Strange days.
I was a bit peeved this morning - I'd found a really cheap bag on Ebay, and thought - this bag that I've inherited from my folks - it's a bit scabby - would be nice to treat myself - etc. Ran out of time, in the end - couldn't get paypal to play ball and just had to get out of the house to my first lesson.
She phoned in sick when I was half way to Bristol, so when I realised I could bring my other lesson forwards, but still had half an hour to spare, I took my 5 wood and the driver to a local range - the first time I'd been there. Both
clubs were pretty successful, actually - I was striking the ball pretty well.
Anywhoo...
I got to the Captain's Day competition frustratingly early, unsure as to whether any of the smaller sidegames would be explained. Nope. Just had to sit around for an hour and half until I teed off. 2nd to last group out. Grr..!
Still, in the meantime, I discovered that when I played the disastrous comp last week, the CSS was actually 64, not 61 as I thought, and therefore my HC didn't go up to 27.1 - it was still 27!
Happy days...
So - I watch my two partners flub their tee shots, and I flub mine too
60 yards, but still on the short stuff. I take a 6, double bogey, but it's Stableford and that works out as a net par = 2 points. Ok by me
Next holes go bogey, par, par, and this is starting to feel a good 'un
A stupid three putt on the 5th gives me a six, but even so it's another 2 points.
The 6th beckons. Man, I hate this tee shot. But it stays in play, tucked up against the drain cover. I toe the shot out right into the woods on the opposite side, and a familiar dejection creeps in. In the woods, I try to punt it on to the fairway, catch a tree and it goes back up the fairway, but still on it. The fourth shot goes to the front of the green, and a chip and a putt is a heavy weather 7. Grr.
7th tee shot - sails beautifully, drawing slightly. Nice. I then play a succession of **** topped shots down the right side of the fairway for a 7. Come on, you piece of ****! Get it together!
The boomstick comes out on the 8th, and I find the middle of the fairway. Not long - they never are - but straight. I'm left with probably 170 yards, and take a gently 5 wood. Hit it beautifully straight - honestly, it feels so good - and I watch it to the front of the green. The chip goes to 4 feet, and I'm left with a nasty putt with a lot of borrow - which rattles in
A great par on the SI 5.
On to the 9th - tee shot so comedy, miles right up the bank - somehow I bring it down on to the green 2 feet away which I sink for par.
One of my playing partners is the size of two normal men, and is the nicest guy ever. He's friendly and supportive, and I must play again with him soon. We have lots of common ground between our games, and are happy to congratulate and commiserate. The third player is a nightmare. Late twenties, and SOOO petulant. Bag throwing, club throwing, club throttling, tantrums. It was like playing with a 5 year old. So ridiculous! When it got as far as him knocking lumps out of the teeing ground, I wondered if I should say something. I probably should have, but didn't. I kind of regret that now. I also got a bit tired of him treading down the grass behind balls in the rough before playing them, and bending branches behind his leg before playing shots, but his score was so bad, it seemed academic. I'd also been warned about his inability to 'add up' correctly - but - you know - I kind of just wanted to concentrate on my game. Now I'm not so sure that was right.
Out in 44, 1 shot under plan, 21 Stableford points. You know what? I have a chance at winning the damned thing!
Back nine: God, it's so hot!! Rush into club house for a drink, then get the boomstick out for the 10th and pile it straight up the middle. The nine iron is hoiked left on to the bank, and I wonder if it'll roll down on to the green but it digs it's heels in and sticks up there. I chip on for a two putt and a bogey 5, but a nett birdie! Bring it on!
Next three holes: Par, par, bogey, and the plan is holding beautifully. Take the boomstick on the 5th and again find the fairway. The 4 iron is topped but straight, and the pitch goes on to the green. My first putt is 5 feet short. When I address the next putt, like an idiot, I touch the ball. I look at it carefully; I'm sure it hasn't moved. I say so. My partner says, "Up to you, mate." I look at it again. I'm sure it hasn't moved. I then hole the five footer for a five.
Walking to the next tee, it runs over in my mind. In the end, I say, "Look, you know what? I want to sleep easy tonight. Put it down as a 6." Both my partners stare at me. "Are you sure?" "Yeah. I'm sure it didn't move but put it down as a 6."
I stand by this. My partner says, "You're going to be gutted if you come one shot behind the leader, aren't you?" Maybe. But still...
6th tee shot find the fairway, but I make heavy weather of it then. My final pitch on to the green doesn't even find it, but is 8 feet away, off the green. Somehow, I hole the putt for a 6. Good stuff.
I stand on the 16th tee for 28. The plan is holding beautifully. I still, though, have some tough shots left.
The 16th tee shot isn't a thing of beauty, but ends up in a great position. Heartened by my play with the 5 wood, I try it again, and top it into the bunker 20 yards ahead of me. Gah! Come on! Hold it together!
I hit a firm PW out of it, but it squirts a long forward and right, just short of the dry water hazard. Good contact with the PW on to the green, but it's long, just behind the green. Two putt from there for a 6 on the SI2. Good result.
The long hit away from me on the 17th beckons. This is one of the few shots left that has the capability to destroy this round. I gulp, before thaking the trusty boomstick again. SMACK!! Straight up the middle. Not long, but they never are. But that's great. 4 iron; slow down. I think of Scrags, not for the first time in this round. Swing easy.
I do, and make great contact, great contact. I watch it sail away, gently drawing, straight into the front left bunker.
Bugger. Come on. Put a lid on it. No heroics. Get it out, 2 putt. We're still ok. But as I walk up to it, I'm thinking, 'Man, I know that's one deep bunker.'
When I get there, again, I'm delighted to see that not only am I three feet short, but that I have a straight chip on to the green -
- which I leave stupidly short, and stupidly three put for a 6. But this is still SI 6, that's still a nett par, and I'm still inside the plan.
18th tee; I've played this shot so many times, both in real life, and in my mind. I take the 9I rather than the PW because it's off the medal tees.
Hit it easy, and breath before I look up. It's hanging up there, gently drawing... Falling... Has it got the legs..? Right between the two front bunkers. Bounce - bounce - roll...
20 feet away, on the dancefloor. COME ON!!!!!
I hit the putt straight, but the three feet of borrow I'd allowed for doesn't happen, and I'm left with a three footer, pin high. Slow.... Swing shoulders, not arms..... RATTLE. I finish on a par.
Back in 43. My joint personal best ever; 87. 42 Stableford points, and I know I'm going to be up there. 32 putts, and 38 feet of sunk putts. 8 out of 12 fairways hit (4 out of 6 with the driver).
Maybe it's easy to say this when I knew I'd played well, but I didn't care. I'd just enjoyed playing well. One of many people I didn't know at the club - remember, I only started playing golf/joined the club 2 months ago) bumped in to me on the way back to club house.
"How'd you do?"
"42."
"Well done! You've won it."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I got 41."
For a moment, I felt terrible. The poor guy had obviously come in ages ago, and was patiently wondering if he'd done enough, calmly asking each group how they'd done, and low and behold, some bastard in the 2nd to last group in beats him by one shot.
But I still don't know - maybe someone in the last group beat me?
We check scores and hand our cards in. I hear someone say, "Who won?" "Ian Garforth - 42." "Who's Ian Garforth?" I meekly put my hand up. "I am."
Everyone is so kind, so full of congratulations. I feel like a celebrity, like in a minute someone's going to pinch me and wake me up. I grab a sandwich and a beer, and sit in shellshock. The fat lady hasn't sung yet.
Luckily, I get a seat on the table of the greenkeeper and the really nice guy I'm playing the foursome with next weekend, and they keep my head straight.
Yeah. I won it. I WON THE DAMNED THING! They call my name out, and I go up to collect the shield, £25, and - would you believe it? (following my failed attempt on Ebay this morning) - a new golf bag.
Photo taken, I still feel mad - people patting me on the back as I walk past. "Well done, mate!" "Good job!"
I still - 2 hours later, wine flowing - feel mad now. This is crazy. What business have I winning tournaments? There were good golfers out there
How the hell did I win?
But I did
My name is on the shield from now on - "2007 - Ian Garforth".
So now is the time for some thank you's that I couldn't do in my short speech.
Thank you to Greg and Brian who cannot possibly imagine the pleasure and happiness their technical expertise and advice has brought me.
To Scrags and Slats for their support and assistance in my mental approach - more than they know
To BDBL, Dunk, Robert O'Keefe, and everyone who's been so supportive on this site. I feel so much part of a community here, and I love that!
So thanks to the institution and community of Golf Tuition Online. Thanks to everyone. For me, as a little ant in the big scheme of things, today was pretty ****ing special, and was a day I'll remember for a long time.
Strange days...