PAR 3 COMP'
|
Par 3 Competition |
|||
|
Type
of course |
Parkland |
15
holes |
Par
46 |
|
Holes
|
14
x Par 3 |
1
x Par 4 |
|
|
Played:
|
07/09/22 |
||
Oh, what a night
Early September back in twenty two
What a very special time for me
As I remember, what a night
“A par 3
competition”, said the Pro, at our weekly lesson, “It’s a real fun night, see
the course from a different perspective and there’s food on afterwards”. Why
not I thought. My lessons had been going relatively well, my games as ever,
roller coastered like the Mumbo Jumbo at Flamingo Land, but a fun night would
be nice. Chatting with the Wednesday Boys over a post-match San Miguel saw
myself and Zapata put our names down as did The Burnley Beau and Handy.
Three months pass
and the day arrives. As I headed towards the club, a 5.30 pm shot gun start
with registration from 4.45, weather forecast alerts started to come through. My
phone was pinging as the skies darkened. Arriving in the car park the heavens
opened; the deluge was intense. With Zapata’s dislike of thunder and lightning
I very much expected that he would not be getting out of his car anytime soon,
if indeed he had bothered to turn up at all.
A quick dash into
the clubhouse and it was buzzing, excitable mixed groups chatting all things
golf, a short registration queue and as I waited patiently, Zapata, suitably
adorned in wets and cap arrived. First hurdle cleared then. A quick
announcement from the Pro concerning the weather and handicaps and we were off.
Within minutes
confusion abounds. Is the handicap 20% of your course handicap or 20% off your
course handicap. The notes on the scorecard (A5 strips of paper) didn’t help
and so Handy and the Beau went off to score the latter, me and Zapata the
former.
As to where the tee
boxes and holes were, another slip of paper outlined directions and distance.
If you were new to the course, you could be excused for struggling as to where to
go and when.
Oh, what a night,
you know I didn't even know their names
But I was never gonna be the same
What a gob shite, what a night
With minutes to
spare Zapata and I turned up at the 8th (10th fairway,
tee box near the bunker, firing at 116 yards to the 17th green over ditch
and trees). Waiting our arrival, as
outlined by Zapata earlier, were two cyclical pyrrhic victors. It appeared they
had forgotten their scorecard and the plan of action. The pair took our
scorecard and provided us with none in return, stating they would keep both scores! As he knows well the
plethora of golfing skulduggery that exists, Zapata acquiesced with a muted
level of dissatisfaction. Thankfully, a delve into my bag brought out an unused
scorecard to which I also offered to keep score. This appeared to be accepted
to a lesser degree by our companions and we teed off. To be fair tee boxes
didn’t really exist and the use of tees was made obsolete.
Oh, I, I got a
funny feelin' when we walked to the tee
And my, as I recall it ended much too soon
Pyrrhic Player One,
quickly revealed his character, boy could he talk, non-stop diarrhetic drivel.
The guy also had the worst looking swing that I had ever seen but as a single
handicapper it clearly worked! Perhaps I should take lessons from him instead
of the Pro! He hits the green, his partner goes right, Zapata is within yards
of the hole and I swish into the ditch. Its going to be one of those nights!
Oh what a night,
hypnotizin' mesmerizing me
They were ev'rything Zapata said to me
Pyrrhic winners, what a shite
Downpour two
arrives and as others take cover, I hack on. Zapata gains us 2 points, our
compatriots 1.
Hole 9, 2 points
apiece.
Hole 10 a mere 66
yards to the green over water at the 12th. Zapata OB, the diarhhetic in the water, his
partner plugs on the rim of the pond as do I. Recent changes to the 12th
green have seen the club send out a missive regarding the use of drop zones.
The Pyrrhics suggest the drop zone doesn’t relate to the G.U.R. running along
the length of the newly strengthened pond edge and so point of nearest relief
was to be used. More confusion, as the Pyrrhics suggest my point of relief
brings me nearer to the hole but theirs doesn’t. Further discussion ensues and
we agree this is not the case. Zapata walks off in despair and doesn’t even see
the Zenith of my play as I birdie with a 6 footer. The Pyrrhics par. It’s 7
points to 5.
Sadly, I am done
for the day, as once again I spike on a flatline. The next 12 holes see me
under hit every shot and my nadir arrives at the 12th tee (just
short of the 14th green).
Oh what a night,
hypnotizin' mesmerizing me
They were ev'rything Zapata said to me
Pyrrhic winners, what a shite
As we criss-crossed
the course, a mixed pair had followed. Good friends of the Pyrrhics by all
accounts and they suggest that they join us, to which we agree. Pyyrhics tee
off and as a discussion with the new couple develops, we are made to wait.
Eventually the chatter subsides and I strike the ball. A two-foot slice to the
right and I am tucked under a young crab apple tree. Cue embarrassment of the
highest order! Our new arrivals tee off and I have the ignominy of attempting a
second entwined in leaves. After another scuff, Pyyrhic Player One suggested
that I could have taken relief as it was a staked tree, but nobody had noticed!
Tee off trickery perhaps?
After a fine tee
shot, the male member of the mixed couple, is reminded by his partner, that if
he misses the putt he will be the recipient of “a kick in the nuts”. Something
he obviously has a penchant for, as we all watch the ball skirt the cup.
The 13th,
across the 15th fairway over to the green, sees others prosper, as
we run on empty.
Just to add the
alleged fun element to the par 3 competition, the 15th is a par 4 at
212 yards. Zapata continues his parring of pars and I don’t.
Oh, I, I got a
funny feelin' when we walked to the tee
And my, as I recall it ended much too soon
From here on in
Pyyrhic Player Two starts to come to the fore and bangs in four birdies in the last
6 holes. The best by far being at the 2nd, off the hill near the 9th
tee onto the 8th green. It landed millimetres from the cup. Quality
single handicapper indeed.
Undoubtedly because
the opposition didn’t receive any shots, banter lacked any discussion surroundingt
stroke index and we therefore had to badger for information, until it became a
bit of a grind.
In the distance, divest
of opposition, we could see Handy and The Beau keeping their own score and as
they headed away from the 8th tee, we blindly followed, only to turn
and see our quadruple buds, without a care or a call, heading in the opposition
direction. We trudged back and carried on. Zapata throughout used his golfing
professionalism to communicate politely with the others as I sank deep into my remorse
thoughts. One day, my time will come and
when it does watch out, I will flourish like a swan from an ugly duckling, but
not this night.
Oh, what a night
Why'd it take so long to see the light?
Seemed so wrong, but now it seems so right
What a gobshite, what a night
As the night sky
darkened, we sped towards the last hole and with a final score of 27 points to
the Pyrrhics 32, we had no chance of winning. Neither score was good enough on
the day. As we sat in the clubhouse with the Beau and Handy, the beer flowed and
the food was fine. We waited patiently for the Pro’s to readjust all the scores
for those who had played at 80%. and it appeared our good buddies may have done
well.
They had come
second and as they rose to accept the Calloway Golf Glove prize, a shout from the
floor by our late female colleague remarked, “Who marked your card then!”, which
thankfully was ignored by all. Perhaps if she had turned up on time, she would
have known that was her role.
The biggest reveal
of the night however came as Handy passed his winning mitt to Zapata, who then
passed it on to me. It appears Handy doesn’t wear a glove, never had and never
will. Who would have guessed it?
The following day after
a proper 18 hole game, we reflected on the night and the glove was returned to
its rightful owner. The Beau had discovered he could change it for a cheaper
one and garner a few quality balls. Something I couldn’t deprive Handy of, even
if possession is 9/10ths of the law. Perhaps I might get the cheap glove.
Having undertaken
the event for the first time, maybe next year I’ll be more worldly wise and produce
a better show. As ever, the next game will be the best one.
Oh what a night,
hypnotizin' mesmerizing me
They were ev'rything Zapata said to me
Pyrrhic winners, what shite
Do-do-do,
do-do-do
Do-do-do-do, oh what a night
Do-do-do, do-do-do
Do-do-do-do-do-do, oh what a night
Do-do-do, do-do-do
Do-do-do-do-do-do, oh what a night
Do-do-do, do-do-do
Do-do-do-do-do-do, oh what a night
Comments
Post a Comment