Golf 101

18 02 2010

Our Saturday morning men’s foursome had an unusually successful outing a couple of weeks ago. Or, to be more precise, three of us did…

Robin (nicknamed ‘Robin Hood’  because of the large amount of time he usually spends  in the woods over the course of a round) broke 80 for the first time ever on a Saturday morning and duly won low net in the B flight; el Bandito Juan would have shot even par but for bogeying the last two holes; I myself managed a very respectable 76, including the unheard of (for me) tally of three birdies, all of which I had high hopes for in the snips competition.

‘And what of  the fourth member of your group?’ I hear you ask. Well, Glenny didn’t exactly have the best of days. I put down 101 on the score card, but to be honest it could have been a couple more. I know, I know – on Saturday mornings you have to play every shot and every shot counts; but the better John, Robin and I played the worse things got for Glenny and after a while I couldn’t face asking him if he’d scored a double or a triple on the same hole that John had just chipped in on for a birdie. Sometimes there’s a glimmer of hope in a round like that: a monstrous drive, perhaps, or an amazing par saving putt, maybe even a birdie on the pot of gold hole. But not for Glenny, not this week. Bad was followed inevitably by worse until his four hours and ten minutes of suffering were done.

On the patio afterwards, Robin was his usual modest self – the difference being that after most Saturday morning rounds he has lots to be modest about; John was describing his misfortune on the last two holes to anyone at the table who cared (i.e. nobody) and I was loudly cursing people who were crossing my name off the snips board because of their own (obviously fluky) birdies.

And Glenny? He slowly sipped his pint and said philosophically, as he’s been known to say on occasion before, ‘She’s a harsh mistress, golf is, a harsh mistress…’

By the way, John’s 73 left him precisely nowhere in the top flight’s low gross scores and I missed third place for low net on the dreaded countback system that only Len the tournament director truly understands. I told him that I’d be away for a few weeks, so maybe it wasn’t worth cutting my handicap. ‘We’ll be waiting, Davey,’ said Len with what I thought was a particularly evil grin. Anyway, the failure of John and myself once again to get in the money on a Saturday morning just goes to show what a bunch of sandbaggers, er deep pool of talent we have at Glacier Greens…

All da best.

Dave B.

P.S. Robin, Glen and I are heading off to Las Vegas early Saturday morning for a quick exploratory trip to find out what desert golf is all about. May your rounds at Glacier be filled with birdies and the ground be firm beneath your feet!

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2 responses

19 02 2010
Martin

Enjoyed the post Dave. You have Glen summed up perfectly. He always reminds me of that farmer type character on the Vicar of Dibley.
Have a great trip to Vegas. Ben and I had a week together with our Welsh friends a couple of years ago. We enjoyed the golf very much and couldn’t get Barrie out of the hotel buffets!
Cheers,
Martin

19 02 2010
Bagger Dave

Thanks, Martin. I hope Glen takes the same charitable view of my attempt to sum up his good nature. If not, the trip down to Vegas could be very long…

All da best.

Dave

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