After the Mollymook disappointment, it was back to the drawing board.
The Tour had another event cancel and a decision had to be made, back to the Disco Love Shack for a 10 days or so, or a quick trip home to see Sweets.
The facts were that Sweets was off to Sydney and Adelaide and it would take a few days for the whole up and back on the roads. The Love Shack it is.
Disco cant wait I bet, he loves it. Rose' cant believe her luck, she gets The Shooter lobbing on her doorstep for another 10 days, yay !
The next few days became a grind a thon at Black Bull. Shooter has got a nice feeling going with the pitching action, swinging it ok, albeit with some pain from this fucking elbow and we now have the old faithful Newport 2 back in the bag. Sometimes you just need to look at something different.
Shooter is grinding in the day and Disco comes out after work and wants to play as many holes as we can before dark and before the mozzies the size of murder wasps emerge to suck you dry. Its a delicate balance.
I think through the week Disco may have won the nightly challenges 3 to 2 but he had shots for days and insisted he got them, its his home course for fucks sake. Although, I have probably played there more than anyone in the last couple of months, I might become the Touring Pro if the ask me nicely.
I wonder if I can become the Touring Pro for Black Bull and Beerwah at the same time. Contract renewal time is upon us.
Fuck contracts, we have bigger fish to fry.
Playing comp rounds at The Bull is keeping The Shooter sharp, although, perhaps not sharp enough as the wallet was breached by Dingo (MM) for a quick $20 one afternoon, that sucks a dick. Losing sucks a dick not Dingo just for clarity.
The Shooter regained a couple of $ the next time but lost a couple more $ to the Gran Jefe (big boss for those whose Spanish is a little rusty) when I fell victim to their fiendish plan to have 4 quick beers at the turn as well as 2 more for the back 9. So all in all still down a few bucks.
All this practice has made me keen to go to Thurgoona for the Senior NSW Open, its been as wet as a cucumber in a convent over the past few months and Thurgoona has copped a lot of it. Disco and Shooter shot over to have a look before the event and it was sloppy.
Shooter takes off a day before Disco and has some practice and 9 holes over the back, fuck its wet. The course looks similar to what it was last time, so a light practice session is all that is required before an early tee time on day 1.
The time has come, tee time is 45 minutes away and The Shooter is warming up the money makers by thinning a couple early just to get the vibration into the fingers. As usual, a couple of fat wedges and into the middle irons with a mixture of thin blocks and fat pulls to round out the session. These practice balls feel like fucking bricks. My fingers still hurt
Tee time, Disco is in for the loop, fuck he is nervous. Last time he was on the bag (Start the Year right - Feb 8 https://www.theshooterproject.com/post/start-the-year-right ) the start wasn't very good, he knows he made some mistakes that day and is keen to get it right.
This time Shooter flushes it into the fairway, 108 in, uphill, flag on 8. Fucks sake Disco, as every good looper knows its Total then Front, put the book in your pocket the right way (its hard to teach them Andre, fucking rookies). First iron shot of the morning, Shooter takes a smooth wedge to cover the flag, except it lands on the front edge and spins 40 feet back down the hill toward me, fuck off was the murmur. A little chunky bump and run and a putt that didn't break off the left makes a 5, fucking fuck, we are away.
The 2nd is a par 3 playing 168 flag is cut centre left, the flight starts right and goes further right to leave a cool little 80 footer, the 8 footer for par is made to a sigh of relief.
The first birdie of the day is a combination of a flushed drive and a delicate pitch and a team effort on the read. As the putt drops, Disco whispers "fuck yeah", Shooter gives him a sly wink, its fucking on now.
Now I have him going, the Disco knows he is part of a team, a finely tuned athletic unit. One fuckwit in the team leaves a 40 foot birdie putt on the next 15 feet short and then the electric eel jiggles and bites to miss the par putt. A 6 iron into the next was supposed to start 10 yards left of the flag, instead, it starts 15 yards right, hits a bank and takes a massive bounce toward the hazard. I think the athletic unit has done a hamstring.
Carve the next tee shot. That bounces hard right, definitely looks gone. Fuck me, we have it, in the hazard propped up by 2 blades of cut grass from the rough. Looks like the luck is changing. Until Shooter, with a view to punch it out low toward the fairway trap, instead hits a high hard right half socket straight up into the tree.......fuuuuccccckkkkk.
Fucking double there, a great up and down on 8 for 4, and a 3 whack on 9 from the front edge to round it out, fuck me, cant wait to get to the back 9.
Now its a slop, The Shooter is a few over and we have 9 to play to get some credibility in this fucker. Pump up Disco for fucks sake.
Flush the driver down 10, 64 meters is the call from Disco he is all over it, fucking team player. The ball carries the bunker but hits the kikuyu before the green and stops, flub the chip and the putt never looked like it.
Starting to get a little hot now, the attitude is warming up, the rain starts, fuck me.
Two thumps down the par 5, nice little nippy pitch that did not pitch and apparently was not nippy. That fucker runs off the back, down into the longer grainy fucking shit, perfect to flub it a foot, then pitch it on and make another double.
You can tell now I must be as happy as a dog with 2 dicks, this round is becoming a treat.
Disco is very quiet.
3 jiggle 13 and 14, I am thinking I would like to go home now as the rain smashes me in the fucking eye balls. Hit a big tree left side of the fairway on 15, Disco gives me the total 204 meters, flag on 18. Perfect 3 iron if I didn't hit it fat. Now I have a 25 yarder, my pitching game has been strong all day.
This one comes off perfectly, it looks like Andre Stolz has hit it, lower flighting, it lands left of the hole, one bounce, check and rolls in. The gallery go nuts, clapping and whistling. Shooter tips the cap as he walks to the scoring officials.
Shooter, I answer while still tipping my cap.
5, 6, 3, just highlight the 3 little lady !
"he he he, thanks Shooter"
Single Pistol, hat tip.
Need to hit a high fade with a 5 iron on the par 3 starting left of the flag. The old scoring mole has followed us over to the tee, she is 97 and as ugly as the double bogey I made on 7.
That ball started right, going right, just as well the wind if off the left going right too. It makes a silent entry into the lake.
I walk off to get another ball, she is looking at me, fuck I want to punch her.
Couple of pars to finish off the stellar round of the week. Fuck I hope it gets better tomorrow.
Day 2 arrives, this time we have an afternoon tee time, still wet, still sludgy.
After a carbonara and a few Stone and Woods the night before we are pumped to shoot a few under and do our best to make the cut.
Flush it off 10 tee, 80 meters in and its a nice little 56 that misses the green right and tumbles off into the shit rough. The flub results in a 5 and the head is wobbling. Two blows down 11, the 20 yard pitch that is hit fat stays on the front edge. I wanted to jamb the putt in to take out some break, it would have worked too if it didn't miss it by a foot and it roll 3 feet above the hole. That timid prod missed and I walked to 12 starting to feel I must have killed a chinaman.
Hard left pull on the next to miss the green and a little fat chip leaves a 15 footer that I drain of course, we have hit the turning point, Disco has a little skip toward the next tee.
Skipping aside we are ready to go. Snipe a driver from the tee, Disco is expeditious in his move to get a provisional, a move he has perfected in the last couple of days.
A spotter finds it, I chunk it out to the fairway, now have 176 meters, the 5 iron is magical, never leaves the flag and as its in the air the clouds part and the sun shines through onto the green. I don't get near the 5 footer but I can feel a tingle in the loins, something is going to happen.
Driver up the next par 5 to 198. Playing up, into wind, a low drawing 3 iron would be perfect. At impact I think Disco reached climax, the ball flushed out and started a 5 yard draw, it was like watching an angel take flight. Missed the 20 foot eagle putt by a foot but made a birdie, bombed it down the next, wedge to 6 inches, scorers go nuts again, I hope the crypt keeper has been allocated a new hole today or she will want me to sign her ass cheek after that shot.
Bogied 16 but missed the fucking large lake, so that's a plus and two pars to finish the 9, happier today despite the start.
The English Grip Maker is on the back of the green, he doesn't give a fuck what The Shooter is having he just wats to let us know we have reservations at the Indian at 7pm so don't fuck about. Fucking curry house, an Englishman can smell one from 2 miles.
Par on 1, didn't make the mistake of sucking it off the green again today.
3 whacked the 2nd from 80 feet, pulled a driver over the left bunkers on 3, played a sublime hook off hardpan, around trees to 30 feet. the lady (?) who was scoring said it was a beautiful.
I couldn't guarantee she/her/we/us/they or them was a woman. The lipstick was what finally convinced me, the rugged jaw line and 5 o'clock shadow pointed another way but you do you Scotty P, know what I'm sayin'
Frozen rope a drive down 4, fuck its long. Not good enough to make birdie there this time, Par 5 and 6.
Now I found myself on this fucker of a hole. Yesterday it went right into the hazard, not today my friend, not today.
A snipe hook and suspected out of bounds instead, Disco jumps into the bag at breakneck speed, "Provisional Shooter ? "
"I believe I will, thank you"
The first one is found in and punched out down the fairway, the next shot however flies a long way right and plugs in a marshland I didn't know was there, you learn something everyday. The fat pitch out of the mud and slush is icing on the cake. The next one goes on the green and I hole it for 6, fuck this hole.
An arrow straight drive down 8, followed by a majestic high 6 iron to 4 feet results in a birdie and Shooter stands on the last tee thinking we could play another 9, my playing partners and Disco have other ideas.
Pump the driver up the last and float an iron to the middle of the green. The 20 footer didn't scare it and the tap in finished a round that was 7 better than yesterday but felt 20 better.
Now I just need to get a few beers under the belt, sleep, get out of here and get a lesson.
Trunk Slamming Shooter out.