the way down Daniel (Richie’s lad and my favourite vampire/Emo teenager) was telling me about the only time he played golf and how he spent an afternoon trying to recreate the famous Happy Gilmore drive (above) where you take a run at the ball and smash it off the tee. After a few goes I managed it with the last attempt being a bit special.

With my second to last ball I took a run up from another bay and, with a massive amount of luck, connected sweetly. It was easily my best shot with the driver all night, sailing straight and true through the balmy summer air eventually coming to rest a few yards from the back fence. Beautiful. The irony that my best shot came when I was messing about is not lost on me at all. This game is pretty tricky.

64 - Need To Enjoy It Or What Is The Point...

At the recent trip to the driving range myself and Lucky were joined by a friend from work who hasn’t played for a year or so. Apparently he used to be ok when he played regularly, had heard me and Lucky going on about our sessions in Aintree and decided to join us for an hour or so.

We were already playing when Jason turned up and it was interesting to see him stood behind us, watching us play. After a while he got into the next bay and started hitting balls up the range. Although he was a better player than me or Lucky the fact he hadn’t played in a year was easy to see. It took him half a basket of balls before he made a clean contact with the ball.

After one peach of a drive with Dougie my Howson hybrid Jason said “you two are quite good aren’t you?” I nearly fell over laughing! Me and Lucky are tryers but we aren’t any good! He went on to explain himself saying that we were a lot better than he expected us to be considering we haven’t actually got a clue what we are doing and have only been playing for a few months. I was chuffed to hear this but it got me thinking about my ability.

Am I as bad as I think I am? My best score around a course is 103 which is rubbish frankly. Or is it? Taking into account the lack of experience, the clubs of questionable origin (if Jason the Pro is correct), the fact I have only picked up the game in my 30’s and my natural un-athleticism (yeah, I have just made that word up) am I about average? Am I progressing in a predictable and acceptable manner? Will it click one day like every golfer tells me?

I think I will invest in some lessons to help me kick on. I have the desire to improve and the stubbornness not to give in along with good mates who play every week who will drag me kicking and screaming into the world of acceptable handicaps and little trophies with the words “Most Improved” scrawled on them. I want to be second last for a change. I want to actually enjoy a game of golf for the first time as it hasn’t happened yet.

When I book a round of golf I’m usually quite excited but when I arrive at the course I’m honestly filled with dread at the thought of another four hours of frustration and disappointment. I hate being rubbish at anything but I detest being rubbish at something I’m trying so hard to get good at.

It irritates the life out of me when I slice a drive, don’t connect with the ball correctly from the rough or chip over a green. I know everyone feels like this but they have the comfort of knowing their next shot will be good unlike me. So far I have hit just TWO good shots out on the course. One was an arrow straight drive with my hybrid from the fairway which rolled up onto the green from miles away and the other was a little chip which finished about 5 inches from the hole. That’s it.

I can see why people smash their clubs to bits or lash them into the nearest lake. In my short career I have been close to turning my back on the game twice but I’ve soldiered on. I think it is time to take the game more seriously, be more focused and strive to make a significant improvement on my current game. The problem with this approach is that I guarantee I’ll enjoy the game even less and if I’m not enjoying it then what is the point in playing?

62 - Back From Where I Came...

Right, golf, yeah that is it. It seems SO long since I updated this blog I had to remind myself what it was supposed to be about although regular visitors (yes, the both of you) would argue that there are times where I have wandered onto topics that are anything but golf – Gemma Atkinson anyone?

After a long lay off due to a knackered ankle I finally returned to the driving range to see if I still had the magic. The truth is that I haven’t. I was rustier than the face of a Mizuno Raw Haze wedge (new golf porn added to my list now that I’m boycotting all things Titleist). I thought my right ankle had recovered enough to flex like a pro but all I found was that it hurt like a bastard.

Undeterred I continued practicing, desperately trying to remember everything I learned from my one lesson but it wasn’t to be. Saying that, I was still hitting the ball further than I did before the lessons but my accuracy has gone to pot. I’m now slicing the ball more that I ever did but I’m sure it won’t take much to sort that out with the aid of a Pro and a few more lessons.

There were a couple of good things to come out of the session though. I’m hitting Dougie my Howson hybrid better than ever, it was flying further and more accurately than my driver which kinda freaks me out! When you read reviews about hybrids they gush about how forgiving they are and I can confirm this isn’t just journalists getting a back hander from the golf manufacturers. If you haven’t already, try/buy one and see for yourself.

The highlight of the night was testing one of my almost new Mizuno MP-R wedges. I took the 52* fella to the range to take part in the Yellow Basket Challenge and it didn’t disappoint. The magazines talk about the buttery feel of Mizuno wedges but it isn’t until you have chipped a few balls with them do you really understand what they mean. When you connected cleanly with the ball – which is easy as the head is so large – the ball glides off the clubface into the air. Feels fantastic.

I have fists of ham yet I was able to control the distance the ball travelled relatively easily which was a major surprise to me. With the exception of one shot, every ball I hit landed within a few feet of the target. To anyone passing by it would look like I knew what I was doing!!! The difference between my new wedge and the £10 Mac the Knife was like chalk and cheese.

At the end of the session I reflected on my workout. Overall I have took a step backwards slightly but encouragingly I’m not completely back at where I begun. I’m going to have a serious think about lesson’s…who knows, I might actually pay for them this time!!!

40 - Doogie On Form Giving Arthur A Break...

Tonight I went the driving range with Paul (not Lucky) and for the first time in the last couple of months it didn’t piss down with rain. I know, I can’t believe it either! It wasn’t perfect though, it is starting to get too cold to play in a short sleeve top now but you can’t have everything, can you? Stop whining you tart!!!

The last couple of visits haven’t been good for ‘Arthur’. He is going wild again so I have decided to go back to basics and practice with my long irons as I have been using them off the tee recently to give me a second shot from the fairway.

Instead of using my 3 iron I decided to give ‘Doogie’ (the name I’ve given to my Howson Hybrid – Doogie Howser…Doogie Howson, geddit?) a go. Fuck me; I was rustier than Chris Evan’s sack tonight. It took 12 balls before I got to ball above waste height and over 100 yards.

Eventually it came back to me and I remembered why I was so impressed with my £10 club. It only takes a gentle swing to get the ball flying into the night air. Good stuff. For the first time ever though I was hooking the ball! I know it is a crap shot but I was nearly crying at not slicing it any more!

After the warm up (where I managed to nearly snap the pole holding the 100 yard marker sign with a fearsome drive) me and Paul got on to the serious business of the Blue and Yellow Basket Challenge! It has been a while since I found the net in these games but tonight I Sally Gunnelled a cracker to bingo Big Yeller! Kerching! I was back in the game.

On to Little Bluey. Paul had brought his TaylorMade 56* wedge with him and was plopping the ball nicely around the basket, getting closer and closer each time. I was using ‘Niney’ with the quarter swing chip Alan taught me and was all over the place. Then suddenly it clicked and I found my range. A few shots later and I had done the double capturing the Blue Basket Crown to go with the Yellow one I picked up earlier.

I went back to ‘Doogie’ for some more practice and got a good bit of advice from Paul. He explained that addressing the ball a little further back would mean I would be making contact as the club face was moving up which would help lift the ball into the air and eek out a few more yards. Sounded too simple to work but fuck me, it did! I used the last of my balls moving the club back and forwards experimenting. Interesting, I will try this out more next time.

Paul still had a few balls left so I stood in his bay and had a look at his 56* wedge. It was easy to see the difference in quality between his club and my £10 ‘Mack the Knife’ from JJB Sport. After a few chips which almost found the target without much effort I was convinced that better equipment produces better results. I’m more determined than ever to buy a Titleist Vokey now…

37 - A Brand New Challenge But The Same Result...

Another night like the opening of a horror film, another trip to the range. Fighting my way through the howling wind and driving rain I was relieved to see Richie’s bright red passion wagon in the car park and impressed to see Paul (not Lucky, the other Paul) had made the long journey from Formby for 100 balls of practice. I swear it only rains that way when we decide to visit the driving range.

I started, as usual, with a salvo from ‘Arthur’ who was in the type of form that can only be described as average. Plenty of sloppy shots about 150/200 yards with no discernable direction despite my effort. Actually, that is a little harsh. The shots were going in a vague arc about as wide as an Aldi car park in a small Scottish town.

With the warm up out the way me, Richie and Paul got on to the serious business of the Blue & Yellow Basket Challenges! With the new rules in place the game was very much on. Big Yeller was first to be bombarded…briefly. I was just starting to get my range when Richie aced the target. Game over. Bastard. Not to worry, I’d make up for it with a considered attack on Little Bluey.

Erm, not a chance. Before I could say “Paul has chipped the fucker in”, Paul had chipped the fucker in. This was getting seriously irritating now. Looking back it was a bit of a wake up call to be honest and showed that however far I had come in the last seven weeks I was still, at best, shit. Granted, both Richie and Paul have been playing for years but there was no disguising the fact that I was miles behind them.

Right, time to even things up a little, time for a brand new game, a game that requires less skill and more luck. Ladies and Gentlemen I give you ‘The Smack the Big Number 4 Sign Challenge!’ The rules are simple; take it in turn to hit the big, yellow number 4 sign about 75 yards away. Erm, that’s it. What makes this challenge different though is that the sign is on a post so to hit it takes a lot of skill or some blind luck.

To cut a short story, erm, short, Richie hit the fucking thing three times in about 10 minutes without any effort. Grrr… That was it, I gave up. I went back to bandy drives with ‘Arthur’ knowing that my best wasn’t even close to being good enough. Strangely, despite my shitness, I still had a good time so it wasn’t a complete loss. I badly need to practice though.

34 - Simply The Worst...Practice Ever!

What a difference a day makes as some bint once warbled. Yesterday was easily my best trip to the driving range, today was the worst. My golf was ok it was just the rest of it that sucked arse.

I went through the routine of texting the usual suspects and got a couple of replies. Lucky, desperate to build on his solid showing yesterday, was as giddy as a teenager on his first line of coke and desperate to get down there. Richie was also up for spending an hour hitting irritatingly straight shots down the range too. So far, so good.

Actually, why am I the only cunt who ever organises this shit? Any trip to Aintree starts with me sending out a flurry of texts in the hope that someone will agree to go. It would be nice if one of you lot would text me for a change to see if I were up for it. I could then play hard to get for a bit before giving in easier than a stowaway nymphomaniac on a ship full of horny sailors that have been at sea for two months.

Ahem…

Yeah, so I got my gear ready, got changed and braced myself to face the wilds of north Liverpool on a stormy October night. Then I got a phone call from Lucky saying that he had two tickets to see Oasis at the Echo Arena and was swerving the range. I had been blown out for Liam Gallagher. Liam fucking Gallagher for fuck sake. Lucky would rather watch that uni-browed, welly-headed, knock-eyed cunt than come the range with me. I felt dirty. Never mind, me and Richie would play and I was bound to get a few quality tips from him.

I fought my way into the range from the monsoon engulfing the car park and found a bay. Strangely, most of them were full despite there being no golf on telly and the weather being awful. I warmed up with a few whacks with ‘Arthur’ and things were going well. Then I received a call from my better half saying that Richie wasn’t coming as he got soaked filling the car with petrol at the garage or something. Fuck sake.

So there I was, alone, pissed off and soaked. To cut a long story short I won both the Blue and Yellow Basket Challenges as I was the only gobshite playing. Eventually Richie popped in for 5 minutes on his way home but the damage had been done, I been abandoned and left to my own devices. All I learned from the session is that playing alone is shite and you can go through 100 balls in about 20 minutes without trying. Gutted.

32 - Simply The Best...Practice Ever!

After the debacle at Bootle the other day I was desperate to work on my driving. I have gone from useless to ok to useless again in the space of three weeks. I’m up and down more often than a French grooms arse on his wedding night. I decided it was vital that I knuckle down and get to grips with my driver as it is starting to seriously mess with my head.

I sent a text to Alan and Lucky to see if either of them were up for a sneaky hour at Aintree. Both said they were well up for it. It was on like Donkey Kong!

When I got there I was greeted by Lucky and his lad Liam (complete with bandaged up hand after an altercation with a fence). No sign of Alan but we were able to find three bays together for when he arrived. To be honest, we could have had about ten in a row as there was no golf tournament recently and it was raining meaning that all the beuts would rather stay at home playing Tiger Woods than annoying the life out of me at the range.

I limbered up with a few whacks with ‘Arthur’. I was thinking about my swing after my ‘mare at Bootle and realised that when I’m using my irons I sort of bend my right wrist as the club moves back from the ball and then it straightens up as I connect with the ball. This works pretty well although I’m not sure if it is what a golf pro would recommend. Anyway, I can hit the ball pretty straight and pretty far using this method which is what I want to do with my driver.

Encouragingly the ball flew high, straight and handsome using this ‘wrist break’ action. The good thing about it was that it was effortless too. It was at this point that Alan turned up and saw me giving it the beans with ‘Arthur’. He simply said “That is spot on; I don’t know what your problem is.” I had to explain that I had changed my swing again for the 55,000th time and we both agreed that this version was working ok!

After that we had what can only be described as the best session at the driving range in my entire 6 weeks of being a golfist. Drives were straight and, 9 times out of 10, long, ‘Fivey’ was working a dream and ‘Niney’ was on form too. Liam said something telling as me and Lucky were practicing. He turned to Lucky and simply said “God, you have got loads better since last time”. Sometimes you don’t realise you are getting better as you only notice your fuck ups; Liam’s words touched me deeply (in a non-Michael Jackson kinda way you understand)!!!

With the warm up out of the way it was on to the soon to be Trade Marked Blue & Yellow Basket Challenge! For the first time ever there were rules to the game which are as follows; each player has 12 balls, the person in the bay closest to the left-hand fence goes first with the next closest second etc, the game ends when someone bingos the basket or when the balls are all gone, if 12 balls go we then try again with 13 with the same rules, when the second set of balls are gone the game is over and we move on the other basket. Got all that?

We started with Big Yeller about 100-odd yards away and instantly I could see this was going to be a tight game. Lucky, usually pish with his irons, was showering the basket with delicious shot after delicious shot whilst Alan was being Alan and getting close with virtually every shot. I was using ‘Fivey’ with a three quarter swing and, if I’m being honest, was getting closer than my two competitors. In fact I thought I got it in twice with the ball missing by literally inches.

Needless to say, despite all the good shots we didn’t manage one perfect one to find a winner on the night. As I am the current holder of the Yellow Basket Challenge Trophy I retained the cup like they do in the Ryder Cup an’ that.

We then moved on to the Blue Basket Challenge. While trying to hit Big Yeller, Lucky managed to get the ball into Little Bluey twice (I like the nicknames for the baskets, they are staying). I told him he would get an honorary mention but he wasn’t winning the game! While limbering up for the game, Alan did a Sally Gunnell trick shot where the ball trickled across the floor before colliding with another and leaping into the basket like a salmon into a keep net. Tremendous stuff.

On only the second attempt I captured the Blue Basket Challenge Trophy too! Little chip right into the centre of the basket and the Trophy was coming home with me – it is good to be the King! On a serious note it shows that I’m getting better with my irons, a point I noticed when on Bootle a few days ago with Lucky. Now if I just had a basket to aim at with my driver I would be on the PGA Tour this time next year!

With the competitive games out of the way we started on the other yellow basket on the other side of the range. This was a fair bit away but we had a go anyway and I’m pleased to say that we all went close. When it comes to iron shots me and Lucky have come on leaps and bounds...I just hope we can transfer this onto the course.

As I mentioned earlier, it was the best session we have had at the driving range and I didn’t want to leave to be honest. Me and Lucky both commented on the fact that we could prolly hit another 100 balls without trying but Alan said we should leave it or we’ll end up burnt out. Thing is, I can’t wait to return, where is my phone…I’ve got to send out some texts!

30 - Addictive Basket Challenge Too Hard To Resist...

Like the night before the rain was coming down in sheets thick as lead and the wind was howling like erm, a howly thing so an hour at the range was the only logical thing to do. I sent Lucky a sneaky text and he phoned me back to say he was curled up in front of the fire like a cat or something. I mentioned the Yellow and Blue Basket Challenge and he said he would be at the range in 15 minutes!

Again the place was virtually deserted so we took a couple of bays near the end of the range to the right. As we got there I pondered how many balls I was going to slice clean out of the place onto the racecourse. The next Grand National will be a farce with all the horses slipping and sliding on the hundreds of balls littering the grass like a toddler falling on its arse after treading on marbles scattered across a laminate floor…or summat.

We limbered up by smashing balls up the range with our driver. Paul was his consistently long, consistently straight self with his ‘Lucky 13’ working well in the chill night. ‘Arthur’ was playing up. I couldn’t get the ball to go higher than my knee or further than I could spit. So frustrating. The solution was easy and predictable. All I did was keep my head still and the ball flew high, straight and handsome.

Then it was on to the hybrid. As Lucky said when he saw it, you can’t go wrong for a tenner. I tried it off the small tee and, like last week, it flew down the range with a low trajectory making it good for sneaky Sally Gunnell’s down the fairway. Is it supposed to do that? Surely it should fly high to gain more yards? It is more than likely that I’m mishitting it like all my other clubs.

After dicking about with the woods and hybrids it was time for the real reason we were at the range; Yellow and Blue Basket Challenge! First up was the yellow fella about 100 yards away. As I’m the reigning champion I went first and almost bingoed it immediately. Lucky isn’t as confident with his irons so wasn’t expecting much but after a few shots to get his eye in so to speak he was plopping balls around the basket. Game on.

The game went on for about 10 minutes with a lot of near misses until I hit a bit of a shanker that was dead on line but wasn’t going to danger any air traffic passing over. It flew low, bobbled a couple of times and then made it into the basket…I think! I was claiming it though and Lucky was gracious enough to give it to me anyway.

Next was attacking ‘Bluey’. 50 yards, freaky quarter swing with a 9 iron, addictive as fuck. Me and Lucky we launching balls quick and fast and getting much closer than the last challenge which is what you would expect seeing at the basket is within spitting distance. The game ended quickly as we ran out of balls without finding the target despite the squeals and howls from us.

I think I prefer playing when the weather is bad, it makes me feel like I’m suffering for my art or something…plus there is no queue and you can make as much noise as you want as you dick about trying to slice balls over the net at the side of the range. The important thing is that I’m still enjoying it.

29 - Not Quite A Wood, Not Really An Iron...

As it was pissing down with rain last night with the wind was howling like something out of a horror movie it was obvious that my mind would turn to an hour at the driving range. There is nothing better than spanking a yellow range ball out into the night with sheets of rain racing across the field giving you absolutely no control over your shots. That is the best way to practice in my opinion (and I’m drawing upon almost six weeks of experience here boys and girls).

I sent out a text to Alan, Lucky and Richie to see which brave souls would endure personal suffering in the pursuit of excellence. The response wasn’t great to be honest. Lucky was watching his brood and Richie would rather sit on his armchair and watch Liverpool (like the vast majority of their ‘fans’ it seems). Alan simply replied with the word ‘Roger’. He is a man among men if you ask me.

Before meeting Alan I had to pop out and pick up my latest internet purchase; my new £10 Howson Comp Plus Hybrid. First impressions were good. It looked the part (from others have seen) and was suitably shiny. The head was smaller than I was expecting but after thinking about it I came to the conclusion that I didn’t know one end of a hybrid club from another so my expectations were not based on anything so I should just get a grip.

I rocked up late at Aintree and had to wait for a bay. Actually, seeing as the Ryder Cup is now a distant memory to the gobshites who dusted down the clubs the other week for a whack, there was almost horizontal sheet rain sweeping across the range and it was after 8pm I had the choice of any bay I wanted with the exception of three – and one of those was occupied by Alan. Where are all the irritating, chain smoking Spanish bastards now eh? (Click here if you don’t know what I’m talking about).

Alan had a look at my new weapon of score distruction and tried it out. He quickly commented that you don’t have to put much effort in to get some decent distance from it. I watched as he sliced shot after shot off towards the right-hand fence knowing that it was simply because he wasn’t used to the club…unfortunately, neither was I. Alan’s slice was a manageable, progressive wander out to the right whereas mine was a full blown 90* turn off the Astroturf. Hmmm, this might not be the bargain I thought.

I started my drills with ‘Arthur’. So often my saviour at Kirkby last week it seemed the magic had gone. I was back to sending the ball all the way out to the right. It would be fair to say that I was rustier than Prince Harry’s bollocks. After a few wasted balls I started to get back into it and finally began hitting it straight and long. Alan asked me how ‘Arthur’ was and I demonstrated my ability to pick out a target up the middle of the range and hit it by slicing the ball into a corner. Typical.

Next it was ‘Fivey’ and another round of the Yellow Basket Challenge! Alan went first and got close before waiting for me to try. The last time we played this game was the night where I couldn’t hit the ball never mind hit it straight so Alan was full of advice and encouragement. I didn’t need it as I sent a perfectly on target ball hurtling towards the basket. It didn’t go in but got close enough to show I meant business and that I had overcome my mid-iron demons.

After peppering the basket with balls I made the mistake of saying “As you might have noticed Al, I’ve changed my swing a bit to help me hit the ball more cleanly and more accurately.” With that I completely fucked my shot up leaving Alan to say something like “yeah, it is much better now!” It is always the way isn’t it? They call it the commentators curse on the telly…

After about 10 minutes it was obvious no-one was going to get it in so I had a couple of cracks with the hybrid. This time, after I’d loosened up, I was much improved. Off the small tee I was still slicing the ball but nowhere near as bad but it was off the floor I was impressed with. I’m not sure if the club is designed to do it but I was able to fire the ball off into the wind and rain at a shallow angle meaning it ran and ran – even in the uncut grass at the range. That could be useful.

I finished the night with a mini game of the Blue Basket Challenge. I mentioned in another post that my chipping was atrocious at Kirkby the other week so I’m keen to spend some time practicing. I realised late on in that round what I was doing wrong and corrected it so hopefully it is just a case of remembering the lesson and putting in the hours. Wish me luck.

28 - Balls To You...Possibly!!!

I mentioned in a previous post that I have designed a little kangaroo that I draw on my balls so that when people find one of the many I have hacked into the rough they know it is mine and can get it on eBay to make a few bob on the back of my fame (I think it is important to give something back to my legions of fans. Ahem.) Anyway, I got around to drawing them.

As you can see on the slightly out of focus and generally shit photo, the little fellas are looking ok…well I think so anyway. I added a little line underneath his foot and tail to help me line up my putts (not that it works). According to one apparent ‘art critic’ the addition of the line makes it look like an Egyptian hieroglyph again. Listen mate, opinions are like arseholes; everyone has got one and I don’t want to listen you yours.

It may come as a shock to some of you but it is much easier drawing a little roo on a Post-it Note at your desk than it is to do on a ball on your couch. This accounts for the variation in quality of design on the balls (the one on the bottom looks like it has a massive stiffy for example whereas the one on the top and the left one look hot to trot). I’m proud of that little logo though and might stick it on more stuff.

While investigating websites that print shit on merchandise for the R.I.G.S. project, I found a couple of websites that will happily put logos on golf balls for a surprisingly small fee. For example, a dozen Callaway Warbird’s (currently my favourite rough finding missile) with a logo on cost about a fiver more than 12 blank ones. That isn’t bad, especially when you consider that a Sharpie marker costs eight whoring quid if you get it at the Aintree Driving Range…

So, all things being equal, there might be a few gleaming golf balls with my little roo professionally emblazoned on them finding their way into rough, bouncing off trees, plopping into water hazards, bouncing down dual carriageways and screaming through windows of nursing homes soon. Who knows, if you are good, I might even give some away in another of my famous competitions (only famous because they never seem to fucking happen).

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.

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!

10 - I Have A Dream...

What do you need to start your own golfist society? Seeing as I’ve been around a course once, have got second-hand clubs and am totally useless I figure I could be the perfect person to have his own golf society.

I have limited experience of being a part of a golf society as I have attended the prestigious Woolton Golf Society dance ‘n award night extravaganza in the past. I can do that part. Dress up like a penguin, get all shitty if someone has the audacity to take their jacket off before the captain says it is ok and then try and drink my own body weight in lager. Yeah, that would be a piece of piss.

I assume we would need a ‘home’ course. Which one to choose though? Actually, why not have a few courses and do a mini tour? Can you do that? What am I saying, it is my society, I can do what the fuck I want?!?!? Right, let’s do the municipals as they aren’t arsed who plays as long as you pay. Kirkby and Allerton are in but what about the other scall ridden gaffs around Liverpool?

Bootle is an obvious one as football shirts and Lacoste trainees are almost a uniform down there so we’d look like Dapper Dan’s in our cheap crap from Sports Soccer. How about the short course at Aintree? Nine holes in the middle of the Grand National course should be a laugh if a little ‘samey’. I’m loathed to travel too far but Bowring Park in Huyton should be ok as it is, erm, another municipal I think and therefore will be strewn with litter and populated by people with kids called Chantelle.

Right, Kirkby, Allerton, Bootle, Aintree and Huyton will be our battlegrounds, now we need a name. Is it to egotistical to call it “Rob’s Golf Society”? What about “Rob’s Irregular Golf Society”? That would give us a cool acronym of R.I.G.S. too...like Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon. Hey, we could use a picture of his grid as our society logo.

Seeing as this will be an exclusive and snobby society (like golf in general) it will be invitation only. Who’ll be on the list though? Gotta have Alan and Richie after all the help they have given me. Lucky is in purely due to the fact you KNOW he will be the first player ever to be hit by an engine that fell off a plane flying over a golf course. Jason, Paul and James from work will be in as will my good friend Gaz who can’t play golf but has said he will do security for us. Can’t be a golf society without some muscle.

Yeah, this starting to take shape. More news when I have it. BTW I’m looking for a motto, does anyone know what the Latin is for “We are shit but we have a laugh”?

09 - When Richie met Lucky…

My round at Kirkby highlighted some deficiencies in my game that I desperately needed to work on. Basically my driving is shit, my long game is shit and my chipping is shit. Plenty to work on. On the plus side my putting is not that bad according to Alan, I have a nice stroke apparently but what happens in the woods stays in the woods. Ahem.

I got an email from Richie asking if I fancied a sneaky trip to the driving range at Aintree. This could be a perfect time to work on the many, many facets of my game that needed more attention than a three-year-old with ADD. It would also be the first time Richie had met Lucky.

We got in and Lucky was already smacking balls up the range with his latest pissed purchase. On a recent late night, alcohol fuelled shopping trip around eBay he spotted a Nike SUMO driver that was called ‘Lucky 13’ because it has a 13* loft (is that the right term?). The fact it was called ‘Lucky’ was enough for him to spend £140 without thinking about it. After my round he asked me did I learn anything, I told him not to bother with a driver as they are too hard to control. You can imagine his face after this nugget of information!

I introduced Lucky to Richie; we found a couple of bays together and started practicing. It wasn’t long before Richie was looking over with a confused look on his face. He was studying Lucky’s swing and shaking his head. Lucky is right-handed but plays kinda left-handed with his right hand at the top of the shaft on top of his right.

Richie couldn’t help himself and offered some words of advice to Paul. “The first thing any professional will say to you if you ask for help is put your hands the right way around. I’m nowhere near a professional and I’m telling you to put your hands the right way around!” Seconds later Paul had his hands the right way around and was instantly back where he started a week ago.

Having to literally learn how to hit the ball again was tough on Paul but with some patient tuition from Richie he was soon just as shit as me! After an hour or so Paul was hitting the ball vaguely straight and quite long. His injured shoulder was now aching from having to hit the ball properly but he was as happy which was the important thing.

I continued to practice but soon found it irritatingly difficult to control my 5 or 9 iron shots to the point where I considered lashing the clubs down the range in a scene eerily reminiscent of that son-of-a-bitch par 3 at Kirkby the week before. I took a couple of deep breaths and switched to my 3 wood…which now seemed to be possessed by someone who had a stroke and couldn’t swing properly. Fuck it, time to go home.