RACE TO YINJIBAR (THE STORY SO FAR)
It’s Alive, I Tell You, Alive!
Who knew that when ‘The Race To Yinjibar’ was conceived, a
monster would develop from the innocent thoughts of a few likeminded people.
In the clubhouses of Cottingham and Skidby, questions and
answers were mulled over in a jocular fashion and a game of sorts was
developed. A set of loose-fitting rules were put in place and a second-hand
trophy courtesy of the Builder’s cabinet of curiosities, was to be presented
during a meal at the Yinjibar Chinese Restaurant. No real pressure, just
another fun game or two among friends.
How wrong can one man be? As Doctor Henry Frankenstein
(actor Colin Clive) shouts out above the crack of thunder and crackle of sparks
in the 1931 film classic, “Its alive, its alive”.
GAME DAY 1
The inaugural game took place on a shortened course with
temporary greens and a cold snap in the air.
Absent due to holidays was the Builder and the Judge, the
former yomping over the wild and woolly hills of the lake district, the other ensconced
on board a floating hotel more commonly known as a cruise ship.
On the day, seven set out and seven returned, all with tales
to tell. Yours truly benefitting from a high handicap returned the winner with
7 points towards the race and £5 better off. Whereas the Consonant Kid drew a
bl_nk _n th_ d_y. Cottingham’s answer to Wren Kitchens plays eight days a week
and feels disappointed if he misses a game. With a short back swing the Kid
hits true 9 times out of 10 but today it wasn’t to be. Kryton came a close second,
obtaining 5 points and enough money to buy a spring roll.
Others fared less well but all seemed to enjoy the game,
that was, until the reality of handicap cutting was enacted.
Myself and Kryton were docked four and three respectively
and Handy and the Metronome were hit with one
apiece. The Consonant Kid got a sh_t b_ck, the others were held in situ.
If nothing else golf is an interesting study into human
nature. The competitive element in, dare I say, in this day and age, of males,
comes heavily to the fore. An example of
which occurred on the 5th green. Zapata was about to take a putt and
I briefly considered altering my position to stand behind him and
see the line. I was stopped in my tracks as his golfing radar instantly tracked
my miniscule movements. He knew instinctively what I was about to do and gave me the golfers gaze, halting me in
my tracks. I was frozen on the spot. I dare not move as the consequences would
have been too much to bare.
It looks as if this little monster could grow and grow.
GAME DAY 2
As we approached the next game the rumblings were rising.
Were the shot reductions accurate? Were the 95% playing
handicaps correct? Should these new handicaps be used for all games? Should non
players on the day be given average points from those who played? What about
other format games, have they been binned? Have the am-am’s gone? Will there be
no more Texas Scramble and what about the Yellow Peril?
What about the Yellow Peril? I’d never heard of it, but thankfully
the Metronome came to the rescue and kindly explained the game, which instantly
filled me with dread. The rules are as follows:
Played in a 2, 3 or 4 ball stableford competition, the first
team member has a yellow ball. At hole 1 player A uses the yellow ball. The achieved
score is for him/her and the team card. Hole 2, player B uses the yellow ball
for his/her and the team score, player C at hole 3, player D at hole 4 and then
back to A for hole 5. The rotation is adjusted for 2 or 3 ball. Team score
stops after 18 holes or if the yellow ball is lost.
The responsibility of having the yellow ball may just be too
much for any one person to handle least of all a high handicapper (me).
Game 2 sees the Builder added to the throng. Handicaps are dished out, mutterings are
muttered, four balls are drawn and we are off to Yinji once again. Today its
preferred lies, rake and place bunkers, spiked greens and focussed heads. The four-shot
cut sees the number of holes in which I receive 2 shots significantly reduced
and it shows.
The Metronome suffers a rare poor show as his putting goes
awry. The Beau having returned from a short romantic break in the Bristols area,
is on fire and comes out a winner with 39 points, 1 above Handy and Kryton.
Kryton once again is the bridesmaid, never the bride. At least we are beginning to see a more
realistic handicap for some of the players and the itinerant ball collector was
being pegged back, although he did at one point accuse me of being a flag
lifter! Go easy there tiger, I have a reputation of being an upstanding member
of the community.
With only 7 points separating top to bottom, the games look as though they
will get tighter as the ground
conditions improve. Hopefully the tractor tracks cutting across the
fairways will be flattened, the cut drainage lines will close up and the mower marks
on the 5th green will grow out. Who knows, decent levels of fine
sand may be found in the bunkers as the official season begins. One can dream!
Talking of dreams, as we entered the 3rd week of competition,
I had my first ever golfing dream/nightmare.
As a group we had gone on an away day, to where, I know not.
The course was in tip top condition. We arrived at the 3rd, which
resembled a meandering river disappearing into the distance. Sandy banks were
the only other contours. In the distance a lone flag fluttered on the horizon.
The Metronome fires off quickly followed by Kryton, they are clean and true.
It’s my turn, I step up only to discover another tee box adjacent. The players amassing here are dressed in multi
coloured plus fours and Battenburg tank tops, topped off with green translucent
visors.
As I pull the tee from my trouser pocket it acts like a Kraken,
multiple strands swaying in the wind. I attempt to pick out each strand, it is
proving difficult. The group around me increase tenfold, the nerves kick in,
they are becoming increasingly agitated by my actions. Like the devil and the
angel, The Metronome whispers advice in one ear, Kryton mumbles incoherently in
the other.
I take my shot, it slices but at least I’ve hit it, I turn
to the crowd who in unison are moving their heads from side to side. Why? It
appears I had driven off from the wrong tee box.
I then wake myself up shouting “Vicar!”.
Sort that one out Sigmund!
GAME DAY 3
And the anticipation is underwhelming.
The Consonant Kid AW_L. The Builder having been given an
offer he couldn’t refuse, was off to build bridges with the big hitters of
Easingwold. Zapatta called off at the last minute, going down with a bad case
of flu, brought on by a contaminated bottle of sauvignon blanc. Likewise, the Beau, who was suffering from
PTVDD (post traumatic valentines day disorder). The Judge’s debut, didn’t happen
either, as he painted a lonely figure, playing only a few holes on the back
nine of a frozen course. Undoubtedly the chilling temperatures were not to the
liking of the globetrotting cruiser boy. He was far from happy,
That left four to play and that was clearly not quorate. Whatever
quorate is! No game, no scores, no results.
Would game day 4 go ahead, or had the monster been killed off early in
the story?
GAME DAY 4
It’s a full turn out for the third game of the race. The
monster lives, for now.
An earlier start than normal was called for by the Beau. Apparently,
he had a menage a trois to attend to later in the day.
Conditions were dormant and three 3’s took to the fairways.
As we glided round the course, it quickly became apparent that the Judge was in
a much better frame of mind. His dulcet tones were heard across the park. Most
notably on the 11th green, SI 2 playing 330 yards on the day. As a
member of the last 3 out and playing off a fairly high handicap, all ahead
could clearly hear his West Yorkshire droll, “I’m here for nart” he said and
sure enough he bagged 4 points on his way to a commendable 39. Not enough to
win the top prize however as the Builder came in with a fine 41 and I came a
close second with 40.
Three players tied on 37 points. The Metronome who had taken
to the treadmill of St Mary’s Sports Centre was upping his fitness in the hope
that his achilles tendon would not be his heel. To some extent one could feel
for the aristocratic low handicapper, as he has to work so much harder than the
hoi polio to get a good result. Then again, as the proud populace of ‘Ull would
say, “that’ll learn him” for being so good.
Two other little tinkers on 37 points and biding their time
are Handy and the Bandit. Handy continues to perform just under the radar,
whereas the Bandit had problems with the high wires and was forced to take
three fine drives off the 12th tee in order to achieve a par.
The pair just mosey along picking up points, waiting for the
right time to pounce.
Over time, as the handicaps begin to settle, one feels that they
will come into their own.
The Consonant Kid continued h_s _wn p_th of discovery as he
wrangled with his conscience. Does he stick to eight days a week or does he cut
back. Could overkill be affecting his game?
Kryton suffering from two days of babysitting the ‘bairn’
and the thought of another imminent birthday was looking tired after a hard 18.
The Beau, with his mind clearly on other things had a
disaster, he not only left his driver in the car but also his game. Although he
did look dapper in his going out gear.
After the game we retired once more to the clubhouse, where
the Judge continued to hold court, until the Metronome noted that said
magistrate had his mid layer on inside out! Busted!
GAME DAY 5
So that nobody could be in
doubt, the handicaps were sent
out the night prior. The Doc (Builder’s new moniker) dipped out as he was again playing with the
big boys, this time at Fulford. The course famed for Bernhard Langer hitting
out of a tree. A course mentioned
previously in this blog.
Eight turned up bright eyed and bushy tailed, the weather
however was dull and dank. The course was boggy but at least the main greens
were on. As we stood at the first tee huddled under the bushes a moot decision
was made. No Jinji today. So, what next, Am-Am, Matchplay, Stableford or the
YELLOW PERIL. Written rules outlined
earlier were ignored as the Yorkshire version took hold and it was. 1. The
holder of the yellow ball and one other to score on each hole. Last two holes
any two to score. That was it, a short and pithy play, to be enacted over 18
holes, with wind, rain and little sunshine to contend with Thankfully, it
wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be and myself, The Consonant Kid, Handy and
the Metronome came in with a respectable
82 points. Not enough however to overcome the Bandit, the Judge, the Beau and
Kryton, who banged home 89 points. Allegedly the Bridesmaid had an excellent
round and would ultimately have come in as the Bride. Unlucky!
The Beau on the other hand who was about to celebrate a
paper anniversary in Mallorca, went off to pack his thermal shorts and vest.
Sadly, Mallorca had been hit by Storm Juliette blanketing the island in 20
inches of snow and dropping the temperature down to -2OC. Oh dear.
GAME DAY 6
Err Nerr Snerr (See separate Blog dated 08/03/23)
GAME DAY 7
For anybody who was willing to listen, I voiced my opinion
that today would be perfect for a
Yinjibar, sadly with frost once again raising its ugly head, we didn’t bother.
Seven arrived six played. Rather than tackle the bumps and lumps of the
temporary greens, the hirsute Metronome pulled his pendulum and opted for a date
with a tonsorialist.
Two from 3 with par 3’s counting for everyone, it was game
on. Kryton. the Beau and I took on the dynamic duo of the Doc and the Bandit, ably
supported by the Consonant Kid.
The front nine were on temporaries but as the temperature
rose, the back nine were moved on to the main greens. Initially the Beau seemed
a little distracted, undoubtedly his thoughts were on the big game tonight, Tigers
v Clarets. With Burnley leading the
Championship by 13 points and only 10 games of the season left, his joie de vivre
may well have to be tempered as he opted
to sit in the home stand.
Kryton, on the other hand, who I had to pick up this
morning, was full of it. On arrival in the club car park, the first person he
saw was welcomed with “now then my mate”. On entering the golf shop he
acknowledged Alex the Pro with “now then my mate” and unsurprisingly at the end
of the game he gave another nod of recognition to a member with “now then my
mate”. A phrase he has never deemed to use with his weekly playing compatriots.
During shop chat it evolved that the pro was one short for
the winter league team a week on Friday. Initially he asked the 8 handicapper
the Metronome, who wasn’t available, then he turned to the mid handicapper the
Consonant Kid who also was unavailable, as was the next man in line, the
Burnley Beau. Eventually it fell to me. Feeling like the fat kid in the
football selection line up, I also declined, as I would be away also. Phew,
that was lucky!
As we know, during a game, Kryton is prone to wander but
thankfully his focus remained, right up to the 17th, then his
fishing habit got the better of him and he suddenly became lost in the watery
world of submerged slazengers and Taylor Made tiddlers.
Against the oppositions 96, 93 points didn’t hack it, our
downfall being on the par 3’s.
The main focus of chat after the game, was that of sport and
where do you store your gear. In the main I leave it in the car until the bulk
is too much for the boot to handle and it is then returned to my sports
cupboard! Something not necessarily appreciated by the good lady. To trump this
however the Doc informed myself and the Bandit that for two years, due to the
fear of theft, he stored two kayaks in his living room! Immediately setting off
the visual imagery of a fully kitted Doc, with lifejacket, spray skirt and helmet,
launching himself off the settee, slaloming round the room, shooting between
his shackleton and tallboy and avoiding banging his head on the coffee table as
he performs an eskimo roll, finishing tucked up by the sideboard as the wash
subsides.
As to Kryton’s
“mates”, I have it on good
authority, he had recently played with all three in various inter club
competitions, bagging somewhere in the region of £300. Money made allegedly,
more by the partners then himself but as he rightly indicated it was a team
game.
I wander if he had kept his focus?
A POI. During my trawling of the internet re all things
golf, I came across an interview undertaken in 2020 by the club Pro, who stated
his one true golfing partner would be no other than Elvis Presley. I don’t have
the heart to tell Kryton this, as it may leave him all shook up! Boom Boom.
GAME DAY 8
No Yinji today, the boys have gone away.
GAME DAY 9
As the nation reeled from the passing of Lily Savage, a
magnificent seven turn up for a Yinji’, at Skidby. With a different venue having
an easier slope rating, handicaps acknowledging players progress, had to be
adjusted. Rightly or wrongly, the average improvement or otherwise for each
player, was used to reduce their course handicap. Waiting patiently for the tee
time clock to turn, discussion surrounding the demise of the archetypal drag
queen provided the Bandit with the opportunity to crack his newly devised joke.
“I feel sorry for Robbie and the family” he said. Tumbleweed!
The C_ns_n_nt K_d, Kryton and I were pulled out of the hat
first, closely followed by the Bandit, the Beau, Handy and the Metronome.
Recent form indicated the latter two and Kryton would be in the driving
seat. Early on Kryton was in full flow
until his dirty habit kicked in. An unsuspecting elderly dog walker was
accosted. “Morning, if you see any of these little things on your travels feel
free to pass them over.” Feeling like a scolded school child, the aging doggie
day carer handed over a warm Callaway Super Soft and without a word of thanks
we moved on. His addiction had now got the better of him and as he hit one
precariously close to the out of bounds on the 8th he took the
opportunity to ‘fish’ the hedges. With his mind elsewhere he scraped a point.
Having not scored on two of the first three holes, it wasn’t
looking good for yours truly although a par quickly followed by a birdie lifted
my demeanour out of the doldrums.
The C_ns_n_nt K_d was also performing well however, with
repetitive strain injuries from a life time of drumming he began to crash, like
a cymbal and became snared by a number of holes.
As we move on, the C_ns_n_nt K_d’s Padawan was wandering the
wrong way up the fairway, “How’s it going?” we enquire. “Shite” says the Beau and
he moves off. According to the Metronome, the Beau had been ‘shanking’ and with
the acknowledgement at the end of the game that he was suffering from a wrist
injury the reason was clear. Ah, bless.
At the turn four points separated the top six.
As Kryton and I fought nip and tuck on the back nine, the K_d’s
Hi Hat began to slip.
Reaching the 17th SI 2 we waited patiently for
three elderly gents to tee off from the 12th. A dog leg right that
cuts across our fairway. Kryton hits the
trees on the left, the Consonant Kid flies down the middle. As I tee up, I
voice my concerns for the safety of the three to my left. “We have insurance”
says Kryton. “We have insurance” I say, “but I don’t want to kill them”. The ball flies with unerring accuracy towards
the men of an elderly persuasion. “FORE”, “FORE LEFT”, rings across the course
as a Titleist Tour Soft whizzes over
their heads. Regardless of the name I somehow doubt on impact it would feel
particularly soft. My apologies are thankfully accepted with grace.
Reaching the front edge of the green, me and the K_d have
long putts for a par. “Watch this” says the K_d and he putts at pace, across
the green and up the slope. The ball hits the pin like the pedal of a big bass
drum and sinks into the hole. A fine par indeed.
On retiring for a pastie and cuppa, the Metronome appears
reluctant to join us. He seems to have found his real mates on an adjacent
table and its up to the Bandit to provide the scores on the doors, quickly
followed by his Savage joke. Tumbleweed!
Once again Kryton is the Bridesmaid to my Bride and we anticipate
being cut again. The Metronome, the Bandit and Handy all play to their
potential and I have a feeling in my water, that from here on in, the low
handicappers will come to the fore.
Either that or I’ve got a bad case of cystitis.
Comments
Post a Comment