Who's that coming over the hill is it a Tiger?, no it's the Panda! (Golf in General)

Member Name: yabbadabbadoo

Product:	Golf in General
Date:	03/04/09 (374 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: Teaches patience and perserverence, 19th hole is always a bonus

Disadvantages: Time consuming and infuriating at times

Now that there Sir Winston Churchill has certainly come up with one or two memorable turns of phrase over the years, and his description of Golf is for me, pretty much on the money.

"Golf is a game whose aim is to hit a very small ball into an even smaller hole, with weapons singularly ill-designed for the purpose." (source : Thinkexist.com)


So why bother?
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I'm fully aware that for a great number of people, the mere mention of the subject in conversation is enough to make their eyes glaze over and have them running for the door sharpish.

In many circles, it has an enduring reputation for being elitist, stuffy and inaccessible. To the casual observer the very idea of dragging yourself out in ice-cold sheeting rain for hours on end, knowing full well you have a monumentally minimal chance of improving your scoring is frankly laughable.

But please bear with me, oh non believers. I promise to do my utmost to try and explain just what it is that drives us half-witted weekend hackers on. How no matter how much you practice, no matter how many times you play a course or a hole before, you never know what's going to happen next. The mere fact that each and every shot counts the same, whether it's a monster drive or a tiddly putt that somehow squirms its way the hole is an endless source of fascination and frustration. Why won't the ball go straight for once? No matter your age or level of ability, inevitably all golfers experience the mystifying phenomenon that is "military golf" - left-right, left-right,left-right, you get the picture!

It's that constant battle with your inner doubting demons, forever raging deep beneath the prim and proper exteriors of the Pringle Jumpers and Plus Four Pantaloons.

Knowing that even when you are playing at the peak of your powers, you are still only ever one bad shot away from complete meltdown; all it takes is one unscheduled stopover in a 10 foot sandpit and that could be your entire day in ruins. Yes on the face of it, it's basically a stroll in the countryside, a harmless pastime, a day away from it all. But out there in the moment it's facing your fears, overcoming physical and mental barriers, keeping faith in your abilities, conquering your nerves, cherishing each minor victory, hoping against hope that just maybe this time, having endured the wild winds and chilled bones, it might finally be your day.

The Junior Years
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As I got a five year head start on a certain Tiger Eldritch Woods, it'd be nice to be able to claim that I was playing Junior Golf while he was still in nappies. However according to his online bio at infoplease.com as he apparently was already hitting balls on a driving range at 18 months and by 1984 when I made my proper debut as a Junior Club member, as an 8 year old he won the International Junior Championship (oh he also won when he was 9, 12, 13, 14 and 15 - no one likes a show off)

Luckily for me, I was blissfully unaware of the lurking menace of the Tiger as I learnt my craft down at the Normanby Hall Golf Club. The club professional told my Dad that I had a very natural swing (which roughly translated into please shell out a few more quid for lessons), and within a few months I'd managed to get my very first handicap. Now for the non-golfers among you (thanks for sticking with me by the way), here's how it works. There are 18 holes of varying lengths, and each hole has a Par rating which is the number of shots it should take a professional golfer to complete it. There are a mix of Par 3's 4's and 5's but on average it's around 4 per hole so a standard golf round Par is normally 72 shots. Clearly this is beyond the means of the plucky amateurs, so depending on ability, they are allocated a handicap ranging from 1 to 36 extra shots per round

Being a newbie, I was allocated a 36 handicap, which meant that I could go around in 108 shots (or on average 6 per hole) and still achieve par for my handicap. I entered a couple of monthly Junior medals with little success, and as it was school holidays, along with a couple of my pals we decided to have a go at the Midweek competition, normally strictly the preserve of the retired brigade.

Now, call it beginner's luck (or more likely the innocence of youth) on this particular occasion the Gods of golf were smiling on me. All the way round, the ball flew straight and true as I racked up 5 after 5, making a mockery of my lowly status. By the time I was strolling down the 18th if you looked closely you'd swear I was sporting a moustache, a stripey poncho and a big floppy sombrero. This was golf bandit country, and I had grasped this competition firmly by the chimichangas.

With hindsight, posting a 15 under par score was perhaps a little unwise. My record-breaking net 57 meant that I won by a country mile, and that in the process I had unwittingly caused a major rumpus, eventually resulting in Junior's been banished from all senior competitions. In one fell swoop, my handicap was slashed by 10 to 26, and however hard I tried, I never managed to recapture that form. Within a year I had retired from the Junior circuit, with just that one medal squirreled away all forlorn and forgotten in my tin box of mementos. But there and then the legend of Panda Wilson was born, a golfing spirit destined to echo through the years, until one day I would return....

The comeback begins
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Off I toddled through college and the university years, leaving my once treasured clubs to gather dust in a forgotten corner of a garage in Scunthorpe.

I continued to avidly watch all the big tournaments especially The Open and all the epic Ryder Cup Europe vs USA contests on the telly drawing inspiration from the game's truly courageous characters like the electrifyingly talented Spanish maestro Sevriano Ballesteros, or the Australian "Great White Shark" Greg Norman. But somehow I never made it back out onto a course, I didn't have the time or the money to spend.

Then I entered the world of working and as a result of frequently having to be on the road staying in hotels during the week, meant that in between the expenses meals and beer-ups there was a window of opportunity for a bit of evening golf. As technology had moved on rapidly since my Junior days, I was soon embarrassed by my old fashioned wooden woods and rusty irons, so invested some of my new found earnings in some new kit.

What a revelation!

Suddenly armed with a huge headed Metal driver those meagre 150 yard efforts I used to make the best of were confined to history. Standing at my full 6ft 2, having gained at least 80 pounds since those early days, I discovered I could whack the ball 300 plus yards with relative ease. My interest was reawakened. Only trouble was in the wilderness years I'd completely forgotten all the putting and chipping basics, so despite the added distance my game was still all over the place.

Company Golf day
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Being competitive sorts by nature, collectively we decided to set up an unofficial annual Company Golf day open to our technology group of 60 or so employees (at least 40 of which were golfer wannabees). We were that desperate for a proper challenge, we all agreed to book a Friday off and pay the £20 each green fees ourselves.

To make it fair and give everyone a good day out, we made it a team event, using a format called Texas scramble, whereby each team member took a shot, and only the best shot counted, so essentially you could score around par for every hole , just like Tiger and company. So naturally the better golfers would be teamed up with beginners, and even as a complete non-golfer there was still a chance that you might be the one to hole that crucial putt.

So our first tournament came around in the summer of 2002 and although our team never really got in the running, I at least had the consolation of winning a little plaque for longest drive at the 10th hole. Only 18 years since my last triumph, but at last I could start thinking of investing in that trophy cabinet :)

Then we started playing it twice a year, but time and again consistency seemed to desert me at the critical moments. I couldn't blame my playing partners , they did their best, and let's be honest it was always supposed to be about unwinding and having a laugh with your workmates.

Last chance saloon
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With company realignments and changes, by 2005 we faced the break up of our little golfing group, and so by late September there was only one more tournament to play.
Having come within 1 shot of glory, twice before, I had to admit, finally getting my hands on the overall trophy had become little short of an obsession for me. All of my best mates had by now tasted victory, surely it was my turn...

My desire to win was so strong that as soon as the choices for the teams was announced (based on unofficial handicaps), I actually tried to get the organiser to swap one of my players as I was convinced the other teams had an unfair advantage. In the end I grudgingly accepted the cards I'd been dealt and determined to get extra practice in. In the past it was always a case of turn up on the day and give it a go. This time it was every night down at the driving range, 3 or 4 intensive practice rounds leading up to it.

And yes I'll admit it, I even invested in a set of furry Panda wood covers, and a black and white stripey jumper to match- every detail was attended to.

After a shaky start, it all started to come together. With only 3 holes to play, we were holding to level par, and in fairly tricky conditions I knew that would give us a real chance of winning. The 16th, the easiest par 4 hole on the course was next, so naturally we were expecting good score. My drive seemed to fly pretty well only trouble was straight into a sand trap. No worries we thought, one of us should be able to get it out OK. My two colleagues tried first - but somehow they couldn't manage it. Suddenly I felt the pressure in the moment and froze; my swing was wild and shaky, and despite my face getting spattered with sand, that fluffy little white ball barely moved an inch. Disaster upon disaster as we 3 putted the green, leaving us licking our collective wounds from a 6. Now it was over, we'd well and truly chucked it away at the last hurdle, at 2 over par I knew we didn't have much chance.

Things got worse at the little par 3, the other two played their shots straight into the water. Standing there, with all the emotions of frustration and confusion floating through me I was suddenly struck by a vision. My wife was 5 months pregnant at the time and in a moment everything was clear as a bell. I'm not having him come into the world without a trophy to my name. So overwhelmed by a feeling of love and belief was I, that I actually played the shot with my eyes closed. I opened them to see my ball skidding within inches of the hole and running on a long way by.

Even though there was 20 feet or more between me and the hole, somehow I just knew I was going to sink it. There it was, back to 1 over par with one to play. We were the last group out and as we walked down to the 18th, a couple of the lads came over - Club house lead is 2 over par - so there it was we knew what we had to do- just a par needed to win.

Great shot kid that was one in a million!
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Now, if you do follow golf you will no doubt have seen the infamous Carnoustie Open finale in 1999. There, a certain Frenchman called Jean Van de Velde stood within touching distance of his finest hour. He was 3 shots ahead of the field so quite simply all he had to do was take a 6, never mind a par 4. He made a fateful decision in that moment, that he wouldn't change his style now, he wouldn't play it safe. It had worked for him all week, and so why not just go for it. Out came the driver and the rest was history. The tee shot was wild, his ball found its way into two sets of ditches, somehow he scrambled a 7 but he lost out in the playoffs.

Funnily enough, as the other two lads hit fairly tame iron shots into trouble, I had a bit of a dilemma. But remember, I had the inspiration of my unborn baba driving me on. Up I stepped, full of renewed vigour, the big driver in my hand, confidently picturing it flying majestically down the middle.

A mighty swish and Schhht-winn-gg a great contact, its up and flying. Hang on its curving left, oh no, no it can't be, the wind's taking it straight into the thick cluster of trees, that's it game over, out of bounds. Then it happened - crr-a-cckk - catching a tree full on it somehow bounces fully 40 yards back onto the fairway like its been reeled in by a frenzied fisherman.

Scarcely believing what just happened, the second shot flies to the edge of the green, I putt the third to within 2 feet and there we have it.
With all our mates gathered round and relentlessly mickey-taking we still have 3 chances to secure the trophy. Our first chap somehow rolls it past the hole. Don't worry I said, I'll just knock it in now. Nice and firm, steady nerve , oh no - it swirls around and bobbles out the other side.

So after all this turmoil it boils down to the very player that I tried to swap before we began, the one person I didn't believe would be good enough on the day. Sweet as a nut he rolls it in - never in doubt. As I got carried away in the moment leaping around and punching the air, one or two of my less familiar work mates were perplexed. They always thought of me as easy-going, chilled out etc but as my competitive streak came bursting out there was no hiding it.

Just before we got our hands on the trophy, the organizer only went and told me partners that I wanted to change the teams around before we played - how embarrassed was I after bigging them up all through the round, I felt like a right traitor. Still when I got my paws on that cup, it didn't matter anymore. I finally understood what had really been driving me on all these years. My dearly departed Dad, who lost his fight against lung cancer in 2002, had always believed in me, he was even chuffed to bits when I won that longest drive plaque.

I always remember shortly after the charismatic Irish man Padraig Harrington had realised his lifetime's ambition and won the 2007 British Open, his little boy came running up to him and whispered on camera if he could keep ladybirds in the trophy!

No £500,000 first prize cheque and claret jug needed for me. Just a little silver plated £10.99 memento, which to this day stands proud in our lounge. And everytime we have a little game of indoor golf or even footie or cricket, our little man runs over to that little trophy and shouts "I won the cup - like Daddy." I think back to that day and smile.

So for me personally, golf means more than just a pastime, a hobby - it actually represents the bonds that run through the generations, father to son, and all the journey that lies in between.

That's quite enough of this melancholy nonsense -its time to head for the 19th Hole - is it your round!?

Summary: Keep the faith, it ain't over till the bad golfer swings