Golf

In the world of work, I used to deal with chalk, magic markers, green and white boards, kiddies’ exercise books and black bananas (but only after holiday periods). The biggest consumer of time from that bunch (no pun) was marking students’ work. It is the single activity that I still remember from the dwindling recollections of a quasi-professional on the government tick. So I’ll add red and blue biros to that workplace inventory. Since abandoning the wearing of ties, other objects have appeared to take the place of the boiler room’s implements and practices. Some of these include- ·          the washing machine ·          ironing boards ·          online porn sites ·          metho ·          lawn edgers ·        ...

Many retired punters fall over themselves bleating about how cool the post-work world is and join the rest of a growing flock in the refrain (or is that chorus?)- ‘I don’t know where I found the time to work’ etc etc. I’ve never experienced or demonstrated that loud euphoria since last polishing some shoes or manipulating a tie just over three years ago. The very first thing I noticed when I separated from the nine-to-five routine was that I suddenly had a lot of free time on my hands and I mean A LOT. Significantly, that status has been enduring right up to the present. The waiting room pastiche that confronts the rapidly aging punter who has a shitload of empty spaces in his diary can be a bit tricky. Traditional indicators and/ or activities that usually signal the end is near include- joining a line-dancing group, woodworking projects in men’s sheds, attendance at mind-enriching rom com movies and musicals, APIA-sponsored clubland revival shows. I t...

As I reflect on my return to ‘course’ golf over 2017, one thing stands out…..the fucked 16th hole at Fox Hills. Measuring 372 metres from tee to green, it’s a longish ‘4’ that I’ve only parred on three occasions in well over fifty attempts. In fact, in all those games my pill has been sitting on the green in two just once and that was when a gale was blowing at my back. I’m a pretty ordinary golfer but you’d think that achieving a regulation ‘4’ should be much easier than my history indicates. None of this made sense until I found out that Joseph ‘Little Joe’ Conrad and Francis Ford Coppola were both on the green-keeping staff at F.H.G.C. when it first opened way back in the 1950s. According to my intelligence, the ‘Labyrinth’ (the 16th’s popular nickname) was fashioned on the course of the Nung River in Cambodia and the rough and tight tree borders were meant to resemble the surrounding jungle environment. Coppola was keen to release a couple of tigers into these areas to f...

  HOME ON THE RANGE (Dated 25 January 2017)     Hit the range again today (Session 16) in preparation for my debut in competition at Fox Hills in a few weeks. After all, I don't want to play like an arsehole even though I play like an arsehole....if you get my drift.   It's been a few months since I visited the range so I wasn't expecting anything grand. As usual, I started with the 9 iron and hit a few half shots to limber up. Shit! These half shots were going close to 100m on the fly. Now my previous 'gold' standard was achieving 100m with 'full' 9 irons. My third half swing actually saw the ball crash into the 100m marker.   With chest inflated, I then delivered the full 'Regan' swing to the next seven balls.............. 110m, 130m, 120m, 30m (I topped it), 125m, 135m and 120m. It must be the new golf shoes. Yeah, that's it........the shoes. Hell.....and no-one's even on the bottom deck to witness this clinic th...

THE DELICATE TRANSITION FROM THE RANGE TO THE COURSE (Dated 14 February 2017)    First game today at the new club. One thing I'd forgotten with all my visits to the range over the last year was bloody divots. When you're using the mats, there's no such thing as divots.   Anyway, there's a bit of a crowd of waiting golfers at the first tee and my turn comes up to hit off. With what memory I could muster, I go over in my head how to hit the fuckin' pill and not make a goose of myself in front of the small gathering.   I quickly decide on the glorious full swing option and engage the complete Regan arc. With an audible thud, the driver sort of makes contact with part of the ball and a huge clod of earth is launched in the rough direction of Toongabbie. The divot finally meets the ground again about thirty metres up the fairway whilst my ball rolls to a stop some ten metres behind it.   

  FOX HILLS CENTRAL       Anyone stupid enough to be following my updates will notice that I've transferred the re-energised golf 'fix' from the range to the course over the last few months. I'm now a member of Fox Hills and, after fronting up with the annual subs, I can play whenever I want, which is very good. I try to squeeze in two or three games a week, weather permitting.   Unfortunately, the status of my game hasn't shown the improvement one would expect with increased turf time. Shots from tee to green are highly erratic, around the greens pretty good but 'fuck awful' on the putting surfaces.   There have been a couple of unexpected occurrences since joining. The course seems to be a mecca for fuckin' crows and these bastards take great delight in commandeering your pill even when it's power napping in the middle of the fairway. I hit an uncharacteristic corker off the first tee today and strode triumphantly down to...