Here we go again was the cry, Shooter is having another go at the Australian Mid Am.
Lynwood Country Club in Windsor NSW, right in the middle of Fuck Knows Where and half an hour from Fuck Me Where Are We Now. One part of the location was unmistakable, we must have been next to or near a shit farm because the smell was fantastic, if you were a fly, I know this because there was the worlds population of flies waiting for the players on the first fucking tee. Later I worked out its not a shit farm, it’s just the people.
Bit nervous as usual, starting in the 10th tee first day, meet the other two choppers. We get our score cards, pin sheets and hard card and your allocation of 350,000 flies for each player and away we go.
The announcement came, On the tee from Queensland, Shooter, small crowd claps, I tip the cap and hit a beautiful little knife neck 5 wood into the wind, just clears the hazard, small clap from the assembled gallery, clearly they know nothing about golf and I think one was blind.
No hits on the range, just necked a 5 wood now have 165 over water to a shallow green, this looks inviting I said to myself as I was standing over it. Flush, lands on the green rolls up to 30 feet, fuck me I thought. Par after 1 ready to go.
Par through my 7th (16) then missed the 17th green left, hit a chip to 3 feet and left it low side, bogey, oh well said Shooter the Zen Master. 18th is a 430m par 4, up hill with water hazard right and left off the tee and then left of the green, you can run it up to the 2 tiered green because the hill is so steep, Blisters would be fucked, he would hit driver, driver, 3 wood and hole a 2 footer.
I hit it left almost in the hazard, had 197 up hill, hit 5 wood to 30 feet.
Felt quite happy, that’s until I drop kicked the first putt, left myself 12 foot for par then missed that. The blood pressure of the Zen Master was rising. I could tell because a had a bulge in my forehead. Fucking going ok and finished bogey bogey. Oh well 38 out.
Was going good on the second 9 and was even par, hit a good drive on 9 tee, a stupid uphill par 5 with water on the right for the drive and hazard all the way up the right hand side. You have to lay it up short of the left bunker then you have 120 over the front water hazard. My layup with a 6 iron was a little right, took a fucking superball bounce hard right into the fucking hazard, it was so deep even Lassie couldn’t find it.
Then I found it, oh fuck, unplayable drop, limit the damage Shooter, limit the damage.
Bit pumped up, fly wedge 120 uphill, over water, lands on the back of the green, runs to fringe, not too bad given the circumstances. Ok Shooter, up and down for 75, not bad for the first day.
Oh no, what a cock up, flub chip, roll putt down to 4 feet make 7 to finish with 76. Just as well it’s the last fucking hole, I almost didn’t have a sand iron left after that fucking chip.
Tomorrow is another day. Fuck off it is, it’s more of the fucking same but worse. 4 doubles and 1 birdie for a less than spectacular 79, very quiet ride back to the fucking motel that day. Every time I hit a shot off line I made fucking double. Starting to think this golf course is a bit hard and fast.
Day 3: They have moved the tee times forward 30 minutes because it’s supposed to be hot today, then when we got there it was foggy so they moved them back half an hour again, just as well they did because it was only 1000 fucking degrees with the beautiful aroma of shit and again with an extra allocation of flies for the last day.
Starting on 1 today, was t20 and in the top half, could of been better but it was a double bogey fest yesterday.
Solid par 5 start, lip out on 2 from 15 feet for birdie, lip out on 3 from 15 feet for birdie. Feels like every Sunday, holing nothing so far. Even par through 8, going along ok.
3 wood on 9 tee flush, layup this time with a 6 iron again, little thin, lands in the centre of the fairway, hard bounce, fuck me ! Did you see that ? Another hard bounce, hard right. Just got absolutely fingered then, I don’t fucking believe it. I know Stickers is quite partial to a little winging and fingering. I am not.
Find it, thought I could still get home for 3, decided on an 8 iron, 120 up hill over water from the hazard. I that it had 8 written on the bottom, it must have said knife, thin fucking piece of shit flies low right, over hazard into long grass, playing partners have now gone quiet, find it, unplayable, back on the line of the flag 60 meters to get out of the shit and long grass, flies now buzzing around my face, blood pressure monitor has exploded, drop it near the practice putting green just in front of the clubhouse. Just as well there is only 100 people watching.
Last look at the target before the pitch of the year, I see 4 flagpoles now, where the fuck did they come from ? Last thing I thought of was hitting a flub 30 yards into the shit I just dropped out of, so, when it comes off the face of the finely crafted 60 degree Vokey wedge, it’s crisp, I hear it, it’s spinning, as if in slow motion I feel the compression of the ball on the face, I follow the flight and for the second time I see the fucking flagpole, as the ball flies past it by 1 inch a guy in the practice putting green says “that was close” little did he know if it hit the pole he would have been close to death. In my head the words sounded like “ Yeah, very close” what almost came out was “ fuck off you old fuck and no one asked you so shut the fuck up”
I hit it 50 feet by the hole, playing partners don’t know where to look, I roll my 50 footer downhill putt 15 feet by, the blind spectator clapped the fucking mole, I make a mental note to trip the bitch over while I am walking to the 10th tee. The 15 footer lipped out. Nice 8.
Failed to get it up and down from a cart path bare lie on 10, missed a 3 footer for par on 11, one in the piss on 12, 3 putt 14 for bogey, 3 putt 15 for double, 3 putt 16 for bogey, bogey 17 after getting fingered again by the fucking bounce and hit one in the left water hazard on 18, dropped it, 5 wood to 30 feet, holed it for the best par of the week.
There is always next year. Getting on the plane home.