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Country NSW - Early hopes and positive vibes



Full of enthusiasm and hope I trek off from the coast, just a little 12 hour drive to Forbes for the start of the country NSW swing of the tour. This tour life suits me down to the ground.


Arrive still happy and after an early night, I am up at 6am to make sure I beat the crowds to the first tee for a practice round. 7am the place should be buzzing. Not a fucking soul, no one in the parking lot, no one in the pro shop, no one on the golf course. The only fucking thing I can find is 1000 bindi’s in my fucking shoes and buggy wheels.

So far so good, at least the round should be quick.


First hole playing 194 into wind, first swing of the day, tough start, you also have to thread it through gum trees either side of the fairway with a gap wide just wide enough that you have to walk single file, fuck me, hope they aren’t all like this. Early pinpoint accuracy required, that’s until you get to 7, what a fucking stupid hole that is, not only is the tee shot almost impossible the pitch has to land on a green the size of a VW and has more slopes than Shanghai.

Its a one round pro am so you have to just do your best. End up shooting 75, winning a NTP and running T8. Not a bad start. I thought the NTP would be cash, instead i got a bottle of red wine, at least someone will be happy.


Off to Young, fuck me Forbes looks like Cypress Point now, what a hilly fucking goat track that is, I took some photos so I can remember it, especially the massive fucking rocks in the middle of the first fairway and I remember the fucking heart attack I had walking up and down the fucking mountains they call hills pulling a fucking bag through thick kikuyu.

Blisters told me I have to get a cart to play there, what would that old fuck know. After a practice round and two very angry rounds of golf, my left knee that I twisted in the practice round is really fucked and I finished in a fucking body bag. I was sweating and blowing harder than a 100/1 outsider in the Melbourne Cup. What a fucking cock up, a cart may have been a better option, stupid old Blisters know it all fuck.


I think my tournament at Young can best described as flawed, best represented by how I played the 4th hole on day 1, hard dog left left downhill, 206 to hit it past the first big tree on the left, dam left of that, 246 to get blocked out by the massive tree on the right of the fairway just through the dogleg. Ideally, you hit enough club to get it somewhere between the 2, then you are left with somewhere between an 8 iron to a wedge off a downslope and sandy crusty lie, you now have to hit that uphill maybe one club extra and stop it on a green the size of Stickers fucking swimming pool. If you are short you are fucked and you will make 5, if you are long you are proper fucked and could rack them.

I flub a 4 iron, it hits the centre of the fairway and starts to go left, finishes blocked out by about as many trees they have in the belanglo state forest, Ivan Milat would be quite at home in there. At this stage I am still quite upbeat, 75 at Forbes, working my way into this round. I see a chance to get it through here and salvage some respect, that’s until I smash it into a fucking tree and the little white fuck ends up Christ knows fucking where.


Playing partner finds it, says “saved you a couple there” Yeah good on you dickhead, I’m still 80 yards away on hardpan in the fucking bush, ants crawling up my arse, thanks again for saving me……..fuckwit.


Now I have to hit a little hooking 9 iron around a tree to run it up, fucking flush it, runs 40 over the back, now I am proper fucked. Chip it with the touch of a wharfie, runs through the green onto a rockery, getting pretty hot now, flub the chip and 2 putt. Nice triple Shooter, just what you needed. I want to break something but compose myself to saying fuck, dickhead, fuckwit and loser.


The next hole is 144 meters, again cant be long, cant be short. So this time I thought I would completely fuck myself in the arse and hit an 8 iron 40 right over a fucking fence, now I am looking for a snake to bite me and for fucks sake I hope the fence is electrified, that will teach me to go on tour.

One more out of bounds and a couple of doubles later and I am sitting in my hotel room weeping while smashing a pizza and drinking coke zero.I don’t know why I am a fat, injured fuck.


The good thing is there is only 2 weeks to go, cant fucking wait.

Smashed up, injured Shooter out.

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