‘NO ONE LIKES A GOLFING SMART-ARSE!’
Sending a late evening email to Match & Handicapping at my home club in Newcastle was never going to be my best move. (Photo: Harry Thompson/Thomspon Visuals)
ORDINARY THOUGHTS: BY PAUL GALLAGHER
I became a golfing smart-arse and didn’t even realise it. Composing emails to Match & Handicapping (M&H) after the blind squirrel found his nuts and pulling loved ones up on their golfing terminology. All tremendous nonsense!
I’ll set the scene. Go on humour me, I don’t usually get on this sort of dribbling role.
One week out from lining out for the Belfast Marathon, this roly-poly had an internal debate whether a round of golf swinging round my backside would damage an already damaged hip while attempting 26.2 excruciating miles around Belfast the following Sunday?
We don’t need to get into the weeds. The marathon decision was a moment of weakness and it just needs to get done now. And it will, because I made a promise to Daisy Lodge (Cancer Fund for Children) and the army of generous friends and family who donated.
It was my first competitive round this year on the Championship Links at Royal County Down so the bar of expectation was set low. There were no expectations in fact!
That I tipped it round in a fairly stress-free level par 71 was surprising in itself for this lightly raced donkey. Tale of the tape, 15 pars, one double and two birds - oh and 15 GIRs which is unheard of in these quarters.
Back to the smart-arse bit. Having dipped below the zero mark line in the Golf Ireland WHS (World Handicap System) graph I had hoped to feature on the Mourne Golf Club live leaderboard in the HowDidIDo (HDID) app. Imagine the disappointment as my ego got hammered when 39 points didn’t show anywhere on the board. Did I enter incorrectly on the computer? It’s too early for M&H to disqualify me. What happened?
Turns out there were two separate competitions. Annesley Cup qualifying (for Matchplay) and an 18-hole Stableford and only the latter got its place on HDID.
It seemed like a good idea to ask the question with a late evening email fired off to M&H.
“It was an either Annesley or 18-hole Stableford, not both. The same applied on Thursday. All were acceptable for handicap. This is unchanged from previous years,” was the fair and obvious response from M&H.
My playing partners had entered me in the competition, and the onus ultimately is on me - always will be. Time constraints, I had no intention of entering a Matchplay competition in an already busy golfing calendar.
But the real smart-arse move? Feeling the need to email M&H while a sloth-like keyboard warrior slouched on the sofa. Bad move. If I’d shot 91, I’d have been nowhere near an email query - I’d be running for that bunker I took four to get out of licking my wounds.
Lesson learned.
The golfing out-takes were in abundance last weekend, and I later found myself on the farm after said round on the links.
Sun was splitting the skies, lambing season almost over and we came across some ancient golf clubs in the shed. My son Conor and the other kids quickly gather round as I start firing wedges up the field while adjacent to cow pat and oversized farming divots.
The craic was mighty and everyone soon wanted a go at this strange pastime introduced to the farm at ‘76’, where sporting nuance would be more akin to hurling and Gaelic football than the dimple ball.
Very quickly a handful of children wanted their own chance of pinging yellow range balls as far as the eye could see, which in turn meant they quickly attracted their own audience.
WHERE FARM MEETS GOLF..
Unearthing the next generation of golfing talent on the farm at ‘76’ as lambing season was replaced by balls being launched up the field in every direction.
A de-facto golf range emerged at the back of the farmhouse in Cabra. And that’s when the next smart-arse trait emerged!
The first goal was trying to make sure no one took the head off each other with a rusty seven iron having no clue where to stand when someone was taking a swing in close proximity.
‘PG, what stick should I use?” “Eh, you mean club.” I just couldn’t let it go.
Camogie left-hand-under-right for right handers were used, hands were at the top and bottom of grips with no connection, and not a still head in sight.
An odd tip here, piece of advice there showed itself in a more subtle golf geek move, for this hacker is in no place to give lessons.
Everyone started putting bat on ball and a couple of the children took to it with natural hand eye coordination. Irons were going 60 yards in the air and one of the girls automatically swung left-handed - but made good contact with the back of a right-handed club. Seriously impressive.
Then the boss arrived in full farming gear after lambing chores. Not to be outdone, he grabbed a wood cack-handed and bet the gathered pups he could send the yellow missile into the next field.
Despite all odds, he did just that, which stopped the kids in their tracks as jaws dropped to the ground in awe!
It was the mightiest craic in the unlikeliest form. Golf juxtaposed farming life at ‘76’ with kids and adults having a ball. Pure bliss.
“This would make a great golf pitch for the summer,” came a suggestion from the onlooking gallery.
I had made enough smart-arse moves for one day - so I let that one go!