Golf is a game for gentlemen (and ladies of course), it is game where you are expected to know the rules and the etiquette of play and there have been fine examples in the past where a player has broken a rule and disqualified themselves from events.
You walk in beautiful countryside, hopefully with a companionable opponent, and you test your skill against the course as it is presented to you.
Sometimes a shot is struck so well that you find your heart swell and your whole person lifts as it fills with pride, then the next shot is so bad, the bubble of your pride is pricked and you find yourself back on earth, your ball in the bunker.
Just two days ago I was speaking to a young curate who also plays golf and he spoke about the manner in which he tested his patience on the golf course and yesterday I played and found my patience tested - not by my game but by the presence of other golfers - golfers who were not gentlemen nor anything resembling half decent golfers.
The weather was spectacularly brilliant, the sun shone and the breath of a light wind fanned over us, myself and my playing partner Liam - we strolled the fairways for the first few holes and he was making me look like a hacker as he drove the ball straight down the middle of the fairway and then putted out with great confidence. After just two holes I was already two down and felt like things were going against me.
Before we teed off, we had seen and heard some very loud comments from some very pompous young exec types about the number of people allowed on the course - they were all dressed in brightly coloured shirts and shorts and you just knew they were the sort of people who believed the world had been created just for them and no one else! Luckily we were playing well ahead of them, but on hole four we ran up behind a group of four golfers who basically played so badly and so slowly and without regard for the proper etiquette, that some had already given up trying to follow them and walked of the course.
Liam and I were not in a rush so we stood and waited our turn as they raced all over the place in the golf buggy one of them had hired, talking on his mobile phone which is a real breach of etiquette - anyway eventually on hole 10, they invited us to play through - which we did. In fact they then continued to hit their balls which is another thing which annoyed me. Liam and I walked on, went to the next hole and left them causing mayhem in our wake.
We soon left them far behind but on hole 13, we were heading back in their direction, holes 12 and 13 running parallel but in opposite directions. These holes are on a steep hill and great care is needed when you drive on hole 12 so as to keep your ball on the right fairway, if you smash at the ball wildly it is likely to fly out of control and run down the hill, thereby coming close to golfers on hole 13 - Liam and myself. Now, if this happens you are meant to shout a warning - FORE! No such warning was given, three golf balls flew pretty close to us, luckily they ended up in the rough, well two of them did.
Now this is where the Guru, a morally upright character, driven by righteousness - well this is where he snapped. A moment of madness - a ball came to rest very close to me, I picked it up and I quickly pushed it into my own golf bag. As I straightened up the buggy appeared over the hill, driving through the rough - another rule broken - he drove straight to us and asked where the balls had gone - not a word of apology was offered by the way. I pointed to the rough and walked on, leaving him searching for a ball he would never find.
I felt really bad - for about 3 seconds!
So, I need to ask you all to forgive me, I throw myself on your mercy and I promise that I will never do it again.
Come on, if I was Catholic I could confess and be absolved - so I'll just say three Hail Peter Allis's and a Nick Faldo and carry on, if that's OK?
By the way - I ended up winning the game - but it is not the winning that counts, it is taking part and upsetting cretins that really makes the day perfect.
No comments:
Post a Comment