The first Senior Tour Major for The Shooter is upon us.
Spent the first couple of days practising. Hitting balls, chipping and putting, there was the obligatory media and galleries to deal with. Signing gloves and balls for the kids. I suppose it all comes with the territory on the tour.
Very nice tee time for the first round, a respectable 8.00am but we aren’t in Queensland now, it’s as cold as a mother in laws kiss here, fuck me, I should have bought the jumper.
Hit the first warm up sand iron thin, fuck I remember this from the amateur days, that hurt. Stay with the follow through Shooter, pretend it’s ok and you meant it, vibrations now going up my arms, ouch. Range guy asked if I need more balls, I tell him to fuck off out of my peripheral, we are pros here for fucks sake. He slinks off, another Shooter fan joins the data base.
Announced to the tee, first off. Would you expect anything else. Hit the driver out of the centre, watch the flight, go left a little, cmon fucker, go left. Trap, fuck. Out of the trap to 45 feet, nice shot Shooter, smooth it up the first like a pro.
Have done all the greens over the last few days, 45 footer, just roll it up close and walk on. Don’t leave it 12 feet short you fuckwit, Jesus. Miss that 12 footer, make bogey, you have to be fucking kidding. Flush a 5 iron onto the next par 3, hole it from 18 feet, nice bounce back birdie Shooter. I almost fist pumped myself.
Second shot on 3, after spending days getting front measurements, I am primed up. Take the 9 iron, hit it a little fat, it lands 15 yards short. This is madness, look at the club, fuck me didn’t have the 9 iron, had the wedge. They don’t even look the same. Never done that before. Not now in the major Shooter.
Par next, settling down. Hit driver a little right, have 119 and have to cut it a little, smooth 9, fading back to the flag, holding the finish, 5 feet, oh yeah, shot Shooter. Make that, back on track. Front edge of next par 3, 3 putt for bogey………. again ……. fuck off. Leave birdie putts short on 7 and 8. Got 107 front on 9, hit 4 inches behind a wedge to end up in a trap 30 yards short of the green. Holy fuck. Another bogey. Scoring lady on the back of the green asked what I had the last 3 holes. I told her to fucking wake up to herself, what the fuck is she thinking, stupid fucking volunteers. She then said she will put me down for 5,4,5.
Bogey 10 with a 3 putt from 40 feet, this is giving me the shits now, like most days, I have holed fucking nothing. Birdie 11 and 14. Flush the driver down 15, fucking dead. In the fairway, haven’t got a shot to the green, fucking stupid designer dickhead. Bogey. Peter Senior holed out on 16 today, can’t be that hard. Get fucked it isn’t, elevated green hard as the cart path, 153 carry to the front edge, pin on 10, how the fuck can you make 1 here. Par.
Missed the only drive so far on 17, hard right, over some trees. Find it, get it back to the front of the green, chip it past, miss the next, bogey. This no up and down bullshit is becoming annoying. Last hole to make a name for yourself. Another hard right, hits the hard pan, massive bounce, past the tree, going further into the bush, oh no.
Once I get to it the spotter says here it is, thanks mate, I wanted it dead behind a tree so I can’t get a swing in long grass. At least I have taken all temptation out of the second shot.
Chip the fucker out, now I have 119 flag, 103 front edge but the first 8 is a false front, who sets these fucking pins for fucks sake. I look over to the spotter, he gives me the thumbs up, I tell him, it’s a good fucking 4 from here. He agrees.
Wedge, Shooter flights it pure, holding the pose, ball gets up above the false front, lands and fucking stays there, oh for fucks sake, no way that stops there. Gallery of about 50 behind the green clap, WTF. Clapping that a green actually stopped I think. Looking at a 30 footer, little left to right late. The 50 in the gallery are silent, the 30 on the balcony are silent, the 15 pros on the putting green at the clubhouse are silent. One of the gallery yells “c’mon Shooter, you can do it” , I have to back off but tip my cap for the encouragement.
Pure stroke, ball hits the centre of the putter, the green line rolls over and over itself, pure roll. The gallery are craning their necks to get a look, it’s like slow motion, ball is now 10 feet away, Shooter holds the putter up as from here he knows it’s in. Crowd goes up as one, hat tipped, hands shaken.
Now we have the second round to get through.
Grinding PGA Shooter out.