Tuesday, 31 August 2010 Andy Is Relieved To Splash Out As My Game Gets Wee Bit Better
Golfers are always moaning about something but this summer we certainly can't complain about the weather.
Compared to recent years it has been so warm and sunny that we have had the rarity of parched and bumpy fairways to contend with.
Not any more. The rain has retaliated with a vengeance over the past 10 days or so and the crumpled waterproofs have been tugged from the bottom of the bag.
Strangely enough, the rain has brought a little blossoming to my game. I even won a prize. Admittedly, it was only a tenner for coming third but it cheered me up no end.
It was a meeting of the Cardiff & County Club golf society at my home club, The Glamorganshire, and various influences, including the weather forecast, had whittled our number down to 14.
It was pouring down from the start but fortunately one of my playing partners, John, offered me a ride in his buggy which is totally enclosed in Perspex with sliding doors.
I almost felt sorry for the third player, Andy, who had to walk in the rain but the last time I played with him there was an unsavoury incident when I thought I'd lost my ball after slicing it towards the bushes to the right of the 17th.
I played a provisional, which I hooked well to the left. Andy offered to look for my original drive while I looked for the provisional. Luckily, he was soon indicating that it hadn't quite reached the bushes.
On my way across I was appalled to see him relieving himself in the vicinity of my ball. I have no complaint with golfers taking advantage of a sheltered spot during the course of a long round, as long as there are no ladies about, but to splash an opponent's ball in such a manner is not in the spirit of the game.
He denied that he'd aimed anywhere near my ball and a short argument ensued, during which he refused my demand to be allowed to take a free drop from casual water.
He redeemed himself by saying that he'd never seen me play better but John was leading the way with 17 points after the first nine.
It was very wet and by that time the group behind us had gone in and the three in front called it a day soon afterwards. If John had not got a good card going, then we might have joined them.
As it happened, my scoring suddenly improved and from being three behind him I scored six points on the last two holes to finish a point in front at 32.
I was the leader in the clubhouse but when the final four came in, one of them had 35 and another had managed a miraculous 40.
But I was happy enough and in a Stableford medal two days later I had 20 points after just 10 holes. My purple patch didn't last and I finished with 30. But I had a two on the 10th which meant that I was due balls from the £2 ball sweep.
The rain started belting down just after we reached the clubhouse and that is always a comfort. However, the downpour was the start of a thunderstorm and at the first flash of lightning they abandoned the competition.
That meant the twos sweep was also cancelled. The professional wouldn't give me my two quid back. I will be automatically entered next time, he claimed.
There's more chance of me being struck by lightning than getting another two so quickly.
Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)
(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 29 August 2010, with grateful thanks)
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Sunday, 01 August 2010 Red Splodge Drives Me Dotty But It's Not Such A Bum Deal For Mike
Any tip from the top is eagerly welcomed by hackers. A word from the wise is like a message from heaven, a key that could get us out of the dungeon of the damned.
And many are the faltering golfers who would have been alerted to one of the secrets of success which was revealed by the winner of The Open, South Africa's Louis Oosthuizen.
Just before he stormed the Old Course at St Andrews, Louis had a session with a sports psychologist, Dr Karl Morris, who had worked extensively with Darren Clarke.
Oosthuizen's manager, Chubby Chandler, had been concerned that the player's inability to fully concentrate during tournaments was holding him back. After studying him in action, Dr Morris concluded that Oosthuizen was concentrating in the wrong places and that his routine was all over the place.
It is impossible to maintain a high level of concentration during an entire round, but when the time comes to focus you have to do so fully. The doctor advised him to put a red dot on his glove and use it as his trigger point to switch into a Zen-like state. Before every shot in The Open he looked down at it and, obviously, found it was a big help.
It is a remedy that also worked for the England cricket captain Michael Vaughan during the 2005 Ashes series. His trigger point for concentration was to look at the logo on his glove just before the bowler ran in.
Explained Dr Morris: "Batting is similar to golf in that you have to be able to switch on and off. Switching off is very important, too, because you need to relax and enjoy yourself on the course."
Oosthuizen did that and his cheery disposition was almost as impressive as his golf. I, too, have a cheery disposition and, after last weekend, I also have a red dot on my glove.
When we gathered at the first tee for a fourball better-ball competition, Mike produced a marker pen and proceeded to give us each a red splodge just below the knuckle of the first finger. He doesn't wear a glove so he drew his on his hand.
When it was my turn to drive I looked dutifully at the dot, but nothing happened. Then I swung and the ball plopped tamely 20 yards to the left and behind a tree.
Maybe I was looking at the red dot instead of the ball, but I immediately decided that it wasn't for me. Trouble is, I can't rub it off. Now I know how Lady Macbeth felt. Every time I look down it keeps staring at me.
Mike, however, found it a great success. He's been taking golf tips from someone on the internet and he's been going through a pre-swing routine under his breath. The red dot, however, persuaded him to repeat it out loud. "Stiff left arm forming a straight line with the club, very tight grip, don't cock the wrists..."
Then he couldn't remember the fourth instruction. "Clench your buttocks?" I offered. His reply wasn't very polite and he remembered three holes later that the last part of the mantra was "three-quarter swing". And the dot seems to be working for him if not for me.
He'll be banking on it in the Centenary medal this week-end. It is another challenge to break the cursed 100 and I don't need the distraction. I'll probably have to buy a new glove. Out, damned spot.
Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)
(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 1 August 2010, with grateful thanks).
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Monday, 12 July 2010 The Italian Job
With Italy's Edoardo Molinari winning the Scottish Open last Sunday on 12 under, beating Darren Clarke by two shots, and his brother Francesco (playing alongside Clarke and his brother) finishing fourth on 7 under, despite hardly holing a putt of any length all day, it was a great day for Italian golf.
Who is to say that either brother next week at the Open may not go one better than the best golfer out of Italy so far, Constantino Rocca. In 1995, Rocca sank a 60 foot putt on the 18th at St Andrews to make the birdie he needed force a play-off with the American John Daly, but Daly took the title. In normal play, as Rocca approached the final hole, he was one shot behind Daly. Rocca's long drive was only yards from the green, but his second shot resulted in a fluffed chip where he forgot to follow through. The ball trickled a mere five yards into the "Valley of Sin." From the Valley of Sin, well below the level of the green, Rocca holed his birdie putt. The jovial Italian instantly fell to the ground and out of joy began pounding the ground with his fists.
Perhaps of greater interest is the potential selection poser for the 2010 European Ryder Cup Captain, Colin Montgomerie. Assuming that both brothers will not make the team on merit, Monty must be sorely tempted to select the two of them. After all, Francesco and Edoardo became the first brothers to win golf's World Cup, when at Mission Hills China last year they lifted Italy to a single stroke victory over long-time leaders, the Irish pair Graeme McDowell and Rory McIlroy - likely to be Ryder Cup team mates.
Would the Molinaris be the first brothers to play for Great Britain & Ireland / Europe in the Ryder Cup, I hear you ask.
Well, there have been a number of relatives involved in the great old competition: father and son (Percy Alliss & Peter Alliss and Antonio & Ignacio Garrido), father and son-in-law (Max Faulkner & Brian Barnes), brothers-in-law (Per-Ulrik Johansson & Jesper Parnevik, and Lee Westwood & Andrew Coltart), uncles and nephews (Christy O'Connor & Christy O'Connor, Jr.).
But there have been two previous sets of brothers: Bernard & Geoffrey Hunt, and no less than three, Charles, Ernest, and Reginald Whitcombe.
The Whitcombes were a most remarkable golfing family. In 1910 the Came Down Golf Club, Dorset appointed Ernest Whitcombe to be the club Professional. Later his mother Bessie was appointed as the stewardess and brought her other two sons, Charles and Reg. The family stayed there for 17 years and Charles Whitcombe, the second of the three brothers, despite all the equipment improvements still holds the professionals’ course record of 59 at Came Down, set in June 1937. He and his two brothers represented Great Britain in the Ryder Cup in 1935 – unlikely to ever be equalled (unless there is a younger Molinari we know nothing about). Reg won the British Open, whilst brother Charles led the championship on numerous occasions, but never actually taking the Claret Jug. He did win the British PGA Matchplay crown in 1928 and 1930 amongst many other British and Irish titles.
Whenever Samuel Ryder took his family to Dorset for their annual summer holidays, he always played golf at Came Down Golf Club. There he met the Whitcombe brothers and was impressed by their brilliant play. He asked Ernest if they ever played in important tournaments like The Open Championship. Ernest said "No" as he could not afford it and went on to say "The Americans come over here smartly dressed and backed by wealthy supporters; the Britisher has a poor chance compared to that". Ryder considered that something vital was required to rouse clubs to take a real interest and responsibility in encouraging young professionals of talent like the Whitcombe brothers.
Over the following few years Ryder expanded this idea with sponsorship of a succession of tournaments and challenge matches that ultimately resulted in his donation of the famous Ryder Cup. Thus, Came Down styles itself “The Birthplace of The Ryder Cup”.
In 1931, 1935, and 1937 Charles was selected as playing captain of the Great Britain and Ireland Ryder Cup side (the youngest ever), having also played in every side from 1927 to 1933. He was then non-playing captain in 1949.
1935 Ryder Cup Team
Far left: Charles Whitcombe. 5th left: Reg Whitcombe, 6th Ernest Whitcombe, 8th Percy Alliss.
In the 1929 Ryder Cup, a crowd estimated at 10,000 turned out both days to witness Britain rally to a victory over a Walter Hagen-led team. After trailing 2 ½ to 1 ½ in the opening-day foursomes, the hosts displayed outstanding play in the singles at Moortown Golf Club. The matches marked the debut of Henry Cotton, a 22-year-old who would eventually go on to win three British Open titles. It was the first time in Ryder Cup competition where the two brothers, Charles and Ernest, competed, although they were not paired together. Hagen elected to let all his players have at least one match, while British Captain George Duncan played eight and had Percy Alliss and Stewart Burns on the sidelines. The Americans' Horton Smith, a budding star, played one singles match and switched for the first time to hickory-shafted clubs. The Royal and Ancient Golf Club didn't approve steel-shafted clubs until 1930. In one of the most stunning of any Ryder Cup matches, Duncan routed Hagen, 10 and 8, Charles Whitcombe downed J. Farrell 8 and 6, and his brother Ernest halved with A. Espinosa. Meanwhile, Britain's Archie Compston sailed past Gene Sarazen, 6 and 4, and 22-year-old Henry Cotton defeated Al Watrous, 4 and 3, to secure the Ryder Cup trophy.
You can view previously rarely seen video of the Italian Brothers by clicking here.
Play fast, swing slow.
Sandy Parr
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Friday, 09 July 2010 The French Connection
Last weekend on satellite TV I caught the Golf Night programme – mainly to ogle the divine Di Stewart. The featured event was the European PGA Tour Open de France ALSTOM played at Le Golf National near to Versailles outside of Paris, a contending venue for the 2018 Ryder Cup.
The tournament was won by Miguel Angel Jimenez. The 46-year-old Spanish veteran survived a final hole horror story to win at the first play-off hole. He began the day two shots off the pace, had a two shot lead playing 18 but put his second in the water and took a double bogey for a 67. But he made a par when it was played again in sudden death to oust Alejandro Canizares and Francesco Molinari. An exciting finish to watch!
The winner of the French Open at the same venue in 2007 was England’s Graeme Storm, a former Amateur Open winner who holed Britain and Ireland's winning putt in the 1999 Walker Cup match against America. Otherwise, he is best known for creating history in 2000 when his mother, Jane, caddied for him in the Masters. The 29-year old Storm lost his tour card in 2003 and spent the winter in a cream cake factory, cleaning baking trays to pay for his trips to the European Tour Qualifying School in Spain. I suppose he could not have chosen a more apt place than Versailles to capture his first Euro Tour event since it was there that Queen Marie Antoinette famously said of the French population, "Let them eat cake" - before she was guillotined. To continue the painful puns, in the final round Storm did not lose his head and went home with a huge slice of the prize pie. The runners-up were left with only crumbs of comfort.
What I had not realised was the long history of the Open de France. It was inaugurated in 1906 and is the oldest national open in Continental Europe. Hard to imagine now, when you can fly from London to Bangkok in under twelve hours, but the top British pro’s in the early 1900’s used to consider the tournament as a ‘major’, travelling for a couple of days to reach the venue.
I was particularly fascinated by an item on the tv programme about Arnaud Massy, one of the great characters of golf in its early days. The son of a sheep farmer, Massy worked on a sardine boat and supplemented his income by caddying at the new Biarritz golf course where a great many of the best professional golfers from Britain came to practice during the off-season in the warm climate of southern France. Blessed with natural abilities, he learned from these pro golfers and in 1898 Sir Everard Hambro (a philanthropist from the Hambro banking dynasty, and no mean golfer himself) sponsored and took him to North Berwick, Scotland to develop his skills for a professional career. As a self-taught player, he had started off playing left-handed. In Scotland he then had to rebuild all his technique to play right-handed. In 1906, Arnaud Massy won the first edition of the French Open repeating the success the following year, defeating a strong contingent of British players including the great Harry Vardon. He followed up by becoming the first non-Brit to win The Open Championship (British Open) in 1907 at Hoylake. On being presented with the Claret Jug, he learnt that his wife had given birth to their baby girl christened Margot and they gave her the second name of Hoylake.
His victory raised the profile of the game in his native France, and with three other major players, Massy put on exhibition matches in various European cities that contributed significantly to the increased popularity of golf on the continent. In 1910, he won the inaugural Belgian Open and in 1911 was the runner-up at the British Open to Harry Vardon, conceding only on the 35th play-off hole. That year, Massy completed his book on golfing that was successfully published in France then translated into English for the British market - certainly the only example of a French golf book translated into English! In 1912, he won the first Spanish Open ever played.
Massy's golfing career had to be put on hold as a result of World War I. While serving in the French army he was wounded at Verdun but at war's end was able to return to golfing. At age 41, he had lost four prime years and struggled to compete. Remarkably, in 1925 at age 48, he won the French Open for the fourth time and then won back-to-back Spanish Opens in 1927/28. He participated in the first matches against the USA. When his career finally wound down he worked as a pro at courses in England, France and Morocco. Married to an English woman, he lived in Edinburgh, Scotland during the Second World War.
Arnaud Massy remains the only French golfer ever to have won any of golf's four majors, and was also the only golfer from Continental Europe to win a major before Seve Ballesteros won The Open Championship in 1979. This swashbuckling character was France’s greatest golfer ever.
Play fast, swing slow.
Sandy Parr
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Sunday, 04 July 2010 My Half Can't Save Wales But At Least They Enjoyed The Footy
I trust that Dr Frank Stableford approves that, every year, 20 or so of his devotees gather rather rowdily to celebrate his immense contribution to golf.
His points system of scoring is blessed by millions of golfers around the world and nowhere is he appreciated more than at Wallasey Golf Club on Merseyside and The Glamorganshire in South Wales where special annual tournaments are held.
When we at Glamorganshire marked the Centenary of his first attempt with a commemorative event, Wallasey sent down two teams of four and the bonds formed over a few drinks until 5am have led to an annual fixture.
Last weekend was the 12th such meeting and it was our turn to be hosts. In recent years, Wallasey have played a preliminary game at Royal Porthcawl to where Dr Frank moved when he returned from the Boer War. There is no record of him trying to develop his system there but he won the Club Championship and reached the semi-final of the Welsh amateur to prove he was a tidy golfer.
This year we put out a team of Porthcawl members in a match of greensome foursomes. It was a hot, sunny day and the course was in great condition having staged a European Tour Seniors tournament the previous weekend.
The club has purposely not watered the fairways because it wanted to foster fast-running links which they were – especially when the ball was running backwards. At the holes that required an uphill approach shot, you had to be sure to land the ball well on to the green otherwise it would roll back into a bunker or soon join you at the foot of the hill. I am told it builds character.
I was partnering Bob against Les and Neil whose combined handicap was 18 compared to our 40 (my 28 comes in handy sometimes). That meant we had 11 shots and, in a close game, made the most of them to be one up coming down the 18th. I hit my drive miles to the right but Bob was straight down the middle. Unfortunately, we couldn't find either so we shook hands on a half.
Since Porthcawl had lost the other four games, it was a solid victory but it was only a friendly. The real match was the following day at Glamorganshire in which I couldn't play. On holiday in Exmoor, I made a special journey back to play at Porthcawl but I couldn't stay for the Sunday.
Sadly, we lost 3-2 and the bow-tie award went back to Wallasey. The award is a bronze replica of a polka-dot bow-tie beloved of the doctor who drove a yellow Rolls Royce. Immediately after the presentation the teams sat down to watch the England-Germany game and it was sad to see our visitors' euphoria gradually disappear.
In accordance with Wales' proud record of never taking pleasure from the sporting disappointments of our neighbours, we didn't laugh until at least 30 minutes had gone.
I am not sure Dr Frank would have approved of such rank bad sportsmanship.
Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)
(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 4 July 2010, with grateful thanks)
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Thursday, 01 July 2010 100 Hole Golf Challenge
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Rnd |
Time
Start |
Time Finished |
Mins |
Dave Ellis |
Phil Rattray |
Mike Jones |
Totals |
|
10 holes |
04.20 am |
05.20am |
60 |
16 |
16 |
21 |
53 |
|
Rnd 1 |
05.25am |
07.00am |
95 |
40 |
33 |
34 |
107 |
|
Rnd 2 |
07.05am |
09.05am |
120 |
28 |
28 |
42 |
98 |
|
Rnd 3 |
09.35am |
11.35am |
120 |
36 |
28 |
27 |
91 |
|
Rnd 4 |
12.05pm |
2.20pm |
135 |
27 |
31 |
27 |
85 |
|
Rnd 5 |
2.50pm |
5.05pm |
135 |
41 |
23 |
28 |
92 |
|
|
Totals |
665 |
188 |
159 |
179 |
526 |
|
|
|
AVE |
34.18 |
28.91 |
32.55 |
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Monday, 28 June 2010 Graeme McDowell's Winning US Open Clubs
Graeme McDowell held his nerve to clinch victory at Pebble Beach in the 2010 US Open with a cool par 5 on the 18th hole to win by one stroke from Frenchman Gregory Havret.
McDowell averaged 303 yards off the tee during the four days and hit two thirds of all fairways. He claimed this was a major factor in his victory and added: "I’ve never been the longest hitter in the world but I’ve certainly put on yardage in the last year. I’ve always been good off the tee accuracy-wise and the US Open has always been a tournament I feel like my game is most suited to."
He also proved himself a maestro on very difficult greens all week averaging just 27.5 putts per round - including 15 birdies and a number of terrific par saves while others were shedding shots.
He added: "My putter was kind to me this week. I putted good this week, I felt good on the greens and when I had opportunities I generally took them. It helped me make a lot of birdies."
DRIVER: Callaway FT-3 Fusion (9.5°)
FAIRWAY WOOD: Callaway Tour X (15°)
HYBRID: Adams Idea Pro (18°)
IRONS: Callaway X-Forged (4-PW)
WEDGES: Callaway X-Forged (52° and 58°)
PUTTER: Odyssey White Hot No7
BALL: Callaway Tour i(x)
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Sunday, 06 June 2010 Our Serviceman Misses Out On Medal As Max Tames Barbarian
Great joy for our regular three-ball last week when one of our number won one of the Club's top competitions. It wasn't me, it was Max who came home with a net 65 to win the Barbarian Cup, but at least I can claim some credit.
First of all, I marked his card, which is not a massive job, admittedly, but for someone who has enough trouble adding up his own score it is something of a minor triumph to get it right.
My main contribution, however, was to lead a campaign – both at the Club and in this space – to establish full allowance for all handicappers under the new Congu directive.
Until last year, the handicap limit in this event was 18 and had been so ever since the splendid silver trophy was presented to us by the Barbarians RFC in 1925.
Glamorganshire was an integral part of the Baa-Bas Easter tour of South Wales which began in 1901.
From Good Friday to Easter Tuesday they played Penarth, Cardiff, Swansea and Newport but had the Sunday off, which they spent playing golf and having a sing-song in the bar.
They played their own five-a-side version of the game of golf under a set of unique rules including "air shots don't count if ball not moved".
After 25 years they decided to show their appreciation by presenting a cup in their name on condition that it was played for in true sporting spirit and that if there was a dispute on any hole, the players should sit on the green and discuss it over a bottle of Worthington.
Alas, a less imaginative dispute procedure now exists and the Barbarian Cup is a highly revered trophy which Max has always set his heart on. He has been second twice.
Now aged 75 and playing off 20, his chances weren't rated highly but Mike and I, his regular partners, wouldn't have written him off, especially with his full handicap.
He surprised even us by dropping only six shots on the outward nine. My front nine score was 53, which by my usual medal standards was fair but, suddenly, it didn't seem that important.
When you play in the same chatty three-ball, it is uncanny how the putting together of a very good round by one player can affect the other two.
The banter quietens and the mickey-taking stops. The last thing you do is say how well he is doing. That's often the kiss of death.
You just let him concentrate and although Max threw in a triple-bogey on the 15th hole, he came home with a 42, giving him a gross 85 and a net 65, which was two shots better than the runner-up. Had the handicap limit not been raised he would have faced an 18-hole play-off.
As it was, Max received the trophy from Wales and British Lions legend Derek Quinnell and a happier man you couldn't meet. He's even promised to stop moaning.
Not so fortunate was Scott Jones, who came in with a net 66 and would have claimed second place.
However, Scott's handicap is inactive because he hasn't put in the required number of cards over the past year. Although he can play in competitions, he is not allowed to feature in the prize-giving.
Scott is in the RAF and has spent most of the time serving in Afghanistan. At the presentation the captain apologised for this. But that's golf; rules are rules and we can't accept any old excuse.
Peter Corrigan
(a. k. a. “The Hacker"),
Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)
(Republished from the “
Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 6 June 2010, with grateful thanks)
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Monday, 31 May 2010 Food For Thought For Our Greens Chairman
Now that the proposed changes to the golf course have been rejected by Members on costs grounds, perhaps it is time the Greens Sub-Committee should think about reducing costs – and, at the same time, keep the greens staff, and Members possibly, content.
See this report from the Daily Mail last week:
“Divot divas: Meet the European beauties performing the most vital task at this year's Open. By Lewis Constable
When it comes to keeping things neat and tidy, a woman’s touch is often best. And it would appear the same rule applies to top-class golf courses.
Those teeing off on the iconic Old Course at St Andrews this year have a troupe of glamorous Eastern European women to thank for its meticulously groomed fairways and greens.
After struggling to find local workers happy to brave the chilly 5.30am starts, managers turned to an employment agency for help – and they have been delighted with the results.
The ‘divot divas’, as the women are affectionately known, are busily preparing the course for this summer’s Open Championship and the arrival of top golfers such as Tiger Woods.
And they have settled into life in the sedate Scottish coastal town so well that one has married a local – while four of the others are living with members of the greenkeeping staff.
Six days a week, the ladies turn out to maintain the course’s clipped and polished landscape in the face of over-zealous golfers and the unforgiving North Sea winds. From March to October, they earn £5.80 an hour by filling the divots with sand. For the rest of the year they dig out up to 40,000 divots and replace them with fresh turf. The St Andrews Links Trust, which is in charge of maintaining the course, brought them in after finding it almost impossible to recruit reliable staff in Fife.
Gordon Moir, the Trust’s director of greenkeeping, said: ‘It wasn’t what I was expecting but it couldn’t have worked out better. The girls are such brilliant workers. Their timekeeping is exemplary and there is no such thing as sickness.’
The girls, aged between 23 and 30, all come from Latvia and Estonia.
One of the first to arrive was Estonian Ksenija White in 2006. She has since married a green keeper. Mrs White, 29, said: ‘I heard about the job from one of my friends in Estonia. If I hadn’t I would probably still be working in a flower shop.’ Another of the divas, Anetti Vene, 26, had been a trainee accountant in Estonia. She met her boyfriend in her first month on the job. She said: ‘When the weather is good, it is really nice to work outside. Also, the pay is much better here than in Estonia.’”
Play fast, swing slow!
(Republished from the “
The Daily Mail”, Saturday, 20 May 2010, with grateful thanks)
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Monday, 31 May 2010 New Allowance Shouldn't Be As Much Of A Strain As A Hernia
Golfers who have to face me in match-play events say they are under extra pressure because of the humiliation they would have to face if they lost. Mercifully, my last two opponents avoided that fate.
I did manage to conjure up a scare or two for them but my traditional early exit from our two main tournaments was completed last week.
Any attempt to offer excuses would be scuppered by the shed-load of shots they had to give me. Since I play off 28, Colin, off seven, had to give me 21 shots while Jay, off six, had to give me 22.
Prior to last year, I would have received only three-quarters the difference. Then, to make it fairer to the high handicapper, the rule was changed to full difference and the better players are still not happy about it.
Jay met my son on a coach taking Cardiff City fans to Wembley for the Championship play-off final last weekend. "I've got to give your dad 22 shots," he complained. "I've got no chance."
My son, who considers my standard of play a family disgrace, put him at his ease by offering to bet £100 on him.
Nevertheless, Jay was still apprehensive on the first tee last Tuesday; a state of mind that wasn't eased when I hit two super shots down the first and won it with a net birdie.
I won the second with a net par and when, on the par-five third, I was on the green in three, I don't know which of us was more stunned.
But while I three-putted for a net par, he got a birdie and my lead was back to one. I over hit two wedges, one of which went out of bounds, on the next two holes but although I won the sixth and halved a few more I was well beaten 5&4.
Jay, who at 35 is a Joe Cole lookalike, plays for the second team and is too good to be bothered by an old hacker like me unless I had a miracle round. All the extra shots meant was that it was less of a massacre.
I had played Colin the previous week and when I reached the first tee I explained, as I always have to, that my cataracts mean that I couldn't see the flight of my ball.
"That's a coincidence," Colin said. "I saw a consultant this morning, and I've got cataracts, too."
I lost the fourth because although I hit what sounded like a good drive, neither of us saw it. Not that it would have made much difference because I lost 3&2.
Colin, who is the brother of Welsh manager John Toshack, the former Liverpool star and manager of several big clubs on the continent including Real Madrid (twice), also confessed to being nervous about playing me.
Last year he was knocked out of the competition by a player who was waiting for a hernia operation and was wearing a big body belt.
"Just imagine, losing one year to a man wearing a corset and the next to the worst hacker in the club," he said as we walked in.
Official statistics prove beyond any doubt that the new system is much fairer – indeed, the evidence suggests that the shots allowance should be even higher – and good players shouldn't be alarmed. All they have to do is play well.
It's not pleasure that people get from beating us; it's sheer relief. It's nice to have the power to frighten people, even for a short time.
Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)
(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 30 May 2010, with grateful thanks)
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Monday, 26 April 2010 I'm Hiding In The Bunker. For The First Time, My Score Stays Secret
Even in my sad, humiliation-strewn golfing career I have never capitulated to a course as shamefully as I did at Celtic Manor last week.
In defence of my puny efforts, I must point out that the 2010 Ryder Cup course wasn't built for the likes of me. It was specifically constructed to stage the world's greatest team matchplay event between Europe and the United States in October.
It is for giants, not pigmies, and to emphasise the fact they have just spent the winter making it much tougher.
Last week they invited the media to sample the course, which will have its first examination by the top professionals at the Wales Open in early June.
The pros will find the biggest differences are the bunkers and rough. I can't comment too much on the rough because I spent most of my time in the bunkers.
We can't say we weren't warned. Jim McKenzie, Celtic Manor's director of golf courses, told us before that most of them have been made deeper with larger faces; and there's plenty of them.
I'd had trouble getting out of pot bunkers at the Old Course the previous week, but these are monsters of another breed. In some of them it's like walking into quicksand and they are reluctant to allow the ball an easy exit, particularly to someone like me.
Not that I reached many, but Jim has also made the greens firmer and Europe's Ryder Cup 2010 captain, Colin Montgomerie, has made several visits to help with the final tweaks to the layout.
The result is a spectacular and extremely challenging course. I am looking forward to seeing how the pros handle it in June and October.
Two of my playing partners handled it well enough. Mike Birch and Hefyn Thomas of European Tour Productions, whose handiwork includes much of the golf you see on Sky Sports, didn't seem at all overawed and each came in with 33 points, with Mike winning on the countback.
Newspaper representatives, concentrating on studying the layout rather than bothering with their own games, struggled to get to 20 points.
For the first time ever I am not revealing my score. If any old hacker cares to submit a request, signed by both his parents, I will send it secretly.
I shared a buggy with Mitchell Platts, the European Tour communication director, who scored 22 points but distinguished himself on the par-three third hole, which has a lake between tee and green.
He pulled his tee shot to the left bank of the lake, then had to walk through two hedges and 200 yards of rough land to reach it. His shot over the water plopped into the greenside bunker but he chipped in from there for a par. It should have been accompanied by a Duke of Edinburgh award.
It may save face if I report that I chipped in miraculously from 45 yards on the 18th at Royal Porthcawl two days earlier to gain me and my foursomes partner, Laurie Williams, a par.
We were playing in the Cardiff & County Club's spring meeting. It starts the previous day with a long and rousing lunch. Anyone not attending is docked two shots.
Laurie and I played with Peter Morgan and Glyn Clay and though we managed more points than they did, we were well short of the winners.
I'm coming to the conclusion that not having to contend with the effects of the lunch is worth a two-shot penalty.
Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)
(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 25 April 2010, with grateful thanks)
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Monday, 12 April 2010 Lennie Claws Up Snakes And Ladders To Grab Oven Gloves
Watching a hacker claw his way to the top against all the odds can bring a tear to the eye and there were a few of those at our Winter League presentation supper on Friday night when Lennie Ingram collected the winners' trophy.
The word "claw" contains a clue to Lennie's achievement because he has rheumatoid arthritis and his hands are so bent and gnarled that it is a wonder he hits the ball at all.
With that generous sympathy for which winter leaguers are renowned, his fellow players have honoured him with the nickname "The Claw" but even that hard-boiled bunch can't contain their pleasure at his triumph.
Lennie, a leading local footballer and cricketer in his day, didn't take up golf until six years ago when he was 61 and already suffering from arthritis. With special grips on his clubs he has managed to play well enough to enjoy his golf but never thought he would make an appearance on an honours board or even see his handicap drop from 28.
Our Winter League foursomes, the Snakes and Ladders, is played in two halves – the 10 Sundays before Christmas and the 10 leading up to Easter. The winners of the first session play the winners of the second for the overall title, and Lennie and his partner Peter Goodfellow pulled off a surprise victory.
Lennie can't manage more than half a swing at the most but keeps the ball straight and is a good putter. His partner Peter, formerly a first-class rugby player, hits a long and accurate ball off 13 and between them they proved a formidable pair.
Peter couldn't attend the presentation so Lennie received the trophy on their behalf. "I've never seen a happier winner," said Chief Snake Bob Bubbins who, in addition to the trophy, gave Lennie a toaster and a pair of oven gloves to keep his hands safe until next winter.
The rest of us hackers can only be inspired by Lennie's example but, inevitably, there is a trace of shame amongst those who do not have any physical impairments that can explain our difficulty in hitting the ball properly.
For us, the lonely struggle goes on, and for me in particular the Easter weekend was a demoralising one.
The course had been closed for most of the previous week and torrential rain on Good Friday encouraged us to think that the Saturday Stableford would be cancelled. It came as a rude shock not only that it was on but that trolleys were banned so we had to carry our bags. Over our hilly course that is an increasing burden.
My heart wasn't in it and I'd acquired just seven points from 11 holes when the heavens opened and we squelched off. The weather improved by Easter Monday but I hadn't. My tempo was all to hell, despite repeating the words Alexander Lebedev, and I had a terrible round culminating in a 13 on the ninth after five-putting.
We are off to St Andrews today so I desperately needed to restore my confidence, but when I played John on Wednesday I was three down after three holes. Then, miraculously, my tempo returned as John's abandoned him. I won five and four and covered the back nine in 41 shots. Hope is restored.
Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)
(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 11 April 2010, with grateful thanks)
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Thursday, 08 April 2010 With This New Control I May Not Be As Sloppy But Now I'm Slappy
I am ashamed to confess that my crusade to break 100 in a medal this year failed at the very first challenge. I must, however, claim extenuating circumstances because the Club March Medal left a trail of devastation among much better players than me.
After five months of horrible winter weather we were all looking forward to the first proper tournament of spring after so long off winter tees.
But it was a harsh reintroduction to medal golf. The course was playable but exceedingly soggy and by moving the medal tees as far back as possible they presented us with a course playing very long.
It was a hard, gruelling slog which made it all the more amazing that one of our younger stars came sailing in with a gross 68. His playing partners said that Jordan, who plays off three, hit the ball like a god. He now plays off two.
Jordan's score was six shots better than the next best gross and only eight of the 159 who played in the competition managed to break 80.
My score, if you must know, was 111, which was far from the worst. Tom came in with 133 but I haven't seen him since for an explanation. He's probably still under the bed.
My playing partners agreed that I was undoubtedly hitting the ball straighter but they had their own worries. Mike scored a career-worst 109 while Max took a 10 on the ninth after playing the wrong ball, then lost his drive on the 17th before calling it a day.
Altogether, counting the non-returns, 45 failed to break 100. My nett score of 83, a total I shared with a seven-handicapper, meant that over 50 finished worse than me.
None of which excuses my failure but everything must be seen in perspective. Repeating the name Alexander Lebedev during my swing is definitely controlling my tempo in my aim to slow down my swing, upon which subject I have recently received two encouraging emails.
Richard Taylor writes that he slowed it down and played safe last year and his handicap has dropped from 23 to 18.5, while Phil Jones has given me the benefit of his long experience of the subject.
He writes: "Being a golfer (handicap 18ish) who continuously records his latest key swing thoughts, the slow swing has always figured in the copious aide-mémoire notes I have compiled over the years. If I were to catalogue these notes into one volume, it would be the size of the Oxford English dictionary."
From personal experience, Phil reckons that the search for the slower swing can lead to overuse of the hands and arms to try to maintain control and the neglect of the all-important turning of the shoulders and hips.
This may result in a straight shot but one with markedly reduced distance. It gives the feeling of a "slappy" shot rather than a crisp hit.
So, Phil advises, by all means cultivate that slower swing but do not forget to turn. Hence his swing mantra is not a name but "Turn one-two, back one-two".
He concludes his entertaining note: "Good luck in your quest for a two-figure medal... And remember, the golf swing should be produced like 'The Independent' used to be – without Russian."
In the interests of security – mine – I would like to emphasise that Phil is making a neat and amusing play on words. What he really means is "without rushing" – geddit?
Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)
(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 4 April 2010, with grateful thanks)
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Wednesday, 31 March 2010 European Union Golfing Commission Announces Important Changes To The Rules of Golf, Effective April 1
The European Union Golfing Commission (EUGC), which was established earlier this year as a result of The Treaty of Lisbon*, today (April 1st, 2010) announces important changes to the Rules of Golf. As part of the Treaty, the EUGC has superseded the R & A as the arbiter of golf laws throughout the European Union. The newly appointed European Golf Commissar, Mr. Lirpa Loof from Lithuania said: “These new Rules of Golf will make it easier for golfers throughout the EU to understand the game, will better reflect how average club golfers actually play the game, and will speed up play to meet EU Golf Playing Time Standards.”
The main changes are as follows:
1. Playing out of the Rough
A ball, sliced or hooked into the rough shall be lifted and placed in the fairway at a point equal to the distance it carried or rolled into the rough.
Explanation: Such veering to the right or left frequently results from the friction between the face of the club and cover of the ball, according to EU-funded research. The player should not be penalised for the erratic behaviour of the ball resulting from uncontrollable mechanical phenomena.
2. Ball Hitting Tree
A ball hitting a tree shall be deemed not to have hit it.
Explanation: Hitting a tree is simply bad luck and there is no place for luck in a scientific game like golf or indeed under EU Equality Law. The player should estimate the distance the ball would have travelled and play from that point (or lifted and placed in the fairway if that point is in the rough – see 1. above), placing the ball with no penalty.
3. Lost Ball
There shall be no such thing as “a lost ball”. Simply place another ball as close as possible to the point where the player considers his/her ball may have disappeared (or lifted and placed in the fairway if that point is in the rough – see 1. above).
Explanation: The missing ball will be somewhere nearby and eventually stumbled upon by someone. It then becomes a “stolen ball” and the player should not compound a felony under EU Criminal Law by charging himself/herself a penalty stroke.
4. Bunker Play
A ball in a bunker rolling backwards towards the player, may be hit again “on the roll” without counting an extra stroke. No more than two strokes are to be counted when playing from a bunker.
Explanation; Since it is reasonable to assume that, if a player had the time to concentrate on the shot instead of hurrying so as not to delay his/her playing partners and people following, and so as to meet EU Golf Playing Time Standards, he/she would have been out in two.
5. Putting (Clause A)
If a putt passes over the hole without dropping it is deemed to have dropped.
Explanation: The EU Law of Gravity holds that any object attempting to maintain a position in the atmosphere without something to support it must drop (see: the £ against the € in March). The EU Law of Gravity supersedes the rules of golf.
6. Putting (Clause B)
A putt that stops close enough to the hole to inspire comments such as “you could blow that in!” may be blown in without penalty. This rule does not apply if the ball is more than six inches from the hole (15.2 cm. according to the official EU Distance Conversion Law).
7. Out of Bounds
There is no penalty for a so called “out of bounds” shot. Simply place another ball as close as possible to the point where the player considers his/her ball may have crossed the bounds of the course (or lifted and placed in the fairway if that point is in the rough – see 1. above).
Explanation: If euro-pinching golf course owners bought sufficient land in the first place, this would not be a problem. The golfer may be able to demand an apology and possibly compensation through the EU Court of Human Rights.
9. Equipment
A stroke per hole may be deducted from your score if your equipment is over 3 years old.
Explanation: Advertisements are always claiming that purchasing the newest clubs, balls, shoes, tees and other golfing accessories can markedly reduce golf scores, but this is financially impossible for the average golfer putting him/her at a disadvantage under EU Equality Law.
10. Scoring
The score a player reports on any hole should be regarded as his opening offer and may be changed subsequently to reflect the number that he or she best feels reflects his or her skill level, whether or not his/her playing partners or opponents agree. Note: Scores calculated in this way may not be submitted as “course records”.
Explanation: This addresses the EU-wide problem of golfers claiming vastly inflated handicaps. It will also make clearing the course faster, enabling players to reach the clubhouse bar/dining room earlier.
Lirpa Loof
European Golf Commissar
Riga, April 1st, 2010
* The Treaty of Lisbon entered into force on 1 December 2009. It provides the EU with modern institutions and optimised working methods to tackle both efficiently and effectively today's challenges in today's world. In a rapidly changing world, Europeans look to the EU to address issues such as globalisation, climatic and demographic changes, security, energy - and now golf laws. The Treaty of Lisbon reinforces democracy in the EU and its capacity to promote the interests of its citizens on a day-to-day basis, whether at work or out playing golf.
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Sunday, 28 March 2010 With Mr Lebedev's Help, I Can Prove I'm An Old Smoothie
Regular readers will be aware that as part of my new game plan this year I am attempting to go for accuracy rather than distance by slowing down my swing. In order that I maintain the steady tempo essential to this task, I recite the name Alexander Cadogan under my breath during the course of the swing.
This was not a name chosen randomly. It came from a friend who received it as advice from an old professional in South Wales 40-odd years ago. Another friend said that he had been given the same name by the pro at
Redditch Golf Club around the same time.
Mr Cadogan, who was one of our top civil servants during the war and our representative at the United Nations from 1946-50, was not only a man of impeccable breeding and reliability but appealed to the pros as intonationally perfect as a swing regulator.
Alas, although he has done sterling service thus far, I am going to have to dispense with his services.
From this weekend I am changing the name I use to Alexander Lebedev. Some may see a trace of obsequiousness in this, but early trials have indicated that his name has precisely the sort of rhythm my swing is looking for.
And this visionary gentleman will go straight into action in the March medal, which represents the biggest challenge yet to my new plan.
My entire being is concentrated on breaking 100 in a medal, and this is the first of the season. It will not be easy, because the wet weather is by no means conducive to low scoring. There's no run on the ball, and since we will be playing from the back tees for the first time in five months, the temptation to hit the hell out of the ball will be difficult to resist.
It is more important than ever to maintain a steady and deliberate swing and plot a straight if unspectacular path around the course. Unfortunately, my last game was not ideal preparation for my new tactical approach. It was a Texas Scramble, in which a team of four each plays a shot, selects the best shot and each takes the next shot from that spot. It means that even the worst player, usually me, gets chances to putt for birdies, but there is a sizeable snag.
The callous way our Club play it, each member of the team must have at least four of his tee shots chosen. You can't rely on taking the best player's drive all the time.
For high-handicappers this can lead to anxious times, and mutterings from their team-mates if they have not fulfilled their quotas with only a few holes left.
There are many instances of a team having to take a tee shot no matter where it has been hit.
Thankfully, I had three of my drives chosen before we reached the ninth. I was playing with Ross, off six, who hit the ball a mile, Phil, off 13, another big hitter, and Alex, off 22, who had trouble off the tee but hit the most colossal fairway shots.
Had we been better on the greens we would have been contenders, but as it turned out we were five shots shy of the winners.
Since I had spent the day trying to contribute to the team effort by hitting the ball as far as I could, my tempo was back in the bad old days.
But I'm backing me and Mr Lebedev to prove how smooth I can really be.
Peter Corrigan
(a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)
(Republished from the “
Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 28 March 2010, with grateful thanks)
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Wednesday, 24 March 2010 Drinking Too Much Of The Black Stuff Keeps Me Off The Greens
My golfing ambitions for the spring, if it should ever come, depend mainly on the acquisition of a steady, rhythmic swing that will maintain consistency under the pressures of a series of torrid rounds. At the moment, I am taking my timing from slowly repeating the name Alexander Cadogan during the swing, and it is working well.
It is not uncommon for golfers to mutter something under their breath to set up an even tempo and avoid those sudden, scything lunges at the ball that damage our games.
To many, a simple "Up 1-2, down 1-2" will suffice. I am finding that Alexander's name provides the balance I need but my emails reveal a vast discrepancy in the names we call upon to help us.
One reader said that Seve Ballesteros did the trick for him but there's too many letters in his name for me.
This week Bob Evans of Cannock suggests I try saying Annika Sorenstam for the "right tempo and mental image". The problem with thinking of Annika at the top of my backswing is the effect on my composure.
So I will stick with Alexander, who came recommended by Geoff, my regular partner at Royal Porthcawl. He has used it since it was suggested to him by the pro at Dinas Powys Golf Club years ago.
This brought a shocked response from another Porthcawl member, Roger, who has been secretly using the same name since he was advised to do so by the pro at Redditch 40 years ago.
Since neither of them knew where the name came from, I looked it up and discovered that Sir Alexander George Montagu Cadogan, KCB, Eton and Balliol College, was one of our top civil servants up to and including the war. He was the UK representative at the United Nations from 1946-50 and the chairman of the BBC Governors from 1952-57.
Solid, reliable, impeccably bred... that's the sort of man you want behind your swing. If only he'd known how handy he was going to become to hackers through the years.
Unfortunately, I was unable to take advantage of his influence last weekend because of a four-day trip to Dublin with a dozen Club members to watch Wales and Ireland play rugby.
As upsetting as the game was, the Guinness was even more so and my digestive system rebelled so violently that I haven't been able to venture on to the course.
My comeback is aimed at a Texas Scramble this weekend and, here again, I have been hard done by. I have made it up with Andy, who jilted me at the last minute in a four-ball better ball two weeks ago.
He wrote in to complain bitterly of my cruel criticism of him in last week's column but I've decided to ignore it and we are due to be reunited this weekend – but not with our normal four-ball.
The other two, Mike and Max, with whom we have battled many a dark winter day, have opted to go for glory and join up with two players who they consider to be a distinct improvement on us, leaving Andy and I to find our own partners.
Thankfully, two young hot-shots, probably not aware of what they were doing, have put their names down to play with us, while Mike and Max have lost one of their team.
He came with us to Dublin, met a girl, fell in love and is going back to see her this weekend. God moves in mysterious ways.
Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)
(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 21 March 2010, with grateful thanks)
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Thursday, 18 March 2010 Sex, Lies and Obsession
Could golfers be the most driven and obsessive of athletes?
A survey from Lexus, in connection with the automaker's involvement with the U.S. Open Championship, reveals that golfers may be the most fanatic and persistent of sportsmen. Whether it means skipping out on family obligations or forgoing their next salary increase, there's almost nothing they won't do to achieve perfection. Here are the findings from the survey:
Ø Four out of ten golfers (43%) would readily give up sex for a month in order to have the perfect golf swing!
Ø And more than one in five -- 22% -- would give up their hair!.
Ø Another 21% would be willing to sacrifice their next salary increase.
Ø In their never-ending quest for perfection, a majority of golfers have told a white lie about where they were when they were actually playing golf (60%).
Ø Two out of three golfers have skipped work in order to play golf (66%).
Ø More than four out of ten have skipped church or religious services (43%), and a similar percentage have bailed out on a family gathering (41%).
Ø In what may well lead to a record number of women signing up for golf lessons, 43% of women who golf say the sport has improved their relationship with their significant other.
Ø Three out of ten golfers say if they had to choose, they'd rather have a perfect golf swing than a perfect marriage (30%).
Ø More than seven out of ten young golfers ages 18-29 admit they've called in sick and gone to the course rather than to work (73%).
Ø Nearly one out of every two golfers (49%) says when buying a car they check to see how many bags of clubs can fit into the boot.
Ø More than one in five golfers (22%) say their golf skills beat their skills in bed or behind the wheel: they're better at golf than at sex or driving!
Play fast, swing slow.
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Thursday, 18 March 2010 Alexander The Great Helps Me To Conquer My Greatest Fears
There's little worse than being jilted at the last minute. It's bad enough for a bridegroom – although it could well be a future blessing for him – but nothing compensates for your golfing partner not turning up for a four-ball competition.
That's why I cut such a lonely figure at the Club last Saturday morning. Usually there are one or two hovering around looking for a game but not last week; unless they saw me and were hiding.
Had I known the previous day that my friend Andy couldn't play, I would have had time to winkle out a reluctant replacement.
But he didn't tell me. We have a computerised entry system for competitions and he just deleted his name on Friday evening. His excuse was a heavy cold, although he managed to play on Sunday.
I must say he didn't look too clever when I saw him but, then again, he never does. During my admonishment of him I told him of the chance he missed to join my game plan.
Andy is also a 28-handicapper desperate to improve and he would benefit from my new unadventurous, risk-reduced approach.
Although as a singleton I couldn't be in the competition, I played in order to mark the card of the pair we regularly play with, Mike and Max.
The event was a four-ball aggregate Stableford, which meant the points total of each of the pair would be added together.
With typical generosity they offered to share their place in the competition with me and do a permutation of any two from three – the best two scores would be put forward as their entry.
I'm not sure it was legal but it didn't matter. Our best score was 64 points and it was won by the staggering score of 86 points. At least my new approach received another airing but the trauma of the morning caused me early grief when, after a good start of seven points from three holes, I scored back-to-back nines.
I drove into the woods at the fourth hole, and at the fifth I took three trying to hack my way out from the back of a leylandii tree.
Normally, this would have sent me into a rage from which the round would never have recovered but I settled down to a steady, safety-first plod that, with 20 points on the back nine, brought me a fairly respectable 32 points.
I almost had back-to-back birdies but I had to settle for one. The point was that I felt more in control and less prone to panic after a bad shot. More practice is needed but progress is being maintained.
Much of the improvement is due to a slower swing during which I repeat the name Alexander Cadogan. Mike asked whether this bloke I kept mentioning was a new member.
When I explained this to Mike, he looked oddly at me and thereafter I said it under my breath. I've had a few emails assuring me I am not the only one who regulates my swing in this way.
Most of them say something like "Up 1-2, down 1-2" but Tony Chesterman of Northumberland writes to say that he prefers repeating the name Severiano Ballesteros.
Tony has been playing for six years since he retired at the age of 66 and finds my struggles a comfort to a newcomer.
But, if he and Seve don't mind, I will stick to Alexander. As Shakespeare would have surely said had he been a golfer, a slow swing by any other name is just as sweet.
Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)
(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 14 March 2010, with grateful thanks)
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Monday, 01 March 2010 When The Chips Are Down, My New Approach Is A Breadwinner
The first week of my new game plan has not been an outstanding success but it has been far from a disaster. I'll even go so far as to say I'm encouraged.
Since the plan requires a dramatic change to an optimistic approach that has served me for 30 largely fruitless years, I shouldn't expect rapid improvement.
Instead of my carefree, full-blooded lunges at the ball I am intent on developing a dull, robotic style that cuts the risk of wayward shots and aims only for a modest advance down the middle.
But it will be a slow job curbing my natural instinct for a thrash and I am not finding it easy to get the cavalier out of the system. I understand that Oliver Cromwell once had the same trouble.
I start the backswing with the clear resolve of delivering a smooth, slowly accelerating clubface to the back of the ball. But when I get to the top I am apt to be possessed by an urge to batter the bloody daylights out of it.
That wasn't the only problem I encountered when I gave the new plan its first outing at Minehead and West Somerset Golf Club last week.
I couldn't have had a better start. I was playing with James, mine host at the pub I frequent on Exmoor, and Matt, a young man just taking up the game.
We were joined on the first tee by Alec, who had wandered curiously out of the clubhouse to witness the transformation I'd been banging on about in the bar the previous night.
Any hopes he had for mockery were dashed when my slow, rhythmic drive sailed straight and true for 210 yards. I couldn't believe it. Plans never work as quick as that.
And, true to form, mine didn't thereafter. I scored three points on the first and was then beset with problems that I'd never met before, including scudding the ball left off the heel of the club a dozen times.
It didn't help that Matt, the rookie who has hardly played the game, was hitting the ball like a world-beater. While we were busy advising him where to stand, whose turn it was to play and how the Stableford system works, he was blistering his way to 19 points in six holes.
He couldn't keep it up and finished with 32 points but he is going to be an excellent player. I, meanwhile, finished with a humiliating 12 points and my confidence in ruins.
So it took some courage to turn up at The Glamorganshire Club on Wednesday to join the 20 or so gnarled veterans who play in a weekly swindle called the Chips.
It's a pound in the kitty and the winner buys the chips plus bread and butter. So the losers at least get a snack while they moan into their beer.
The Chips are short on sympathy for hackers down on their luck and they made me play off 24 despite the fact that my club handicap is 28.
But, helped by encouragement from my partners Colin and Mitch, I put the misery of Minehead behind me and after 13 holes was leading the trio with 23 points.
Colin surged ahead to win but my 28 points was a distinct improvement, especially as I suffered more than a few mishaps due entirely to adjusting to my new swing.
I duly put a pound in the kitty, paid Colin a pound and gave Mitch 20p for a birdie. So my chips cost me £2.20 but you have to pay to learn, and I ate them with the satisfaction of a man on a mission that might get somewhere.
Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)
(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 14 February 2010, with grateful thanks)
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Sunday, 21 February 2010 A Parting Of The Ways: My Technique Is Not Cut And Blow-Dried
Suddenly, like a blinding flash, I have become aware of the main source of my golfing deficiencies. Yes, I know the main source is me but it's slightly more subtle than that; it's the way I approach the game.
I'd never really thought about it. As the great Robbie Burns pointed out far more poetically, our greatest difficulty is seeing ourselves as others see us.
This was brought home to me when I walked into the bar last Sunday lunchtime to join the competitors in our Winter League for a drink.
My friend Mike was gloomy. He confessed that he and Roy had just been walloped 7 & 6 by Glenfryn and Roger.
Glen is a 28-handicapper, like me, and, again like me, is not usually regarded as an opponent more to be feared than the club cat.
But he was more than pleased with his morning's work and, considerably buoyed by their success, said to me: "Funnily enough, we were talking about you on the course this morning."
He refused to elaborate, but later Mike told me that Glen had commented on the fact that I played with wild abandon. "He only goes out to enjoy himself," he said.
He didn't mean it as a criticism and I didn't take it as one. I do have a cavalier attitude that continually lands me in trouble.
I play each shot as if I'm Tiger Woods – who I am certainly not, neither on nor off the course – and the results are often calamitous.
Glen, who is a gentleman's hairdresser of the old school with a long list of distinguished clients in the centre of Cardiff, used to be another who would flail around in search of a world-beating shot.
But you don't last long as a gentleman's hairdresser if you wave your scissors around in a flamboyant fashion, although the way he prattles on you'd be better off without ears.
A certain amount of studied calm and composure is necessary in his work, and that is now the quality he has taken to the golf course, with sound results.
He doesn't try to hit the ball long but concentrates on hitting it straight down the middle. It's metronomic but effective and, with his partner Roger a tidy player, they are a bit of a handful. Mike and Roy had to give them nine shots and just couldn't cope.
It has taken a long time to dawn on me but at last I see that my path ahead is clear. I have a game plan which involves making the most of my new handicap of 28.
I have often joked that the secret of golf is shots. Forget swings, stances and grips; get yourself plenty of shots and slowly build up from there.
At the moment, of course, all this is in the mind. The weather these past few months has been so bad that all we've been able to do is think about the game. But the few outings I've had have shown that my new, fettered approach has distinct promise. The backswing is shortened, the lust for distance is quelled and the brain is being trained to seek the safest route to the flag.
Gone is the happy, gaily swinging troubadour. In his place is the dour, modest-missioned robot.
This, ashamedly, is not the attitude that discovered America, split the atom or invented beer, but it might allow me to achieve something far more important: breaking 100 in the next medal.
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Monday, 15 February 2010 It's Sad When A Good Argument Leaves You Off Your Trolley
After much heated debate, a competition held at our club last Saturday has been declared null and void and there are many aggrieved golfers as a result – none more so than the poor souls who would have won it.
There's nothing golfers like more than a good argument but, usually, they involve rule disputes out on the course.
When the players return to the clubhouse they consult the rule book and seek opinions, and within no time the entire place is caught up in the row.
On Thursday night in the bar we had a long and liquid bicker over a local rule covering a plugged ball in the rough and I wish I could remember how it ended.
But the quarrel that has the whole club buzzing concerned last Saturday's Texas scramble and a decision taken by a club official. A Texas scramble is a complicated competition for teams of four and is very popular as a change from the normal tournaments. It is also very competitive.
Our saturated course had been closed for most of the week but it had been ruled playable as long as no caddie cars or trolleys were allowed.
Caddie cars have been banned for months but refusing the use of trolleys is far more contentious because it is debatable whether their wide wheels do much damage.
There's a steep hill in the middle of our course that has distinct cardiac possibilities, and having to carry a bag around 18 holes is not popular. You wouldn't catch Tiger Woods doing it.
But rules are rules and when the players arrived, those who rely on trolleys had to start jettisoning clubs, clothing and equipment from their bag.
Bob, who is 85, had to have a wholesale clear-out and still came back knackered. Another player went out carrying five loose clubs under his arm and only one ball.
By lunchtime the early starters returned and their opinion was that conditions weren't bad and there had been no need to ban trolleys.
So a club official who was about to go out erased the "no trolleys" sign from the starting board. Since he always carries his bag it was not a selfish decision, but it meant the last five groups could use trolleys if they wished.
The reaction of those trudging in wearily to the sight of teams happily trundling their trolleys up the first was not pleasant.
When the match captain got to hear of it he immediately declared the competition void. There then ensued a full and frank exchange of views on whether he was right that lasted over the weekend.
On Monday, the match and handicap committee, having consulted the Golf Union of Wales, met with great solemnity and declared that all golfers in competitions must be allowed to play in "equitable conditions".
The cancellation was bad news for Sam and his team, who played without trolleys and came back with the winning score. They would have won £60 between them.
Perhaps significantly, the five teams who used trolleys finished in the top 10 scores.
Also sad were those who scored a two on certain holes. They would have won balls in the sweep run by the pro.
He wasn't happy either. He had to give back the £170 he had collected. The gloom was pretty general but at least it took our minds off England beating Wales.
(Republished from the “
Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 14 February 2010, with grateful thanks)
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Wednesday, 10 February 2010 With Root And Branch Reform I May Finally Come Out Of Shade
"I think that I will never see a poem lovely as a tree."
So wrote Joyce Kilmer – a man, as if it matters – in 1913 and I wholeheartedly agree with him, apart from when my ball is stuck behind one.
Furthermore I have to confess that my greatest pleasure on the golf course this year has been hearing the sound of chainsaws, as our ground staff
have set about tree-felling at a rapid rate.
At the last count, they'd cut down 66 and there's more to come, although the fate of a few will depend on the result of a heated debate soon to be held at the club.
But to put Mr Kilmer's rotating remains to rest we are not talking about the sort of trees he loved. We are talking about leylandii, cypress conifers which grow quicker than Jack's beanstalk and are capable of causing controversy wherever they sprout.
There are an estimated 10,000 ongoing disputes between neighbours over the height of these impenetrable green monsters. There's a £1,000 fine for failing to control them.
On a golf course they are an abomination, particularly to hackers like me who have trouble hitting the ball straight. Obviously, if your ball lands among trees there is no one to blame but yourself, but with normal trees the branches start about head height.
With leylandii the branches are at ground level and can measure 10 or 12 feet across. We have thick clusters of them with hardly any gaps. It could take a player of my accuracy weeks to get out.
Worse still, a ball can easily get stuck in its tangled interior. To lose a ball up a tree is not a happy outcome.
What we didn't realise is how many we have. Even with the 66 recently downed we still have almost 700. No wonder I find it so difficult.
We began to plant them after losing many trees to Dutch elm disease. Because they grow so quickly they helped to define holes and act as screens around tees and between fairways.
But now they dominate the place and when the renowned course architect Donald Steel was asked recently to give the course the once over he recommended that the club "should face up to a drastic culling" of the leylandii.
Being dense and low-slung, he said, they are bad golfing trees in the playing sense. "The punishment for missing the fairways must fit the crime and leylandii can punish wayward shots too severely," was his ruling.
So the cull is taking place. There are some the better players want kept and the not so good players want removed and we are to have a general meeting to argue about it.
Making the course a little easier coupled with a slight improvement in the two games I've been able to play, gives me every hope that this is the year of my breaking through the 100 barrier.
It would certainly help if I could stop my head shooting up as I make contact with the ball. I intend to keep repeating to myself a story sent to me by a reader in Donegal.
A hacker playing at a posh course is given the services of a caddy. After playing atrociously for 17 holes he gazes at a lake adjoining the 18th tee and says: "The best thing I can do is drown myself."
"I doubt if you could, sir," said the caddy. "You wouldn't be able to keep your head down long enough."
(Republished from the “
Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 7 February 2010, with grateful thanks).
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Wednesday, 10 February 2010 Game Of Snakes, Ladders And Top Dogs
No golfers in the world are braver or more hardy than those who contest the thousands of club winter leagues throughout these islands.
Swathed in layers of moth-eaten sweaters over old and crusted long-johns, they tackle the courses in weather into which few other groups of sportsmen would venture in such numbers. But even these courageous souls have been defeated by this winter.
After the disruption caused first by the floods of November and then the freeze-up of December/January – and Met men say there's more to come – clubs throughout the country are fighting to keep the leagues, which are vital to their bar takings, on track.
Courses in some of the more stricken areas have been out of play for two or three months. Happily, most were back in action last Sunday when the second half of our league got off to its delayed start.
Although it was a bitterly cold morning, the way more than 100 swarmed eagerly on to the course, you'd think they were in Barbados.
That's what a long lay-off can do for a man's appetite for the game and judging by some shock results, the better players were slower into their stride than the hackers.
One of the best aspects of winter league golf is that it tends to pair up the good with the not-so-good players. Formats differ from club to club. In ours – called the Snakes and Ladders – we play foursomes with a minimum combined handicap of 20, which requires the best players to find partners among the high handicappers.
But there's at least one club where they don't even get a choice of who they are playing with. Regular Hacker reader Andrew Frosdick, who plays at the Silkstone club near Barnsley, writes in with a very erudite account of their intriguing format in which new pairs are drawn every Sunday.
Called the Top Dog, their winter Sunday competition involves a weekly random draw in which four names are drawn at a time. The lowest handicapper of the four is paired with the highest, leaving the two middle ones to form the other partnership.
"They play better ball match play with each player from the winning side earning points towards their individual league standing," writes Andrew, who plays off 17 but who describes himself as a hacker at heart. "It can be frustrating for the low handicapper but positively terrifying for the hacker." During the winter, a hacker can play with a series of much better golfers but he does bring with him a high allocation of shots that could come in useful.
"The high burden of expectation will often prove too much for the lesser player and it will be left to his partner to grind out a result with few, if any, words spoken between them. But one decisive contribution, holing a long putt or scrambling a half, can turn the most abject display into a match-winning performance. So it is often the case that a high handicapped player can remain in the final fight for the honours," adds Andrew.
Unlike leagues in which you are obliged to play every week, you play as often as you like. As long as you are registered you can miss the worst weather and turn up in March very rusty.
Many a contender for the Top Dog title has foundered when paired with someone playing his first round for months and having a stinker.
Andrew, by the way, occupies a "modest mid-table position" and lives in hope. We wish him well.
“The Hacker"
(a. k. a.
Peter Corrigan, Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)
(Republished from the “
Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 31 January 2010, with grateful thanks)
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Sunday, 31 January 2010 Specs Appeal Is Limited With Eye Op On Hold
I have yet to set foot on a golf course this year but already my master plan for 2010 has suffered a major blow. The boost to my vision I had been expecting is not going to materialise for a year or so.
After a lifetime of enjoying excellent eyesight, it has deteriorated over the last couple of years and I had to start wearing glasses for the first time last April.
It is while playing golf that I notice the biggest difference because I can't see the ball in flight which is not very helpful to me and even less so to my playing partners who are constantly asked 'where the bloody hell did that go?' or words to that effect.
My optician diagnosed the problem as a cataract and referred me to a consultant. A few of my friends have had cataracts removed and reported much clearer vision.
But my hopes of joining them were dashed last week when, after a thorough examination, the consultant said that the cataract was still in its early stages and an operation now was not advisable.
He suggested that I returned in a year's time and when I looked glum he reassured me that, with my spectacles on, my sight was very good.
I said that I could not play golf with my specs on and I was fed up at not being able to see the ball. The consultant didn't reply but I got the distinct impression that among the many and varied priorities of the National Health Service, the visibility of my golf ball did not figure all that highly. I don't blame him for that.
I am not alone with this problem and there are many worse off. When I wrote on this subject recently I received a sympathetic email from Bill Burnett of Canterbury.
He rates his golf as a shade better than the hacker, "but not by much", and last July suffered a detached retina that required some brilliant work by a surgeon at Moorfields Eye Hospital to put right.
But he was told he had lost quite a bit of power of vision and this is most apparent on the golf course. Says Bill: "Unless I am driving into clear blue sky it is very unlikely I can see the ball. I also have to be careful in my set-up. Sometimes, I think I have put the club head in a perfect position behind the ball only to find by the shot that I didn't."
He also has trouble aligning his putter and feels his golf is less consistent since the op. "I have always played golf in glasses but I observe that our retired pro, who only needed glasses recently, puts them in his pocket when driving. Perhaps I should try it."
I was thinking the opposite, Bill. My specs are varifocal and when I've tried to play while wearing them I've found it very difficult to focus.
Maybe I should give them an extended trial but it is not likely to help the other part of my master plan to reduce my new, embarrassing handicap of 28. I've devised a new form of attack, embracing a few swing changes and a more positive approach around the green. But because of the weather these astute alterations have been practised only in front of the mirror and by chipping plastic balls on to the sofa.
Like most golfers in these sad islands I am desperate to get back on the course. Only there can we see the truth.
Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)
(Republished from the “
Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 24 January 2010, with grateful thanks)
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Sunday, 31 January 2010 Killian Proves It Is A Mug's Game While The Yolk's On Me At Egg Cup
Such was the ruthless weather, it was a lucky golfer in these islands who managed to get in a game over Christmas.
So I count myself fortunate that I played on Boxing Day and, but for a stomach bug, I would have played on the following day, too.
This turned out to be a blessing, for there's no doubt there was a humiliating fate awaiting me had I been able to play in the Egg Cup.
Although we dodged most of the nasty stuff on the south Wales coast, our course was frozen solid in the days leading up to Christmas Day. But it thawed enough to allow us to play our Boxing Day cross-country event.
Had this been a normal competition they wouldn't have opened the course as several greens were like ice-rinks but, as the name suggests, the cross-country is in no way normal.
The nine holes, some of them 800 or 900 yards long, go from the first to the fourth, the fourth to the fifth, the sixth to the seventh and so on.
Mostly, they traverse the fairways so that trees, hedges and ditches are in front of you instead of down the sides.
The format is greensome foursomes, in which both of you drive, you select the better one and then play alternately.
It benefits the big hitters but the man playing the second shot usually faces the bigger problems. It helps, therefore, if the better player takes the second shot.
However, that requires the other player to hit a good enough drive. I did win this event five years ago but then I was playing with a two-handicapper and was driving well enough for him to take a few second shots.
This time, unfortunately, my tee-shots were neither long nor straight enough and I was taking my partner Bob's drive with erratic results.
But it didn't matter, as it turned out. Usually we are finished before noon but this year there were over 100 of us and play was much slower.
Bob's wife was cooking lunch for 13 and he had to pick up some elderly relatives so, with two holes to play, he had to go.
I didn't get the feeling his departure was a tragedy for him. But I enjoyed the outing and we had a curry waiting back at the clubhouse.
It wasn't the curry, but I was stricken with a stomach upset that kept me off food and drink for 24 hours and which meant I had to withdraw from the Egg Cup. This is a competition organised annually by Arwyn to celebrate his birthday. As an ex-bank manager it's the only way he can get people to help him celebrate.
I regret having to pull out but he had 48 taking part and he won it himself with 41 points. But the best part, for him, was that his son-in-law, Killian, won the booby prize with 24 points.
Killian, who plays off 19 at the Donabate Golf Club near Dublin, came over with the intention of winning the trophy. Instead, he received a gift which Arwyn had received as a present and was happy to unload. It was a naff mug filled with chocolate golf balls. At the presentation Arwyn scoffed: "This is a mug for a mug who thought he was chocolate."
Had I played, I was likely to have scored fewer points than Killian and if he said that about his son-in-law, what would he have said about me?
Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)
(Republished from the “
Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 3 January 2010, with grateful thanks)
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Sunday, 17 January 2010 Course Of Action Is Required As We Share In Tiger's Falling Stock
The world is waiting for Tiger Woods to return to the golf course but never mind him, when are we hackers going to get a chance to swing a club?
Thanks to the freeze-up, golf life in this country has been in a state of suspension for weeks now and, unlike Tiger, we're suffering despite not having done anything wrong.
Not that we would dare compare ourselves to him. We are in fact the direct opposites; we don't do anything wrong until we get on the course.
But remove golfers of any standard from their regular games and the withdrawal symptoms are not pretty. I am continually bumping into fellow players dragooned into pushing trolleys around supermarkets.
Their hang-dog expressions betray their unwillingness to be anywhere but a golf course. It's like being sentenced to community service.
One desperate character cornered me in the vegetable section and couldn't believe how empty his life had become: "I didn't realise how big a part golf plays in my life. I spend hours and hours not knowing what the hell to do. Imagine how horrible it would be if it was permanent."
The trouble is that the devil makes work for idle hands, and so do wives. But there is nothing wrong with visiting the club, even if the course is under a foot of snow.
You still want to be there, particularly at our Club since Christmas because they are cutting down some of the dreaded leylandii trees and the sight of those toppling would gladden any heart.
On Tuesday I was amazed to see the car park was so full. I thought they had opened the course but no, it was Ladies Day and the girls had turned up in strength to have lunch.
On Wednesdays and Thursdays the men who play in the midweek swindles turn up for a drink and endless games of snooker. I suspect they haven't told their wives the course has been closed.
One thing we mortal golfers do have in common with Tiger is that our absence is doing the golf industry no good at all.
It is calculated that a prolonged Tiger lay-off could cost the sport £200 million this year. An incredible $13 billion (£8bn) has been wiped off the stock-market value of his nine main sponsors in 13 days of trading this year.
Despite our large numbers, we hackers can't match that financial devastation by our absence. But we do contribute more than is realised, and without us paying a healthy whack for our devotion to being bad golfers, even Tiger wouldn't be as rich as he is.
When we are not playing we don't lose any balls, develop extra faults that need remedial lessons from the club pro, buy new clubs, invest in warmer clothing or drink copious amounts at the bar and have a quick sausage, egg and chips before we go home for a diet-conscious dinner.
Don't worry, we'll be back in force once the courses are declared fit for play. The long lay-off will have done nothing to stifle our enthusiasm.
Thousands of resolutions made by desperate hackers who are determined to improve during 2010 have yet to be put into action.
All we've managed to do is chip air-balls on to the sofa and convince ourselves that it is all going to be different once they release us from this captivity. The reality is bound to hurt, but anything is better than all this inaction.
Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)
(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 17 January 2010, with grateful thanks)
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Tuesday, 12 January 2010 This Old Buffer Has Hit The Buffers But The Only Way Is Up
I have had worse Christmas gifts but never one as hurtful. It was a letter from the Match and Handicap Committee informing me that after the annual review of my performances my handicap has been raised to 28.
Some might think that by giving me an extra shot they are doing me a favour, making it easier for me by helping me out when I play against players on lower handicaps.
But at the moment it feels more of a burden than a gift. There is no higher handicap; 28 is as far as you can go into the depths of the doomed.
That's it; the end of the line. An old buffer hits the buffers.
I had hoped to keep it quiet for a while but at the winter league dinner last week my humiliation was publicly announced by the Chief Snake and, to the glee of all present, he advised me to have breast implants and join the Ladies Section where, of course, they are allowed to have handicaps up to 36. Hackers never get used to the scorn. Stoicism is central to the dogged courage we show by even turning up at the course to expose our golfing frailties, but the mockery still wounds.
The journey to this ignominy has been slow and painful. Twenty years ago I was off a handicap of 19 which is little to be proud of but I had been playing for less than 10 years and was at least moving in the right direction.
Then I was appointed golf correspondent and stagnation set in. Paradoxically, I spent most of my time on golf courses around the world but rarely had time to play. And when I did find more time, I developed the chipping yips. I just couldn't get the clubface through the ball smoothly. I would either jerk it or miss the ball altogether.
Far better players than me have suffered from it, professionals even, and although I've managed to some extent to purge myself of the problem, it has left a sad legacy on my wildly inconsistent game.
Every now and then my golf bursts into a purple patch that amazes my friends and me. Just as quickly it collapses.
I spent so much time watching the best players in the world you'd think some of it would have rubbed off. Many were even kind enough to give me tips that have yet to work.
I've often said that the secret of golfing success is not so much a good swing as how many shots you can get. I can't get any more.
As this column has been proving over the last 10 years or so, I do try to make light of my troubles and find the bright spots among the gloom.
I am not alone. There are millions of hackers around the world and one of the great virtues of golf is that you don't have to play well to get value out of it.
But you should never cease trying to improve and I am encouraged that my forlorn attempts to do so have been a comfort to some of those who are similarly afflicted.
As I was saying in the bar the other night, I must think positively about being a 28 handicapper and convince myself that now I've reached rock bottom the only way is up.
Someone replied, rather cruelly I thought: "Some might say the only way is out."
Taunts like that will only drive me into 2010 with firmer resolve.
Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)
(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday 27 December 2009, with grateful thanks)
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Wednesday, 23 December 2009 Sort Out My Cataracts Problem And I Might Finally Get My Eye In
If you are the sad possessor of poor eyesight, a game of golf is never more infuriating than if you play with someone else damned with dodgy peepers.
Max and I, for instance, play regularly in the same fourball but we could never play on our own. Max is waiting for a cataract operation which has been postponed at least once.
I am not so far down the cataract road and am waiting for my situation to be assessed by a consultant but my failing vision seems just as bad.
If we played as a two ball, the destination of our longer shots would be a mystery to both of us. Just as well, then, that our companions have sharper eyes and happily employ them on our behalf. But while I am always grateful for their patient kindness at having to perform this chore for 18 holes, it is not a satisfying experience. It's like being helped across the road by an old lady.
And there's always that delay before you know the fate of your shot. No matter how well you feel you've hit the ball, you wait anxiously at the top of the follow-through for the reaction of those alongside you on the tee.
Occasionally, if you have struck the ball straight and true, you will catch sight of its flight against a bright sky and what a joy that is.
But usually you search vainly for it while awaiting the verdict. If it is a good shot they'll tell you immediately. If it's wayward, there will be a muffled curse followed by a pause while they wait to see where it drops.
Then someone will put a sympathetic hand on your shoulder and point vaguely to a spot in the crap where your ball landed. Or, worst of all, they'll say "you'd better play another one".
As valuable as this service is, it is never quite enough for a hacker eager to learn. If the ball went left you have to ask if it was a pull or a hook; if it went right, was it a push or a slice? How else am I to make the necessary adjustments to my swing? This raises the question of whether my failing eyesight has played a part in the deterioration of my golf over the past couple of years.
I've had brilliant eyesight for most of my life so that doesn't explain my bad golf previously but who knows? Sorting out my cataracts could be the boost I'm looking for.
If it enhances my enjoyment of the game as much as it has done for John, another golfing companion, I'll be delighted. I've been playing with him at Royal Porthcawl since he made his comeback last year after 30 years out of the game.
He used to play off single figures but is finding it difficult to reclaim his old form. He has never had good eyesight but he had laser treatment a few weeks ago and has never seen better in his life.
We played at Porthcawl last week on one of those sunny winter days when you could see for miles. Unfortunately, he could and I couldn't.
The sea is visible from every hole at Porthcawl and he kept pointing out ships on the horizon that I couldn't possibly make out. But he did come in very handy in spotting my ball.
Most of the time he could see exactly where it was from over 200 yards away. It was like having a guide dog, and I've booked him for the next two months.
Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)
(Republished from the Independent on Sunday Sunday, 20 December 2009, with grateful thanks)
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Wednesday, 23 December 2009 Ease Winter Of Discontent By Kicking Or Throwing The Ball
Winter is the happiest time for hackers. If the course is closed, as many have been over the past few weeks, you can't make a fool of yourself; if it's open you can blame the wind or the rain for your shortcomings. More importantly, they don't play medals from November to March so you are spared that ritual humiliation of failing to break 100.
And there's fun to be had whether it is in the winter league, where mud is a great leveller, or in one of those weird and wonderful formats designed to cheer the coldest day. They've been playing one at Hinksey Heights in Oxfordshire which I've never heard of before. It's called A Kick, A Throw and A Mulligan, and the Royal & Ancient would certainly not approve.
The first two illegalities are self-explanatory. A mulligan, which I believe originated in America, is retaking a bad shot without penalty.
It is played as a Stableford competition for teams of three and each player is allowed a kick, a throw and a mulligan on both the front and back nines.
There are no restrictions. You can kick the ball out of the rough – or kick a putt if you so wish. You can throw the ball out of a bunker or back into bounds or even out of a water hazard if you can find it. The mulligan just lets you replay a rubbish shot. There's another twist to the game. The scores on each hole are not added up, they are placed alongside each other in descending order.
If one player scores three points, the next gets two and the third, one, the score on that hole is 321. Blobs don't count so if the poor mutt putting for the one point had missed, the team score would have been 32 not 321. No shortage of pressure there then. Russel, who wrote to tell me about the game, says a score approaching 5,000 points won in the end.
One thing they learned was how hard it is to kick a ball when it is lying on the ground. Countless kicked putts from less than a foot were missed – two from around four inches.
I know a few golfers whose adeptness at kicking a golf ball is long established but I can't imagine why you would kick a short putt.
Russel writes: "Not only did we come in tired from the round of golf, we were knackered from having to think tactically as when was the most profitable time to take the kicks, throws and mulligans."
But the game proved so popular they are going to play it in one of their turkey trots before Christmas.
Another new slant to golf featured in Sue Montgomery's Hacker column last Sunday. This one has a practical side in that it has proved beneficial to the games of many golfers.
Called GolfMission, it consists simply of a set of cards each outlining six different tasks to be accomplished during the round. One task could be to take no more than six putts on three nominated holes, or stay out of bunkers on three holes or hit three successive fairways.
By giving you something else to focus on other than the normal demands of a round, the tasks are said to help develop concentration and thereby improve your scoring.
Sue is going to spend some time using this system and will report back. Since I have the attention span of a gnat I shall give it a go myself.
(Republished from the Independent on Sunday Sunday, 6 December 2009, with grateful thanks)
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Friday, 04 December 2009 Keith loses handicap battle but can still win the Boar war
It is sad to hear of a hacker in distress. I don't mean on the golf course, where distress is an inevitable part of a hacker's lot, but off it where we should at least get what we're entitled to.
Keith Boar is so disillusioned with the way high handicappers are treated at his club in Lancashire he has given up playing the game.
I highlighted Keith's problem last year after he wrote complaining that his club was ignoring the new directive that full handicap allowance had to be given in club competitions.
His club insisted on sticking to the old rule giving only three-quarters of the difference in match play which was officially denounced as being "enormously favourable" to the lower handicappers. Congu, which runs the handicapping system on behalf of all the golf unions and associations in GB and Ireland, concluded after years of research that the full difference would be much fairer.
Keith now tells me that after a long and futile fight to be allowed to play off his full handicap in competitions he has reverted to being just a social member. But he shouldn't give up just yet. I spoke to the Congu secretary, Kevin McIntyre, last week and he assured me that the new handicap rule was not a matter of choice for clubs. It is mandatory and it was up to national unions to enforce it.
I've heard since of one prominent club who refused to obey the new rule and were told by their union that they faced losing their affiliation, which makes it very difficult for them to function as a club. The full allowance quickly followed.
I suggest Keith takes his complaint further and I'd be interested to hear of any other hackers who are being robbed of their stroke entitlements.
As Keith says: "All amateur golfers are allowed to play on courses that the greats have played. This is unique in sport as is the system that allows the high handicapper to give the scratch player a reasonable game. Why should committees load the dice in the low handicappers' favour by imposing handicap limits?" It is a question Congu found increasingly unanswerable the more they looked into it. They couldn't even find the reason why the three-quarter limit ever existed.
When the new rule was introduced a couple of years ago there was uproar among the better players. Some refused to play in match-play competition because they felt the odds had been stacked against them. That was a nonsense as subsequent results have proved.
The advantage still lies with the better player and they still get looked kindly upon by the competition organisers.
For some reason Congu retained the three-quarter rule for better-ball matches. We had a better-ball medal last week and my partner Andy and I, both off 27, had our handicaps reduced to 20 each.
Had a pair of two handicappers been playing neither would have lost a shot so Andy and I, pathetic creatures that we are, would be giving them seven shots each before we even started. Hardly fair, is it?
I had a drink with a European Tour pro on Thursday and said that stars like him had no idea what it is like to be a high handicapper. "I certainly do," he said. "I used to be off 40. Mind you, I was only 10 at the time."
We can take the mockery but don't take our shots away.
Peter Corrigan
(a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)
(Republished from the Independent on Sunday Sunday, 22 November 2009, with grateful thanks)
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Monday, 02 November 2009 Chance of Scotch missed but I soldier on with century duty
If you were in charge of 100 men in a Roman legion you were called a centurion. In our club they call you a centurion if you've been responsible for 100 shots or more in a monthly medal.
Same name but two utterly different descriptions – one a proud and fearless warrior and the other a quivering wretch of a failure.
But, call us what you will, we soldier on and last week was our day or, at least, part of it was. The Centurion Cup was devised specifically as a consolation event to those who fail to break 100 in at least one monthly medal during the season.
Some scoff at it as a competition for incompetents or, worse, a tournament for tossers. Sadly, snobbishness in golf is not confined to the pink-gin brigade. Players who regard themselves as an elite take a delight in mocking the afflicted. But there are more of us than might be thought.
Last year, 150 failed to break the ton at least once and that was 60 per cent of those who played regularly in the 10 medals |