Where the hell did that come from?
You’re in a nice rhythm with the driver. The ball is going nicely forwards. You’re either nailing it or getting one of those filthy ones with these new forgiving drivers where it sort of loops nicely down the fairway, no harm done at all.
Then, without changing anything, and with absolutely no warning, you hit the vicious snap hook, huge block or nobble one!
The snap hook looks rank, it goes low and swings harder to the left than Jeremy Corbyn. The block nearly hits your playing partner and the nobbler pitifully runs through the ladies’ tee in to a creek which shouldn’t be in play whatsoever.
It’s Saturday morning, why am I not in bed?
Your pal Steve signed you up for the 7:45am tee time in the monthly medal. ‘We’ll have the rest of the day free’ he said.
You were only planning on staying for a couple Friday just to be polite to Sarah from accounts who was having leaving drinks. But Sarah’s mates came down didn’t they!
You got stuck in a round didn’t you!
Next thing you know you’re chatting up Sarah’s rough mate in Tiger Tiger at 2am off your tits.
Fast forward to 8:45am…
You’ve somehow got to the 1st tee on time and Steve is laughing hysterically. The under the thumber had an early night and is fresh as a daisy.
Meanwhile you have spunked your whole handicap in four holes and your mouth tastes like a cross between Gandhi’s flip-flop, Jagerbomb and Sarah’s mate’s… URRRGGGGHHHHHH… You lean against the tree trying to be sick whilst semi-looking for the final Pro-V1 of the sleeve you just bought for £15 in a panic.
Why the hell are you not in bed still? Oh yeah, because Sarah’s mate is in it chatting about her ex and her shitty PR job!
Why did we play with this guy?
You and your pal have signed up for the medal but your normal third man is away on holiday. So you had to leave a space on the sign-up sheet.
You stand on the first tee and you see some tosspot in Loudmouth trousers coming towards you. Surely not him?
Unfortunately so. He proceeds to tell you about what he’s been up to this week and how he really loves F1 and hates football.
The shit banter is incessant and is only broken up by him showing you a picture of his 3/10 wife who he thinks is stunning and his fat little kids.
You and your pal are actually happy when you hook one into the trees for a bit of respite from this absolute melt.
What is wrong with this hole thing?
Honestly, you are doing absolutely nothing different with your putter. Just pulling it back a bit and pushing it through.
One week you’re sliding in putts from everywhere, the next week every two-footer looks like Kilimanjaro.
Has there been a shift in the earth’s gravity in your area of Lincolnshire?
It’s not even week to week. It’s a few holes to a few more holes!
Why is it that when my round has gone I turn into Rory McIlroy?
You’ve played 12 holes and put together a completely unimpressive 12 points. The round has gone, you’ve questioned why you’re here and all you are thinking about is the clubhouse and a beer.
You step up to the 13th tee and without thinking absolutely spank one. Pop a little wedge on the green and drop the putt.
Next few holes just seem easy as you go through the gears and think you might even be able to salvage a respectable 30 points?
Don’t be so stupid, a dodgy drive and a three-stub up the last put paid to that.
Settle for 26 nobhead.
Why do I always sink those putts one handed?
You’ve lost the hole or you’ve had one too many to register a point. So be it, shit happens, let’s get out of the way of your playing partner.
But may as well just have a run at that 12 footer one handed… and in she pops.
Leave yourself the same on the next for birdie, don’t even hit the hole.
Eight foot on the next after popping one in the water, knock it in with one hand on the flag.
Why do you go from trick shot extraordinaire to Muhammad Ali every 8-9 minutes?
I'm the Managing Editor at The Club. I like putting and Rioja. I dislike my low slice.