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Back on the horse - Queensland

Fuck me, Storming the Castle indeed.

Fiji is over an done for another year, started out rusty, warmed up and flushed it to get paid, everybody need to get dat paper, everyone gots to get paid.

Now its time to take that form into the first swing of the year, Central Queensland.

This includes Yeppoon, Agnes Water 1770, Bargara and Hervey Bay.

Yeppoon starts well at 7am, cant see a thing, fog delay, fuck me we aren't in Melbourne are we ? Get some heat up in this fucker.

When we get out there The Shooter quickly gets into a rhythm, hard cut off the first tee (6th hole) into the fairway, a wedge landing on the green and backing up off the fringe, opening par, this is easy.

Second hole (7th) its a 3 iron down to 68 meters. The flub fat wedge off the wet spot results in a ball gracefully diving into the piss, it was so demure it didn't make a splash. After a drop into a fucking sandy hole on a downslope, now I have a 30 yard pitch over the piss, just what I'm after this morning. A thin pitch leaves a 30 footer to 2 putt.

One of the am's then asks me "what did you take there aquaman", fuck me mate, too soon, read the fucking room.

The day warms up and The Shooter warms up until the soft as fuck bogey down the last leaves a sour taste in my mouth to sign for 74.

Day 2 is more of the same to end the day drained and sore, I did finish strong enough for a cheque that was enough for dinner, a few beers and some petrol down to 1770.

All the while fucking MG rolls into town at 1770 and casually lets me know I cant park in the place, out on the fucking street for me and when I get upstairs he has casually slipped into the King Dick suite. With my luck this week, no wonder I had the fucking quad.

He then spent half hour and 3 beers trying to sell me on the fact he didn't have the King Dick because he had to take more than 3 steps to his ensuite. Fucking Merrimac rich boys.

1770 is a 9 hole course, we are doing 2 laps over 2 days, great concept, that's until you make a triple on the 2nd last of day 1 and then a double on the last, fucks sake.

The triple happened because I hit it 80 meters right of the fairway trying to hit it onto the fucking green, greedy fucker. The provisional was thinned into the right rough under a tree, tried to cut punch a 9 iron 95 meters, now I'm in the left fucking trees under a bush, flub that a foot, chip the next one harder to 20 feet past the hole and 2 putted for an 8, fuck me it was a quad not a triple, its been a big week so far. 39 day 1 38 Day 2, no cash here, move on to Bargara.

Here in Bargara it is no different, the hotel was just passable last year, this year it got worse, expensive, shit wifi, atrocious room layout with my bathroom an afterthought in a fucking cupboard in the hall. MG has slipped himself in the King Dick again while I get the small, cold, no space room that I have to walk 30 yards to the bathroom in a fucking hallway that is so claustrophobic and badly vented you die from steam inhalation. Not to mention that it is so dark you inevitably smash your foot into something on the way there. Fucking shithole.

Not that the Merrimac Flyer would give a fuck tucked up in his King Dick fucking suite.

At this point I'm not sure who the worst roomie is MG who always jumps the King Dick or the Bald English grip maker who has a history of drinking too much red wine, losing his phone, talking to himself and putting his shorts and tshirts on back to front.

Day 1 in Bargara comes, 7am start, I am up and out early. I had to allow extra time because the lift in the manky fucked up building shit itself the day before, fucks sake. Never again MG, never again. The Mayor of Merrimac, has come down with a bad case of gout, maybe you get it from too many King Dick nights. So he is out of the tournament.

Starting on 9 (hardest hole on the joint, of course) I have to chip the ice off my fingers to grab the club, the first swing wasn't a thing of beauty but we did get the driver on the fairway, pull a 7 iron into the left trap and play a superb trap shot out to 16 feet. Seve couldn't have got it closer. Casually hole that for a par. We are off and racing.

The fucking horse then fell soon after leaving the barrier, some ordinary golf took place including the trap shot off the matting that almost broke my wrist on 14, the low flat hook 9 iron into 15 that missed all the groves of the club, the double after hitting a socket 80 meters into a lake on 6 followed by the rank bogey on 7. The ambulance was already waiting for me at the finish line. 77 was not a great days work.

Day 2 shaped up better, I got to start on 4, a straight away par 4, just as well I like morning starts and freezing my nuts off, it prime fucking season for that shit.

Better tee to start, worst tee shot, the first drive of the day was a faint snick off the upper toe of the driver, so high on the toe, it didn't leave a mark, it hardly made a sound.

The ball left the club so slowly I read Titleist 3 on it. It was like it was in slow motion and ended up moving forward 90 meters and right 60 meters. I yelled "fore" only so the group 3 holes across would know its coming. Fuck me.

Chip that fucker out, knock it on the green and lip the 30 footer out for par. Got some revenge on the 6th for the socket 3 iron the day before as I hit a 30 yard bunker shot to a foot, more Seve like short game skills.

Coming down 7 (my 4th), I see a faint silhouette through the fog, its MG, his foot has miraculously healed, he is out to loop for The Shoot. Could be the best day of his life.

With the Rich ex Sydney Hair Tipping Victim on the bag the vibe got rolling, nice swings, controlled shots, good positive talk, holing some putts, making some birdies. Oh yeah we had it going and shot 2 under through the back 9, tearing that shit up.

MG went all Denzel on me:

We finished strong, looking for more birdies but none of the putts seems to be dropping, 71 was the end result, move back in to some petrol money again, got to love that petrol money shit.

MG deserves a beer and a caddie fee, he ends up getting neither.

Hervey Bay arrival is chaotic, MG races into the dual key room, holds one door shut and the other open then announces "you choose which room you want"

Given the option, I would like to see behind door number 2 thanks but no, its blocked. Looks like door number 1 is the option I am left with.

Now this room has the kitchen and living room with a semi separate bedroom and bathroom, however the bathroom also has the laundry and MG is claiming his room has a smaller balcony and no living room so I have the King Dick. Not quite as his room is completely separate. I conceded that my room has a hint of King Dick but he hasn't missed either. The King Dick room tally (if that is a thing) is 2 1/2 to 1/2.

Another 7am start, a little warmer this time, jumpers but no ice, things are looking up. Starting on 10, throughout the years it has been proven time after time again with golf course management The Shooter is rarely wrong.

I want to hit 3 wood from the 10th tee but its cold, first tee shot of the day, not really feeling it so I take the Lumber, the Big Dog, the Chief, The Hammer of The Gods. Wrong club, horrible choice, what a fuckwit.

Ball goes right, ends up against a fence that guards the 16th tee and its under a fucking bush, fuck me was the phase that first came into my head.

Then I saw the white line, fuck yeah, its GUR. Free drop.

Then I drop it on a hill on bark chips in rough, I really need to work on my dropping, oh yeah and my chipping and perhaps my driving given where the fuck I am.

Why am I hitting Chief anyway For Fucks Sake, I know its a 3 wood love tap. Comedy of errors.

Flub an 8 iron off the shit lie, knife a chip, 3 whacks for double, mmm not the start I was after. Hit the next drive low right into the culvert, its in the rough but I can hit it, the heat is fucking rising already, doubling the first hole of a two day event, fucking knob.

Hit the wedge to 20 feet and then hole it for birdie, fuck yeah. Lip the birdie putt out on 12, slowly getting back into the round.

Slightly thin second on the par 5 13th means I have to manufacture one under some branches just up short of the green, if there is one thing The Shooter can do its manufacture.

Manufacture thin right into the rough pieces of shit that is.

Now the situation looks dire, 30 yard pitch, right in my wheelhouse, grainy thick rough, over a bunker, short sided with 8 feet of green to work with and its down grain once it lands. Usually, its easy, just be long, nope ! The other side of the green is another bunker with water behind it.

Of course, I hit it into the short bunker, as I hit the fat bunker shot, trying to be like Seve again, my worst fears become a reality, it hits the lip and comes back at me, it rolls down beautifully into the divot I have just made. If it wasn't fucked before it certainly is now. For Fucks Sake Hervey Bay, at least kiss me before you fuck me.

The next is hit harder and ends up in the bunker on the other side of the green, out of there and 2 putts make 9, well fuck me a double and a quad in 4 holes.

After some choice words, I par the next 2, its 2 days mate, its amazing what 10 pars in a row will do. Pep talking Shooter has arrived.

That's of course not including the flub from 58 meters into the piss on 16 for double and then the fucking 17th.

Uphill par 3, playing 189 into wind, toe flub a 3 iron short of the trap, flub the chip into the trap, knife the trap shot over the green, chunk the chip a foot, run the next chip 15 feet by and 2 putt for the second quad of the day. Fuck me indeed.

At that moment, I realised the event was a walk while hitting a ball, nothing more, a couple of doubles on the front finished me off quicker than anticipated. Day 2 was better, the worst score I had that day was a triple.

I did however, make 5 on the 13th to get my revenge.

Leaving Hervey Bay a little beaten up, trailing in the King Dick tally but leading the triple and quad awards. I did cash a couple of cheques on the swing so not all was lost.

No more events until Wynnum.

Humbled Shooter out


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