Glamorganshire Golf Club - RSS Updates Feed

LATCH Charity

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Fri, 3 Feb 2012 00:00:00 GMT

Maurice Beddard, 2011 Captain, presenting a cheque for £6356 to Phil Parker from local charity Latch.

The amount was raised in 2011 through various golf related events, sponsorship and the generosity of Members.

Both Maurice and Phil who is also a Member of the Club were delighted with the amount raised and would like to thank Members for their generosity.

Secretary/Manager

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Fri, 3 Feb 2012 00:00:00 GMT

The General Committee has agreed to a request from Mr Brian Williams to extend his Contract of Employment at the Club until 30^th June, 2013.

New Rules of Golf for 2012-2015/GUW Championship Update 2012

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Fri, 3 Feb 2012 00:00:00 GMT

The R&A and the United States Golf Association (USGA) have announced the publication of the new Rules of Golf for 2012-15.

Following an exhaustive, four-year review of golf’s 34 playing Rules, nine principal Rules have been amended to improve clarity and ensure penalties are proportionate. Significant changes include:

· Ball Moving After Address (Rule 18-2b). A new exception is added which exonerates the player from penalty if their ball moves after it has been addressed when it is known or virtually certain that they did not cause the ball to move. For example, if it is a gust of wind that moves the ball after it has been addressed, there is no penalty and the ball is played from its new position.

· Ball in Hazard; Prohibited Actions (Rule 13-4). Exception 2 to this Rule is amended to permit a player to smooth sand or soil in a hazard at any time, including before playing from that hazard, provided it is for the sole purpose of caring for the course and Rule 13-2 (improving lie, area of intended stance or swing or line of play) is not breached.

· Time of Starting (Rule 6-3a). The rule is amended to provide that the penalty for starting late, but within five minutes of the starting time, is reduced from disqualification to loss of the first hole in match play or two strokes at the first hole in stroke play. Previously this penalty reduction could be introduced as a condition of competition.

Click here for the full details, and to view videos explaining the changes.

In addition, the GUW have confirmed that:

The use of distance measuring devices will be permitted in all GUW Championships and Events, and the use of golf buggies by a competitor / spectator in GUW Championships or Events staged by the Union is NOT permitted unless the individual has applied for and received permission.

Entry to the 2012 GUW Championships may be undertaken either:

- by downloading a form at:
http://www.golfunionwales.org/championships-entry-forms.aspx
and returning the completed form, together with appropriate entry fee, to the
GUW Office, Catsash, Newport NP18 1JQ

- or by using the online entry facility on the Home Page of the GUW website at
http://www.golfunionwales.org/index.aspx

4BB Electic Competion - Recommencing Saturday February 11

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Fri, 3 Feb 2012 00:00:00 GMT

FORMAT FOR 4 BALL BETTER BALL ECLECTIC COMPETITION

THE COMPETITION WILL NOW BE HELD OVER THREE ROUNDS

1. The competition will recommence on the 11th Feb 12. It will run on alternate Saturdays (Sat 11th Feb, Sat 25th Feb, Sat 10 Mar)

2. Team of 2 players, play in 4 ball better ball format ž handicap.

3. Only the same players must play together for the 3 rounds but there will also be a separate bb competition running, so if your first round partner cannot play then another individual can play with you in the better ball comp held on that day but only teams constituted on week one of the eclectic can post an improvement on the board. The players should keep a record on a separate score card of the scores registered, to enable them to check where they improve the scores during the next round.

4. Following the first round the players must post the net BB score for each hole on the chart under week 1 with a total net score for all 18 holes in the total box.

5. Each week players mark a standard 4BBB card, and transfer their scores onto the Eclectic Scoreboard. It is the teams resposibility to do this. They must also ensure that any improvements are circled in rounds 2, 3 and 4. Once they complete the round, they post any improvements on holes and revise the net total in the total box for the consecutive weeks.

6. This is repeated until the final round where the final eclectic net score is posted.

7. Players booked for round 1 will automatically be booked by the Secretary/Manager for rounds 2, and 3. If you cannot play for one of the rounds please give other members courtesy by cancelling as early as possible.

St Valentine's Dinner and Dance - Saturday February 11

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Fri, 3 Feb 2012 00:00:00 GMT

St Valentine's Dinner and Dance

7.30 pm for 8.00 pm

£23 per person, add your name to the list and pay office/bar.

You can now telephone the office and pay with your debit/credit card

The Hacker Now Has His Own Website

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 00:00:00 GMT

You may have heard that Peter Corrigan has retired from the Independent on Sunday but his regular Sunday column "The Hacker" will still continue on his very own website.

Follow Peter's golfing exploits on:-

http://www.thegolfinghacker. com

County Cards - 2012

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 00:00:00 GMT

The 2012 County Cards are now in.

If you ordered a Card, please call at the Office to collect - £15 each.

Vets Open - Monday July 30

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 00:00:00 GMT

If you qualify (aged 60 and over on 1st January 2012 and are a member of the Vets Section) and would like to enter the Glamorganshire - VETS OPEN - Stableford Singles on Monday 30th July 2012 - please call at the Office or telephone asap to book your tee time - £7 for members and £15 for visitors.

Glamorganshire Members - if you wish to play, please contact the Office by the 10th February at the latest. After this time, the tee-times reserved for members will be made available On-Line to members of other Clubs who are queuing up to play.

Competition Purse Account

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 00:00:00 GMT

With competition golf being played every week from the 28th January onwards - a reminder to all golfers to check the balance on their Competition Purse account to ensure they have sufficient funds before attempting to book a tee.

A Case Of Mistaken Identity But Even Then I Can't Make Breakthrough

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 00:00:00 GMT

Since this is my final Hacker column on these premises I had hoped to sign off with a flourish. But, true to my form over the past 14 years, I failed by an embarrassing margin.

My partner Bob and I lost by a dog's licence (that's seven and six, or it was when the expression was first coined) to Dominic and Coburn, who sound more like a firm of solicitors than a pair of winter league predators.

But we had the strangest of starts which, I claim, led to the first of several hopeless shots from me that greatly assisted our downfall.

Our Winter League format is foursomes – in which a pair take alternate shots – played on Sunday mornings, and because we have over 100 taking part we have a shotgun start, which means that games are allocated to different holes around our course.

It means a long walk for some to the farthest tees but at 9am sharp a hooter goes and we all start playing. In this way we can all finish our games in time to get back for a pint or two before lunch.

Luckily our game was off the 18th, which is a190-yard par three leading up to the Clubhouse. Bob was driving the evens, so all I had to do was walk a few yards and wait by the green to play the second shot.

His tee shot wasn't bad and ended in the light rough about 20 yards short of the green. It was then the opposition's turn to drive. The player gave it a hell of a whack and immediately pointed to the left and yelled: "Fore!"

The ball soared over the safety fence we put up to protect the clubhouse and clattered into a row of parked cars. Thankfully, it was the car park reserved for club officials and, obviously, was out of bounds.

I then waited for his partner to play three off the tee but the man who had hit the car park was walking up alone. "I don't know where my partner is," he said, introducing himself as Coburn.

It transpired he was substituting for Darrell and had briefly met Dominic for the first time that morning. Dominic went off to practise and said he'd see him on the tee.

What he didn't say was which tee. For some reason, Dominic thought we were starting on the 17th, and when he got there he saw what he thought was Coburn on the tee so he walked down the fairway and was delighted when his partner's mighty drive landed five feet from the pin.

He took out his putter and was marching resolutely to the green when he was hailed by two other golfers, who enquired politely where the hell he thought he was going. "You're not in our match," they said.

By the time he found us we'd called the next game through, and eventually Dominic hit his tee shot all of 80 yards. Coburn walked back and stuck it 12 feet from the pin for four.

I had a simple chip to reach the green for two and I fluffed it. We eventually halved the hole in six – and that was one of our better holes.We never won a hole, and regular readers will not be surprised. I'm only sorry I never reached the breakthrough I've been promising all these years. But I know I've brought joy to really bad players, many of whom have written to say they were going to give the game up in despair until they realised there was someone even worse than them.

If only for their sakes I will continue to write the column every Monday at

www.thegolfinghacker.com

starting tomorrow. After 60 years writing for newspapers it is a difficult habit to break. I hope you pay a visit. At least it's free.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “ Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 29 January, 2012, with grateful thanks)

NB. Peter's The Hacker articles will no longer be published on the Club website Blog pages, but you can still follow Peter's golfing exploits on:-

http://www.thegolfinghacker. com

This Time Porky's Champagne Is Not On Ice For Winter League

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 00:00:00 GMT

Now is the winter league of our discontent. Just one week gone of our 10-week competition through the dark and nasty months and already we are spoken of as prime candidates for the wooden spoon.

Admittedly, a five-and-three defeat on the first day does not augur well but my partner Bob and I are trying hard not to be too downhearted.

As genuine hackers we have learned through bitter experience to take defeat on the chin, shake off any feelings of despair and look on the bright side.

After all, there are more than 100 playing in the Winter League and half of those were on the losing side as well. And at least we didn't fall out like some of them did.

It is not easy signing up to play foursomes with the same bloke for three months. Playing alternate shots means he has to salvage the ball after your cock-ups and you have to repair the damage he does.

I've had partners in the past who haven't responded well to my golfing mishaps. One once put a heavy hand on my shoulder and said: "For gawd's sake stop saying sorry every time you mess up. One big apology at the end will do."

It didn't make for a pleasant partnership but thankfully Bob and I are hardened to disaster, he being off 26, me off 28. We are showing dogged patience with each other.

I didn't quite see the look on his face when I squirted the first tee shot 40 yards to the left because he was halfway down the fairway. He looked happy enough on his long walk back to play the second shot.

He then hit a superb shot and we managed to halve the hole, which cheered us up because we were playing a fancied pair. Liam, off eight, hits the ball out of sight while Robert is very steady off 15.

They had to give us 16 shots, and playing conditions on a sodden course weren't easy. Three of the holes were closed and there were three not very good temporary greens so it was a promising day for a bit of giant-killing.

For the first five holes we held our own but they were hitting far longer and straighter off the tee and gradually wore us down. The game ended at the very short 13th, which they didn't play very well but we were dreadful.

There were far worse disasters than ours. Big Al and his partner were five up with six to play and all Al had to do was to hit a half-decent three-wood from the middle of the fairway and victory was assured. He missed it completely and they lost that hole – and the next five.

One of the more intriguing partnerships is Peter Edmunds, known as Porky, and Maurice Flynn. Porky plays off five and usually selects a bandit as a partner but on this occasion chose Maurice, who is renowned as one of the club's top air-shot specialists and regular wooden spoon contender.

Last week they ran one of the fancied pairs close, losing only two and one. Today fate has decreed that we are their next opponents.

Porky is delighted. He is still trying to live down his humiliation of last year when I was on the winning side against him.

He and Matthew Davey were the favourites to win the foursomes cup and were drawn to play me and John Dodd, the rank outsiders. We were promised two bottles of champagne if we won, and we did.

Porky was the butt of cruel mickey-taking. The look of revenge in his eyes when he heard he was facing me was frightening. They have to give us 10 shots but no one is offering champagne this time.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 15 January, 2012, with grateful thanks)

Club Diary 2012

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 00:00:00 GMT

2012 Club Diaries may be collected from the Bar Staff.

A reminder that each member will be restricted to one Diary each.

As well as the Diaries, our new Constitutional & Operational Rule Book is also available for collection - a must have bed time read!!

Care of the Golf Course

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 00:00:00 GMT

You will not be surprised to learn that December 2011 was the wettest month of the year. Like most other golf courses in the area, our course was closed for a record number of days. The driest month in 2011 was April (and we thought that we were going to have a BBQ summer!)

We presently have 15 holes open (the notorious 6th, 7th and 8th holes are still waterlogged).

The worst affected areas have either been roped off or white hoops placed to protect the course from errant golfers who stray onto the wettest parts.

IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN KNOWN THAT THE SHORTEST DISTANCE BETWEEN 2 POINTS IS A STRAIGHT LINE- HOWEVER, MANY GOLFERS STILL THINK THAT THESE ROPES AND HOOPS ARE PLACED THERE FOR THE BENEFIT OF OTHER GOLFERS, AND THE NUMBER OF LIMBO DANCERS WHO MANAGE TO STOOP UNDER ROPES OR EVEN REMOVE HOOPS TO GET THEIR TROLLEYS THROUGH IS A WORRY.

IF YOU SEE ONE OF YOUR PLAYING PARTNERS LIFTING OR REMOVING THE ROPES/HOOPS - PLEASE STOP THEM IMMEDIATELY.

REMEMBER - IT'S YOUR COURSE, AND THESE ROPES/HOOPS ARE PUT THERE SO THAT WE ALL CAN HAVE A COURSE TO BE PROUD OF COME THE SPRING.

At Last I Have Found A Partner For My Date With Destiny

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Sun, 8 Jan 2012 00:00:00 GMT

After a series of embarrassing refusals I have at last discovered someone willing to play with me in the Winter League – which is just as well because it starts this morning.

Over 100 of the club's hardiest golfers squelch across our course to take their places on whichever of the 18 tees they have been allocated and wait for the hooter to start us off promptly at 9am.

If you get up late, by the time you read this my partner and I may well be squelching morosely back to the clubhouse after a heavy defeat because we have been drawn against one of the pairs fancied to win the 10-week competition.

The important thing is that I have a companion willing to accompany me on this tough passage through the worst of winter.

It is not easy to find a partner. The competition is foursomes and the players take alternate shots, and to spend 10 successive Sundays having to rescue the ball from where I've hit it is not appealing even to my close friends.

I approached five of them and the excuses they made varied from the exotic to the plaintive. Simon, who plays off two and with whom I once won the Boxing Day cross-country, had the best.

He is a life-long friend of Mark Mouland, the former European Tour pro who started on senior tours on both sides of the Atlantic last year. He plays in Florida next month and there's a chance Simon will go across to caddie for him.

Martin, who plays off four, watches his sons play mini-rugby every Sunday morning, Mike had already blagged a 10-handicapper as a partner while Andy gave some wimpish excuse about the weather.

Max injured his leg descending the wrong side of a stepladder and didn't think he could carry me, and John, who plays with me every Wednesday at Royal Porthcawl, thought once a week was enough.

Such cruel rejections leave one last resort. You give your name to the Secretary/Manager and he will try to link you up with another lost soul. It's a bit like a dating agency: "28-handicapper would like to meet long-hitting partner, must have good sense of humour."

Another hacker with whom I have played many times had found himself in a similar situation. Thus Bob Colley and I were officially joined in an unholy alliance.

I am in no position to criticise anyone's swing but Bob's follows a path that is difficult to describe, so dependent is it on a flexibility of his arm joints that has earned him the nickname "rubber wrists".

All that matters is that he brings the club head into square contact with the ball and has a better record of accomplishments than me, although he has reminded me that he has won the winter league wooden spoon six times.

However, he won four of those while partnered by Graham, who has no arms. A marvellous man, Graham lost both arms up to the shoulder in an industrial accident but contrived to live a richly fulfilling life with metal arms which could be adapted for any purpose.

He had a set that could grip and swing a golf club and after the round he changed to one that could hold a pint glass and sport a V that could hold a cigar. Not many complained about their lot in life when Graham was about.

As I have two wooden spoons, Bob and I were installed as one of the favourites for that dishonour.

Today we face Liam, off eight, and Robert, off 15. They have to give us 16 shots so we should be out there for at least 13 or 14 holes.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 08 January, 2012, with grateful thanks)

Snakes - Week 5 Sunday February 5

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 00:00:00 GMT

Spring Snakes 2012

Chief Snake - Peter James (Jammy).

Played over 10 weeks commencing Sunday 8th January until Sunday 11th March. Snakes Supper held on Friday 30th March.

Snakes & Ladders have been regularly played each Sunday 10 weeks before Christmas and 10 weeks after. Play in one or both. The first official reference in Club records was in 1956 although the competition was being played prior to that time.

Shotgun start at 9am. Played in foursomes (alternative shot),

1) Name your partner, combined handicap minimum 20.
2) Same partner cannot be used Autumn and Spring.
3) Four substitutes only can be used.
4) Substitutes cannot play as a pair (except with Chief Snake approval)
5) Only Snakers who have played can attend the supper
6) Juniors with handicaps 18 or under can play as substitutes but cannot attend the supper

If you are interested in joining please complete the entry slip in the Bar and enclose your payment of £30 per pair and deposit in the box provided.

You will find the potted history of Snakes and Ladders as written by Peter Corrigan (Chief Snake 1982-1987) here.

Autumn Snakes 2011

Autumn Snakes Winners: Phil Parker and Phil Mardon

Snakes Wooden Spoons went to Tony Stevens and Steve Sidford.

I May Lack Flair But At Least The Lifeboats Don't Come Round Any More

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Sun, 18 Dec 2011 00:00:00 GMT

The one priority attribute hackers need to possess is the ability to laugh at ourselves. Or rather, the ability to join in quickly when everyone else is laughing at us.

If you don't have the skill to play golf well, you must be able to give the impression that no matter how many errant shots you commit, you are enjoying yourself – when inside you are being devoured by embarrassment.

That's why winter golf is such a boon for hackers. Not only does bad weather mask a multitude of sins but it takes much of the seriousness out of the game.

Indeed, if it is run properly, a winter league can be an uproarious competition in which mistakes are laughed away.

Ours has been going strong for well over 50 years and for 20 Sunday mornings during the worst of winter it provides harmless fun for 144 of our hardiest members.

Our league is called the Snakes and Ladders because of the complicated way we ensure that if you win one week you play a winner the following week, and the same with the losers.

The man in charge is called the Chief Snake and it is his job to rule on all disputes and conduct a naming and shaming inquest in the bar afterwards when the worst golfing atrocities of the morning are announced.

It was a post that I had pleasure in filling for six years in the 1980s and I was reminded of that time by an email last week from Andrew Greville-Smith, who these days plays at Royston in Herts.

It has been 25 years since he played in the Snakes but he still regales his golfing mates with stories of our antics. "Remember when the lifeboats got launched?" he asks.

As if I could forget. With so many playing in the event, getting them around and back in time for lunch was so difficult that I decided to have a shotgun start.

Our format is foursomes so two games were assigned to each hole and play began at the stroke of 9am. We didn't have a shotgun so I hit on the idea of firing a flare to signal the start.It wasn't a wise move considering our close proximity to the Bristol Channel, and waiting for me at the clubhouse one Sunday was a policeman accompanied by the coxswains of Penarth and Barry lifeboats, who had spent the morning looking for a boat in distress.

Happily, they joined us for a drink and I was eventually let off with a bollocking. We've used a hooter ever since that day.

Our current Chief Snake – and there has been a long line of excellent ones – is Peter "Jammy" James, a retired dentist who these days tries to give people as much pleasure as he can.

In addition to the sparkle of his repartee he brings his guitar, and we must be the only winter league with our own song.

It was the presentation supper after the pre-Christmas session last weekend and the first prize was won by Phil Parker and Phil Mardon, whose form has cost them the scant punishment of being dropped only one shot each.The wooden spoon went to Steve Sidford and Tony Stevens, who lost every match but saved their finest effort for the final game when they went one up. It didn't last but it was the only time they had been ahead in 10 weeks.

Jammy handed out some special awards. One went to someone who had a double hit on a three-inch putt, while two players had air-shots playing the wrong ball.

However, the prize for the best excuse went to Andrew, the professional, who sportingly runs the risk of ridicule by partnering a high handicapper every year.

Andrew had marked his ball with three dots and when he swerved a shot into the trees he said: "Damn, that's my fault for not marking the ball on both sides."

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 18 December 2011, with grateful thanks)

General Committee and Sub-Committees 2012

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 00:00:00 GMT

Members can see the composition of the General Committee and the various Sub-Committees, plus the incoming Men's Captain's speech to the AGM on December 8, 2011, by clicking here.

Myths About Golf Equipment

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 00:00:00 GMT

As with every sport, there are many myths that become common knowledge among players whether they are professional, amateur or a complete novice. The trouble is most of these myths are entirely untrue despite the fact they come from 'reputable' sources.

Maybe you have only played crazy golf and want to see what a real game is like. Or perhaps you have spent more time playing rugby, going to the theatre or playing on PartyPoker, but want to try another activity. It is a good idea to dispel these myths from the off. So here are a few myths you should pay no heed too.

Flex Ratings are all the same

No, if you test out the shafts from different manufacturers, you will find that they all differ from one another. This is because each company has their own design and they grade their shafts based upon their own flex ratings. Therefore an 'S' shaft could very well be an 'X' or 'R' from a different manufacturer.

Face Grooves create backspin

Nope. The backspin is created by the balls compression on the club-face, and will occur between impact and the moment of separation. The club swings and smashes the ball, and the loft to the ball distorts it in shape, thus giving you the angle for backspin. The ball never rides up the club-face, but will get embedded where the groove lines reside The grooves have no effect.

Five irons have the most backspin.

Don't you just love a good old wives tale? In relation to the above point, the more loft we have on a club the higher the backspin rate will be.

Golf shafts lose their stiffness

A common misconception. It's thought that if you use a club over a long period of time, it will eventually wear and become weak. This doesn't happen even with a steel shaft. A good quality shaft no matter the material it is made from, will keep its flex.

The higher a golf ball bounces, the further it will go

There is no truth to this. It is actually the construction of the ball that will influence how far a ball will be capable of flying, not the bounciness

Dark And Stormy Nights Made Up For All That Fresh Air In The Daytime

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Sun, 11 Dec 2011 00:00:00 GMT

Air-shots are a regrettable part of a hacker's repertoire. It's bad enough when the ball flies sideways or only dribbles a few yards forwards but when you miss it altogether the embarrassment is acute.

They are not always straightforward, either. Jarlath, one of our Irish members, found this in the winter league last Sunday when his ball ended up at the foot of a tree.

Sadly, his valiant attempt to hit it suffered a double calamity. His swing missed the ball but didn't miss the tree. The club snapped in half. He then discovered it wasn't his ball.

We who are prone to such mishaps become hardened to humility but much depends onwho is watching and I recently committed one of my worst air-shots in front of a stellar audience.

I bragged last week about my visit to Bermuda as captain of a team of journalists against a celebrity team led by Sir Steven Redgrave.

In relating how our greatest Olympian had beaten me soundly, I neglected to report the low point in my efforts which occurred on the 17th at the superb Port Royal course.

After following meekly in his wake for most of the round, I had just won the 15th and 16th to reduce the arrears and was feeling a bit chipper when I contemplated the drive up the difficult par-five.

However, I was overcome by a sudden urgency to give it a whack and succeeded only in driving the club head into the ground a foot behind the ball.

Sometimes when you hit the ground first the club head goes on to connect with the ball. But on this occasion, it bounced a good six inches over it.

Usually, I can manage a merry quip after such an atrocity but words failed me and when I glanced at Sir Steve and the other celebrity in our group, former football star Gary McAllister, they were manfully disguising a guffaw behind a thin smile of what I took to be sympathy.

It compounded my defeat and that of my team and did nothing for my confidence for the next day's golf.

We were in Bermuda for the Cambridge Beaches British Airways Celebrity Golf Tournament, which was designed to promote golf in Bermuda. Since I've often described the place as a golfing paradise, they were preaching to the converted.

But after playing among ourselves for the Hackers Cup – which the celebs narrowly won – our next event was an Am-Am, in which we joined members of the local business community in teams of four for a Texas Scramble.

The fact that they were paying for the privilege made me feel very uneasy. I know blokes who'd pay good money not to play with me. I took a chequebook along in case I needed to give a refund.

Thankfully, the two gents who were in my team were even bigger hackers than me. Ben Barlaba and Adam Barbosa are in the early stages of their golfing development but were very keen and excellent company.

A fellow journalist, Philippa Kennedy, made up the four – and just as well. Ladies should jump at the chance of a golfing holiday in Bermuda because their tees are about 100 yards ahead of the men's.

Philippa, who hits a mean ball, took full advantage and kept us in the game, although she couldn't stop us finishing last.

But the day was very enjoyable as well as successful. I did manage to win two prizes on the trip. I won a hip-flask for nearest the pin and a cap for a more dubious honour.

We were accommodated at the swish Cambridge Beaches resort and, after consulting with the barmen, the organisers reckoned that I had downed more "dark and stormies" than anyone else.

A "dark and stormy" is a mixture of Bermudian black rum and ginger beer but that's another story altogether.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 11 December 2011, with grateful thanks).

Non- Green Fee Payers

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Fri, 25 Nov 2011 00:00:00 GMT

Thankfully this is not a great problem, but there have been occasions when Members have seen strangers on the course (usually early mornings or late in the day) and are suspicious as to whether the golfers have paid a green fee.

Please help the staff by speaking with these strangers to ascertain whether they are Members and/or have paid a green fee. All green fee payers will have a bag tag dated the day they are playing.

Otherwise, please inform the Professional, Green staff or the Office asap.

If still on the course, you may use your mobile phone to contact Club staff.

I Was Deep In The Mire Without My Buggy. If Only I Had Some Cider

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Sun, 6 Nov 2011 00:00:00 GMT

Like most hackers, I have had more than my fair share of golfing days when everything seems to go wrong. But never before have I managed to inflict my miseries on a professional, even to the extent of costing him a few quid.

When our two major swindles, the Chips and the Crisps, staged their annual competition and dinner last Thursday, I was paired with the club's assistant professional, Peter Hunt.

Either the organisers were taking the mickey out of me or he had upset someone so much that this was his punishment. If the latter was the case, I suggest the punishment was enough to cover his next two misdemeanours.

I know Peter quite well and he is one of the many club pros who have attempted to cure my swing problems over the years. Like all of them, his hardest job when seeing me play is to suppress a wince.

Delighted as I was to see him, I wasn't in a good mood. Because of a sore Achilles tendon I hadn't played for a month and the previous day I had played at Royal Porthcawl.

Although the tendon stood up to it, I was tired and had taken the precaution of booking a buggy to transport me around the course. Alas, overnight rain had soaked the place and buggies were banned.

Since I had left my electric trolley at home, I was forced to hire a pull trolley and in those squelchy conditions I was knackered in no time tramping up our hills.

The competition involved prizes for individual scores, pairs and fours, and we added to it by having a private fourball better-ball with the pair we were playing with, Mike Hennessey and John Reece, for a modest wager of a pound for the first nine holes, a pound for the second nine and a pound for the match.

Peter, who like all professionals plays off scratch, had to give 24 shots to Mike and 18 to John but since I was getting 28 shots I felt fairly confident. Wrong again.

Mike and John dovetailed so well that Peter was having to get a birdie to be sure of winning a hole. All I could manage was a few halves.

We lost the sixth after Peter's second shot landed in front of the green and must have sank into the boggy ground because we never found it and went three down.

We went four down at the next to lose the first pound but we managed to win the next two holes – or rather Peter did – to make us two down at the turn.

The fact that we had both scored a mere 13 points each says it all. I might have managed one half on the back nine but John had a run of pars and bogeys with a shot that Peter couldn't beat and we lost 5&4.

The problem most club pros have is that they don't play enough golf to keep their hand in. Peter finished 18th in the Welsh professionals tournament at Southerndown a month ago but hadn't played since.

He hits the ball a mile and his short game was good but he wasn't at his best and carrying me wouldn't have been a help. We both had to fork out three quid.

They didn't spare his feelings at the dinner, either. Out of more than 60 players there were only three with less than his total of 29 points.

I was one of them. I shared last place on 25 points with Brian Griffiths. But he won the booby prize on a countback. He got two cans of Strongbow.

Later on, while discussing with Mike my shank into the bunker on the 18th, we realised that I'd scored six on that hole and not the five recorded for me. That cider should have been mine. It only confirmed what a lousy day it was.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday 06 November 2011, with grateful thanks)

Saturday Golf - November 2011 to March 2012

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Fri, 4 Nov 2011 00:00:00 GMT

Over the next 19 weeks until the 10th March 2012, there are only 7 Saturday competitions for Men.

On the remaining 'Free Saturdays' the Professional will be running the "Pro's Winter Stableford" - a singles non-qualifying - turn up and play if you wish.

(1) The competition will be open to all members, Gentlemen and Ladies.
(2) Enter by paying £2 at the Pro Shop - no tee reservations
(3) Return the cards to the Pro Shop
(4) Winners will receive prizes from the Pro
(5) If you do not wish to participate - turn up as usual to play your Social golf

All queries please to the Pro Shop.

These Young Upstarts Are Starting To Steal My Blunder

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Tue, 1 Nov 2011 00:00:00 GMT

My position as the club's worst player in medal rounds has been snatched from me by a newcomer who returned the highest score of 113 in the Centurion Cup.

This is a competition for all those who have failed to break 100 at least once in a medal during the year. More than 120 sad souls qualified as centurions, but about half of them didn't turn up because they were too ashamed.

Among the prizes on offer was a bottle of scotch for the worst score, which I had won for the previous two years. That I didn't win it this year is not due to any improvement in my golf, but because I didn't play thanks to my Achilles tendon injury.

So I had to watch as Peter Chaffey, who only joined this year, collected the bottle to the usual ribaldry. But I stifled my envy because it is good to see the young hackers coming through.

Alas, Peter had further disgrace to come in the winter league last Sunday as one of those who had an air-shot that morning.

One of the features of our excellent winter league, which is called the Snakes and Ladders, and is being contested by a full house of 144, is that any slip-ups on the course are gleefully reported when the players gather in the spikes bar for a few pints afterwards.

Naturally, air-shots are a common failure. When you get that many players thrashing about – they take about 5,000 shots between them – a few are bound to miss the ball completely.

The format is foursomes and we have a shotgun start at 9am with two matches starting on each hole. This means a long walk for many of the players. Peter and his partner were off the 12th, which is the furthest tee from the clubhouse and the best part of a mile away. Maybe he was tired from the walk but he put his ball on the tee-peg and his massive swipe failed to connect. It was an embarrassment shared by a few others including another beginner, Nigel Mason, but he was given a special cheer for hitting the fairway for the first time in three weeks.

But air-shots do not confine themselves to hackers and the biggest cheer of the day greeted news that Brian Rigby, our greens chairman, had missed the ball on the 15th. Brian, whose handicap had just gone up from one to two, had been put under a leylandii tree by his partner Dave Cooper.

Our course is in great shape at the moment but we do have more than our fair share of leylandii and although a good few have been chopped down, we hackers would welcome the disappearance of more because they are not the hacker's best friend.

Either the ball stays up in the tree or drops below the very low branches and is very difficult to get to. This is what happened to Brian and because they had to give a shot on that hole, he decided to try to swat it out with a four-wood.

He confessed to missing the ball by a foot. I suggested that he chopped the bloody thing down. "It's coming down tomorrow," he said. I think he was joking.

That's the beauty of "The Snakes". It is a great leveller and over the next 20 weeks they will be engaged in one of golf's less sophisticated manifestations.

For various reasons, I haven't entered this year but I am available as a substitute. No one has called on me yet but I'm sure someone will get desperate.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday 30 October 2011, with grateful thanks)

The Only Medal I Will Get Is For Breaking The Ton Hundreds Of Times

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 00:00:00 GMT

Regular readers have long become accustomed to being addressed from the depths of despair, which is where we hackers spend most of our wretched golfing existence.

But never have I descended to the depth I sank to last weekend, when in the final monthly medal of the year I accumulated the humiliating score of 124.

This, from someone who had convinced himself he was on the brink of breaking 100 at last, was beyond pathetic. I very nearly failed to break 100 with my nett score.

My playing companions, Mike and Max, who do their very best to encourage and help me fight my demons, were aghast. Not only did I let them down, I also failed my teaching pro, who has patiently persuaded the tension out of my swing – which is now slower and smoother as a result.

I also had a free session from a sports psychologist, who offered help when he read about my struggles.

The only saving grace is I have not identified them. I promised to give them full credit only when I broke through the 100 barrier, because to have mentioned their association with me prematurely might have ruined their careers.

Don't worry, lads, your anonymity is safe with me. It's not your fault that whenever I set forth on a medal round I will fall victim, sooner or later, to two main failings.

The first, a tendency for my head to shoot up like a startled meerkat just before contact; and the second, an occasional and irresistible urge to take a savage lunge at the ball.

Despite my most earnest efforts they both lurk, ready to strike without warning, and they played their part in burdening me with the highest total I've ever returned.

Not only was it the worst of the day by seven shots, it also contrasted embarrassingly with a 64 returned by Mark Lewis, the former Cardiff Blues flanker, who was elevated to plus one as a result.

I didn't even have the weather as an excuse. It was a beautiful day and our greens have never been as slick.

There is a massive irony in all this: my swing has never been sweeter; neither have I struck so many good shots as I have this year; and in the knockout competitions I have performed better than at any other time in my life.

But in medals, no matter how well I seem to be playing, disaster is hiding in the trees waiting to pounce. It's been suggested that I spend so much time writing about my struggles to break 100 that I've created a mental barrier I'll never be able to cross.

When I play matchplay it is usually against a much better opponent, so there is no expectation of me. With no pressure, I relax and swing the club in the slow and smooth manner I've been taught, and the results have been remarkable.

I have to find a way during the autumn and winter to carry that composure into strokeplay, but I'm not the only victim of my century-breaking obsession.

A few years ago, Mike did some research and discovered that about 120 of the members who played in the monthly medal failed to break 100 at least once during the year. Thus was formed the Centurion club – and we play for the Centurion Cup next weekend.

Not everyone who qualifies is happy about it. No one used to worry if their score wandered above 100, but now they get jittery.

Some players don't put their cards in if they've strayed above the ton. The Centurion Cup is regarded as a competition for down-and-outs, and they claim we have prizes for the shortest drive and furthest away from the pin.

At least we hackers face reality. It takes courage to keep believing that the only way is up when you are steadfastly moving in the opposite direction.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 9 October 2011, with grateful thanks)

I'm Not Getting Paranoid But I Thought I Had This One In The Bag

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 00:00:00 GMT

When golf delivers a series of low blows to your spirit it is hard to muster your morale for the next bout with the game. So, being able to flee to France last Sunday was a blessed relief.

Teeing it up in a different country can work wonders, especially if your demons haven't followed you. Mine were probably too exhausted after all the damage they had done to me on the Saturday, when I suffered my worst medal round since October 2008.

This disaster came only three days after I had played in the semi-final of the Veterans Cup and performed quite well from tee to green. But I was comprehensively out-putted by John Letton, a 16-handicapper who beat me 3&2.

Just to prove how in form he was, John went on to win the September medal with a gross 80, nett 64. In the same event I scored 118 – which was not only the highest of the day but 38 shots more than he had.

I wish I could explain what happens to me in medals but it doesn't help when you give shots away,

There's a long walk back to the third tee and my drive flew unerringly the 100 yards to hit my golf bag dead centre.

That's a one-shot penalty, although my playing companions claimed it was two shots, which is why my card showed 119. Since I had already dropped five shots on the first two holes it didn't really matter, and complete demoralisation was not far behind.

It was a merciful escape to drive to Le Touquet the following morning to join my companions in the Dregs golf society and take some consoling refreshment in the classy confines of the Westminster Hotel.

The Dregs consists of veteran golf journalists and we are organised by Michael McDonnell, formerly golf correspondent of the Daily Mail. We play annually, usually in France, and it is always a delight to exchange reminiscences which get more lurid each year.

I shared a buggy with Mike when we played the sea course on Monday and we hoped to dodge the storm which was sweeping Britain. But it soon caught up with us and we took a right buffeting and soaking.

I wasn't doing too badly until the fourth hole. I hit a decent drive into the semi-rough but Mike scuffed his, and then hit his second shot towards where my ball was.

He pulled up alongside a ball saying: "You've not got a good lie." Like a fool I didn't look closely at the ball but I did hit it well, about 30 yards short of the green.

Then we looked for his and found mine. I'd hit his ball, which was a two-shot penalty. I take full responsibility but it was still his fault.

Frustration took its usual toll and I didn't score on the next six holes. The storm had abated by then and I did better on the back nine but nowhere near enough.

The next day we played the forest course and I started playing much better. I had 27 points after 15 holes but I had noticed there was something funny about my five-iron. I examined it and although it was very similar, it wasn't mine. I had two five-irons in the bag and that meant 15 clubs, which is one over the maximum, and that carries a four-stroke penalty.

It was Mike's club and he had put it in my bag by mistake the previous day; an easy mistake to make when you are sharing a buggy.

I scored only one point on the last three holes and that gave me 28, which was the second best score of the day, and over the two days I finished fourth.

I'm not saying I would have won the Dregs trophy – Tony Stenson of the Sunday Star did that fair and square – and I was pleased to finish so high. But the feeling persists that there's a conspiracy against me.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 18 September 2011, with grateful thanks)

Normal Service Is Resumed – I'm Back To My Worst Again

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Mon, 12 Sep 2011 00:00:00 GMT

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. One hesitates to be too melodramatic about a little game of golf but my unprecedented run of knockout successes came to a sad end last week when I lost in the semi-final of the Veterans Cup.

So perish the dreams of a 28 handicapper, and strong contender for the title of worst player in the club, who suddenly found himself basking in the limelight after a string of wins. There are no complaints: I lost fair and square to John Letton, a 16 handicapper who is one of those lethal club golfers who consistently plays close to his handicap.

One consolation is that I did give him a scare at the start when I went three holes up after four. "You frightened the life out of me," he said afterwards.

I think I frightened myself even more. Hackers aren't used to finding themselves storming into the lead. It seems too good to be true and it usually is.

John was worried because he was having to give 12 shots to someone whose form had astonished everyone. I was still rubbish in medals but in match-play I could give anyone a game.

Although I hadn't played for three weeks, I'd had a lesson the previous day and was hitting the ball quite well. I would have won the first had he not holed a 16-footer for a half but I only dropped one shot over the next three holes to go three-up.

As we came off the par-five fourth he casually wondered how many 28 handicappers get a par on that hole. I got a par on the next hole, too, but he sank another longish putt for a birdie.

I managed to fritter away the lead with help of one or two wayward shots but the pattern was emerging that if my putting didn't improve I was going to struggle because he was dynamite on the greens. It's all very well to have 12 shots but if you are two- or three-putting every green and he is one- or two-putting the end is nigh.

I was three-down with four to play and missed a three-footer to give him a half on the 15th and then I three-putted the 16th to give him a half and a 3&2 victory.

Despite the nasty weather it was a very enjoyable game and at least I didn't make a complete fool of myself. The important thing is I still have confidence in my improvement which will now face another stern test. Today, I am heading for France and a couple of games at Le Touquet. It is the annual outing of the Dregs golf society which consists of veteran golf writers who never leave much in the bottom of their glasses. A more formidable bunch of mean-eyed mercenaries you couldn't fear to meet.

I usually bring up the rear but I'm hoping that my new-found style of swinging soft and slow and not allowing tension to take a grip of the club will cut down the errors.

When you are among the less gifted of golfers, it is vital to stay positive and fight against the feelings of frustration that ruin any attempt to maintain calmness and composure.

Frustration on a golf course is inevitable but you mustn't allow it to become a destructive force. Treat it as a healthy sign of a yearning for happier days that may one day be fulfilled. If a goldfish can cope so calmly with its forlorn search for a way out of the bowl so can we.

Mind you, the goldfish is said to have an attention span of only three seconds. Most of us hackers can keep focused for at least twice that time.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 11 September 2011, with grateful thanks)

UK’s Longest Golf Courses – Modern Monsters

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Fri, 26 Aug 2011 00:00:00 GMT

There has been much debate at our Golf Club in recent years about whether or not our course should be lengthened from its 6,184 yards, the length it has been for well over 100 years.

A couple of weeks ago, the 2011 US PGA Championship was played in 100 degree heat on a 7,613 yard golf layout, the Highlands Course at the Atlanta Athletic Club. With the tournament being played on such a long golf course you would be forgiven for thinking that only the big boys like Dustin Johnson, Gary Woodland and Lee Westwood would have had a chance of getting their hands on the famous Wanamaker Trophy. However, the last time the PGA Championship visited this course, the diminutive putting master David Toms waltzed off with the title after putting the big hitting Phil “The Thrill” Mickelson off the course. This year it was rookie Keegan Bradley who managed to plot his way best around this modern monster of a golf course.

The sheer length of the Atlanta Club made me wonder how we amateur golfers would fare around such a course? With that in mind, below are five modern monsters that you can play on in the UK. How do you think that you would enjoy a golf course that measures much more than 7,000 yards?

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The Vale – Wales National Course – 7,413 yards

The Wales National Course at the Vale Resort is one of the newest and best championship golf courses in the UK and despite its youth has hosted several Europro, Challenge and Senior Tour events, testament to the quality of the remarkable layout. Measuring 7,413 yards from the back tees the Wales National Course will provide a stern challenge to any golfer. Highlights include the longest hole in Wales which comes early in the round. The par 5 2nd hole stretches to 607 yards so even the masters of the big dog will struggle to get home in two. The course provides a consistent test of ball striking from start to finish.

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Players Club, Bristol – Championship Course - – 7,663 yards

Built to test the mettle of the finest players in the land, the Championship Course at The Players Club is one of the longest courses in England and for any brave souls embarking on a Bristol golf trip, this is the ultimate challenge. The Championship Course weighs in at a leg busting 7,663 yards so solid ball striking is paramount. The Par 5 8^th hole measuring 727 yards is the 13^th longest in the world, and the 15^th from the very back tees is 656 yards. But don’t be fooled into thinking that the challenge ends once you have got a mighty drive away. Giant bunkers and menacing water hazards await the golf balls of those who don’t plot their way away this monstrous layout carefully. Those who do though are rewarded for their efforts as the brilliant condition of the greens means birdies are not an impossible feat.

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Dalmahoy – East Course – 7,475 yards

The East Course has long been the more challenging of the two golf courses at Dalmahoy. Built in 1927 this can hardly be described as a modern monster but it has been the subject of a recent £1m. re-development and is now a formidable test from the back tees, from where even the longest of hitters will find the yardages testing. The East course isn’t just about reaching for the driver and pounding away as the lush fairways are bordered by mature trees that place an emphasis on accuracy as well. Developed with tournament play in mind, the intriguing layout provides an enjoyable round of golf and the putting surfaces are of the highest quality. If you fancy yourself as a big hitter then why not try and tame one of Scotland’s longest golf courses: the East Course at Dalmahoy.

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Dukes Course, St. Andrews – 7,512 yards

Designed by five-time Open Championship winner Peter Thompson, The Dukes Course was always destined to be an exacting test of golf. Played from the tombstones, this is the longest golf course in Scotland and will put even the most talented players to the test. The Dukes is essentially a parkland course but it does have a more rugged feel to it and has often been compared with the world famous Whistling Straits in the USA, testament to the quality of the original design and the value of the recent investment by Herb Kohler. Enjoying magnificent views of St Andrews, the Dukes Course is a special place to play golf but don’t let the views and the grand tradition of the location distract you from the task in hand. At 7,512 yards the Dukes is an exacting test and with little roll on the fairways this course often plays even longer than the yardage suggests!

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Rockliffe Hall, County Durham – 7,897 yards

The brand new golf course at Rockliffe Hall has been designed with tournament play in mind, so it was always going to be long. However “long” sells this beast of a course a bit short as it’s actually the longest golf course in Europe, measuring an astonishing 7,897 yards! The course architect, Marc Westenborg, must have been in a punishing mood when he laid down the plans for Rockliffe Hall but don’t think that this course is all about length. Westenborg’s other projects include the stunning Oceanico Old Course in Vilamoura and the world renowned Royal Birkdale. Once you embrace the challenge of this mighty track you will begin to fall in love with its subtleties and although you may struggle to hit your target score, a round at Rockliffe will no doubt be a great experience.

Play fast, swing slow!

Sandy Parr

At Long Last I Get My Hands On Some Silverware, Even If I Didn't Win

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Sun, 21 Aug 2011 00:00:00 GMT

Proud moments don't come often in a hacker's life so it was a rare treat to be presented with a handsome silver bowl on the sun-bathed terrace of Cardigan Golf Club overlooking the Teifi estuary last Wednesday.

As you might expect, the winning of the trophy was not much to do with me, but as the captain of the visitors' team in the annual match against the members I was happy to bask in the glory.

It made up for the many occasions I have been on the losing side of this historic fixture. In fact Roddy James, former captain, chairman and president of the club, who handed me the bowl which had been awarded in his father's name many years ago, said he couldn't recall it going to the visitors before.

It might have done but certainly not often in the 53 years since the Cardigan club first began to welcome golfers on holiday in the area to play, without charge, against its members on the third Wednesday in August.

The visitors' match became one of the highlights of summer due not so much to the quality of the golf – in which the visitors usually got a bloody good hiding – but to the riotous evening that followed.

This being Wales, a large amount of singing was involved and even some who weren't even golfers turned up to do their party piece. It was like a golfing eisteddfod and went on well into the early hours while the lubrication essential for lusty singing voices was administered.

Present on Wednesday was the club stalwart Donald Davies, who played in the first visitors' match in 1958 when it was eight-a-side. In no time the visitors could number over 30 but no matter how many turned up, the club produced enough members to make a match.

I first started playing in it in the early Seventies when the visitors' captain was Tom Davies, a solicitor from Newport, Gwent, whose animated rendition of the "Death of Boris" from the opera Prince Igor was an annual show-stopper.

Sadly, after Tom died the match dwindled out but last year the home captain, Edryd Lloyd, decided to revive it and asked me to be the visitors' captain.

It was a very successful day and we visitors got the usual trouncing. In a small speech that I insisted on making I outlined the history of this once remote area; of how, over the past century, they had acquired all the trappings and technologies of modern life and how amazing it was that the finer details of the handicapping system hadn't reached there yet. Thankfully this year's captain, Terry Hammett, overlooked this slur and welcomed us back.

There was an unusual twist to this year's match. Terry and I were born and bred in the Roath area of Cardiff and it transpired I play with several of his early friends, three of whom were involved with him in a two-car pile-up in Spain in 1963.

Space forbids the telling of the whole story but he hadn't seen them for over 40 years. Unfortunately, the reunion was somewhat tarnished when his old mates helped to give his team a hammering.

It helped that we had secured the services of Edryd on the groundsthat he is a country member of Glamorganshire, and he played with me against Terry and Cardigan's vice-captain, Peter Rees.

Peter and I managed to come in on one or two holes but mainly it was a titanic struggle between Terry, who plays off 11, and Edryd, off six. We were one-up coming down the last but Terry won it to justly halve our match.

However, on a lovely sunny day the Cardigan course with its staggering views saw the visitors win five of the eight matches. Terry took his team's defeat manfully and I am chastened to admit that, unlike me last year, he did not criticise our handicaps. I trust we'll be invited back.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 21 August 2011, with grateful thanks)

I Got Through To The Semi-Finals But It’s Still All Greek To Me

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Sun, 14 Aug 2011 00:00:00 GMT

As befits a long-term hacker, I have often found myself in the strangest of places; in ditches, up trees, over walls, in a cemetery, and I once pitched my ball into an opponent's golf bag. But last week I appeared in the most unlikely of places: the semi-final of one of our club's knock-out tournaments.

Admittedly, the Veterans Cup is not one of our more glamorous competitions. But since our club has a high proportion of gnarled old sods, it is nevertheless hotly contested and not one in which a pitiful wretch playing off a 28 handicap is expected to flourish.

This is particularly so when my score in the medal two weeks ago was 118, which is a staggering 48 over par. It was a cruel setback when I fancied I was on the edge of a breakthrough. Hence the lack of confidence when I turned up for my quarter-final last Tuesday against Nick Fisher, a 25-handicapper who had to give me three shots, which was a measly allowance against a player I'd been told was very steady.

And steady he turned out to be, winning the first two holes before hitting a decent drive up the hill on the par-five third. I hit a miserable one that went 150 yards at the most. He then piled into his second shot, which hit the marker post in the middle of the fairway and rebounded at right angles 40 yards into the woods. I couldn't believe it. That's the sort of freakish thing that happens to me.

I managed to win that hole, and after he'd hit two into the woods on the fourth I won that too, although I must say I did have a par. I also parred the fifth but then he sank a 10-footer for a birdie and went back in front.

It turned out to be a good game with neither of us playing like complete hackers, apart from the odd mishap, and Nick was very good company.

He retired two years ago as professor of ancient history at the University of Wales but still wrote learned papers, specialising mainly on ancient Greece.

"So you speak Latin then?" I asked, realising immediately what a stupid question it was. He was kind enough not to laugh, replying: "A little, but mainly Greek."

We came off the ninth green all square and I stuck my tee shot on the par-three 10th just over two feet from the flag to go one up in the match for the first time.

It didn't last long. He won the 11th, 12th and 14th to go two up with four to play. It wasn't that I was hitting the ball badly but he always seemed able to go one better. On the 15th, however, I hit two very good shots to win the hole with a five nett four.

We halved the 16th and after a nervy chip over a bunker I won the 17th and we were all flat as we stood on the par-three 18th tee.

I pushed my tee shot high right and it was heading over the trees towards the first fairway. He's got me on toast, I thought as he lined up his shot.

Somehow, the ball squirted from the heel of his club and flew low and left into the auxiliary car park. There's an impenetrable row of 20-foot high leylandii trees dividing the car park from the 18th and I left him pondering what to do while I went off in search of my ball. Miraculously, it must have hit a tree because I found it four yards from the green. Then, with much cracking of branches, he emerged from the middle of the leylandii screen and shouted: "What are you there for?"

"One," I yelled back.

He threw his hands up. "I've had six. I surrender," he said.

Based on such little scenes, a hacker's joy can last a lifetime.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 14 August 2011, with grateful thanks)

Truths Known Only To Avid Golfers

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Thu, 11 Aug 2011 00:00:00 GMT

Don't buy a putter until you've had a chance to see what throwing it feels like.

Never try to keep more than 300 separate thoughts in your mind during your swing.

When your shot has to carry over a water hazard, you can either use one more club or two more balls.

If you're afraid a full shot might reach the green while the foursome ahead of you is still putting out, you have two options: you can immediately shank a lay-up or you can wait until the green is clear and top a ball halfway there.

The less skilled the player, the more likely he is to share his ideas about the golf swing.

No matter how bad you are playing, it is always possible to play worse.

The inevitable result of any golf lesson is the instant elimination of the one critical unconscious motion that allowed you to compensate for all of your many other errors.

Everyone replaces his divot after a perfect approach shot.

A golf match is a test of your skill against your opponent's luck.

It is surprisingly easy to hole a 30 foot putt.....for a 10.

Counting on your opponent to inform you when he breaks a rule, is like expecting him to make fun of his own haircut.

Nonchalant putts count the same as chalant putts.

The shortest distance between any two points on a golf course is usually a straight line that passes directly through the centre of a very large tree.

You can hit a two acre fairway 10% of the time and a two inch branch 90% of the time.

If you really want to get better at golf, go back and take it up at a much earlier age.

Since bad shots come in groups of three, a fourth bad shot is actually the beginning of the next group of three.

When you look up, causing a bad shot, you will always look down again at exactly the moment when you ought to start watching the ball, if you ever want to see it again.

Every time a golfer makes a birdie, he must subsequently make two double bogeys to restore the fundamental equilibrium of the universe.

There are two things you can learn by stopping your back-swing at the top and checking the position of your hands: how many hands you have, and which one is wearing the glove.

Hazards attract; fairways repel.

A ball you can see in the rough from 50 yards away is not yours.

If there is a ball on the fringe and a ball in the bunker, your ball is in the bunker. If both balls are in the bunker, yours is in the footprint.

It's easier to get up at 6:00 AM to play golf than at 10:00am to mow the grass.

A good drive on the 18th hole has stopped many a golfer from giving up the game.

Golf is the perfect thing to do on Sunday because you spend longer praying than you would do in church.

A good golf partner is one who's always slightly worse than you are....that's why I get so many calls to play with friends.

If there's a storm rolling in, you'll be having the game of your life.

Golf balls are like eggs. They're white. They're sold by the dozen and you need to buy fresh ones each week.

It's amazing how a golfer who never helps out around the house will replace his divots, repair his ball marks, and rake his sand traps.

If your opponent has trouble remembering whether he shot a six or a seven, he probably shot an eight (or worse)...

It takes longer to learn to be a good golfer than it does to become a brain surgeon. On the other hand, you don't get to ride around on a cart, drink beer, and eat hamburgers when you are performing Brain Surgery!

As A Psychologist Might Put It, I Can't See The Wood For The Trees

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Mon, 8 Aug 2011 00:00:00 GMT

Two professional gentlemen are patiently waiting for me to break 100 in a medal.

When the happy day arrives, I shall reveal their names and explain how they have helped me break through a barrier that has defied me for over 10 years.

I firmly believed that last weekend would be the moment I got the ton off my back and gave them the credit they deserve. Alas, it was not so. Indeed, had their names been associated with the way I played, I doubt if either would have ever worked again.

One is a professional golf coach with a distinctive approach to the game aimed at eradicating tension from your swing and encouraging a smooth passage of the club-face through the ball.

He has improved my swing so much, I am hitting shots that astonish my playing partners and have brought me unexpected success in knock-out tournaments.

But inconsistency, the curse of the hacking fraternity, means I cannot guarantee to hit it right every time, or even half the time, which brings in my second advisor, a golf psychologist who wrote to say he could help train my mind to keep focused.

I've only had one session with him, enough to understand the benefits of creating a regular pre-shot routine and of visualising the path you want the ball to take.

Psychologists are all the rage among the top players these days. Darren Clarke called on the services of two before winning The Open last month, and last week Lee Westwood, who previously would have nothing to do with them, enlisted the services of one to unclutter his mind on the putting green with immediate results.

However, there is a distinct difference between the learning potential of a player of that quality and a raddled old hacker who has repulsed 30 years of good advice.

Persuading my body to do what it is told is a long job. Just as my life has been a constant struggle to stay on the path of righteousness, so my golf proved easy prey to waywardness.

But, ever the optimist, I feel that I am on the edge of the breakthrough, which is why the Centenary medal was such a disappointment last week.

One of the factors that usually bedevil my progress around a golf course is that I am not blessed with the best of luck. Hence when I slightly pulled my drive on the first, it didn't merely hit a tree, it rebounded at a right angle 25 yards into the greenside bunker on the 18th.

Had I been playing the 18th, the ball would have been nicely placed on the upslope of the bunker, but as I was playing in the opposite direction it was nastily placed on the downslope and my attempt to play it back through the trees resulted in it landing at the foot of one of them, and by the time I returned to the first fairway I had taken five and finished with a nine.

When misfortune of that scale hits you so early in the round, it isn't easy to soothe the rage within and recover the calm and composed frame of mind essential to my new approach. I managed to achieve a measure of tranquillity but on the fourth I was once more in the trees contemplating a narrow opening about six feet wide through an avenue of trunks.

Two men playing on the adjoining hole paused to watch, as people often do when I am attempting a miracle. "Watch out for the ricochet, lads," I joked. Just as well I did, for the ball rebounded from a trunk and flashed a yard past them.

To cut a long sob story short, I finished with 118. One of my playing partners offered a consoling word: "At least you putted very well."

Which is not very helpful. Think what I would have scored if I hadn't.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 7 August 2011, with grateful thanks)

As If Playing This Game Isn't Enough Of A Lottery Already

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Tue, 2 Aug 2011 00:00:00 GMT

The bubble has burst. Our glorious run in the foursomes knockout ended on the 18th green in the twilight of Thursday evening and led to an unseemly dispute on the club veranda.

The dispute was not with our opponents, I hasten to add. Graham and Steve were worthy winners of an enjoyable game, and considering we were three down with four to play we did well to take it to the last.

Then, as we were shaking hands, came a loud burst of applause from the crowded clubhouse. We turned to acknowledge it but it wasn't for us – the winner of the monthly prize draw had just been announced.

To our amazement, it was Richard Jeremy who won the £650. Richard had been playing in front of us, and thereby hangs a tale.

In order to promote togetherness, conviviality and bar takings, we have been holding a monthly club night over the past couple of years, and to boost attendance a cash prize is awarded to a member whose name has been drawn at random by the computer.

The strict stipulation is that you have to be in the lounge at the precise moment the draw is announced. If you are on the course, in the spikes bar or even in the toilet you cannot claim the prize. When the prize isn't claimed, £50 is added to it and, consequently, it often rolls up to a large sum.

The higher it goes, the more members are attracted, and with a curry and a quiz also on offer the place is jam-packed with men, women and juniors.

It irks me that consideration isn't given to those out on the course playing in official club competitions, and at this time of the year you have to play your knockout matches when you can.

Never one to miss a chance to ferment a small rebellion, I suggested to the other three in our match that if one of us happened to be drawn as the winner we should challenge the committee on their decision to exclude us.

It so happened that Richard, who was playing Peter in a singles knockout, had started behind us, but we called them through on the eighth. Actually, they sneaked through while we were looking for a ball in the trees, but that's another story.

We saw them finish while we waited on the tee of the par-three 18th. Richard had won so he went to the spikes bar to buy the drinks and Graham, the steward, told him he should be in the lounge, where they were about to do the draw.

Richard rushed in and less than 10 seconds after he entered the room his name was called. By the time we got to the veranda he was there looking very pleased with himself and surrounded by well-wishers marvelling at his good fortune and hoping to get a drink out of him.

I reminded Richard that if we hadn't called him through he would have still been on the course and therefore ineligible to pick up the prize. I figured that £50 each would be a fair recognition of our contribution and it would still leave him with £450.

I'm not sure how to interpret his reaction, but I think he was indicating that he needed two hours to think about it and I am sure he will cough up when he thinks it through.

Meanwhile, the episode at least reinforced my view about the absurdity of a golf club discriminating against members who are actually in the process of playing golf.

I put my argument to Ivan, our immediate past captain, who conducted the evening. What are we, I demanded, a golf club or a lottery club? The question was still being argued about until late that night.

As for our defeat, we were two up after four but thereafter bunkers were our downfall. But that's the trouble with high-handicappers, they have a habit of playing like it.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 31 July 2011, with grateful thanks)

My Purple Patch Is Starting To Leave Better Players Red In The Face

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Wed, 27 Jul 2011 00:00:00 GMT

Suddenly, with a modest flourish of half-decent shots that no one thought me capable of producing, this old hacker has chalked up a few surprise successes in knockout competitions.

No one has called me a bandit yet, not to my face at least, but it can't be far away, even though I have yet to translate this improvement into a sub-100 medal round.

That's one of the troubles of spending years trying to claw yourself out of the golfing mire. Fellow members get used to your struggles and you even become a figure of fun, if not derision.

But show the slightest sign of acquiring the ability to hit the ball in roughly the right direction on a regular basis and you become a menace. This is because when a low-handicapper plays a high-handicapper he has to give plenty of shots, and if the former can't rely on the high-handicapper playing like a pillock, he could be in trouble.

Since last year, good players have been put in more peril by the golf unions granting the bad players a larger allowance. We used to get three-quarters of the difference between the handicaps; now we get the full difference.

Figures show that the advantage still lies with the better players, but it means much closer battles.

My partner John and I caused the shock of the year when we beat the favourites in the foursomes knock-out competition. They had to give us 18 shots, which normally they would do without too much trouble, but they had a rare off day and we had an even rarer good day.

My shots didn't save me from being knocked out in the first round of the singles, but my form has taken a turn for the better and I won my first match in the Veterans Cup. Last week I faced Bob Bubbins, who plays off nine, in the second round.

The fact he had to give me 19 shots caused great amusement, but since he has long been a single-handicap player I wasn't given much chance.

Bob is one of the characters at the club and has just finished a three-year stint as the chief of the hilarious Sunday riot we call our Winter League.

He suggested we hire the caddie car for our match and I readily agreed, because it meant we'd be in the bar quicker. When he went two up after three holes I thought our arrival in the bar was fairly imminent.

But he never won another hole. A mixture of my hitting the ball better, a shank that infiltrated his game and my large pile of shots saw me win by the 14th.

Typically, he laughed it off, although he did protest a little when it came to the sixth – which is stroke index one, our toughest hole – on which I had two shots.

It is 400 yards long with out-of-bounds down the left and a wide ditch running across the fairway 40 yards from the green. I was 15 feet from the hole for three net one. "How the hell can I compete with that?" he asked, with some justification.

He said something similar when I was at the back of the green on the par-three 10th for one net nothing.

One disgruntled hotshot in the bar afterwards said he would have walked off.

"Charming," I said. "You happily watch me playing crap for 30 years and then object because I hit a few good shots."

I'm not sure how long this purple patch will last but I'm enjoying it, however temporary it turns out to be.

PS: For the past dozen or so years I've been the only journalist happy to call himself a hacker while completely unaware that there were so many others at work. I see no reason to change the title of this column but I would like to stress that I only hack into golf courses.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 24 July 2011, with grateful thanks)

Past Captains Never Die, They Just Shuffle Off And Get Plastered

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Sun, 10 Jul 2011 00:00:00 GMT

After a few weeks in the clouds, I was returned to earth with an abrupt lack of gentleness in a Past Captains match last week. That'll teach me to think I was on the edge of a breakthrough.

My partnership with John had seen us win our first two matches in the Stoddart Cup, a foursomes knockout tournament, to reach the last 16.

On my own, I had won my first-round match in the Veterans Cup against Trefor, who is a better player but had to give me five shots, which proved to be the telling factor in a very pleasant game.

Then my four-man team taking part in a charity day finished in fourth place which, while not a triumph, at least brought a prize. It also meant that for the first time in my life I had been rewarded in four events in a row.

This was heady stuff. I approached my next challenge with confidence, which is not my normal companion on the way to the first tee.

The occasion was our annual match against the past captains of Creigiau, a club to the north of Cardiff with whom we have a long association.

They say there's nothing more past than a past captain and it is sadly so. For one year you are the much-respected figurehead of the club, addressed deferentially as captain, and there are forelocks being tugged as you pass by.

It is not an easy job coping with the many problems that life in a busy golf club throws up – as well as keeping the peace between warring factions.

But it doesn't take long to go from being at the very centre of things to being on the outside, frustratingly uninvolved. You soon find yourself among the bunch of gnarled old-timers who occupy their regular seats in the bar like unemployed magistrates taking a patriarchal, and largely disapproving, view of what is going on around them.

It's no wonder that members of this ignored fraternity gather together. Every region in the county has a past captains society and they meet regularly to play each other. And most clubs have past captains matches against other clubs which, at least, get rid of the old sods for a day.

I was partnered by Richard in our fourball better-ball match against former Creigiau captains Bill Fear and Tom Hunter and it was clear from the start that we were in trouble.

Richard had been on holiday for three weeks during which he hadn't picked up a club and I didn't look as if I'd handled a club in a year.

Not that it made much difference because Bill and Tom played very well and dovetailed perfectly. When they learned before the start that I would be having 11 shots they weren't very happy.

However, it soon became clear that this was not a generous allowance and, being gentlemen, they didn't mention it again as they set about kippering us by the 15th.

What made it worse was that we were the only Glamorganshire pair to lose in what was otherwise a handsome victory for our Club.

In my quest to harbour only positive thoughts, I prefer to remember my previous outing when my foursomes partner John and I defeated Phil and Mike in the Stoddart Cup.

They, too, had knocked out a fancied pair in the first round and gave us a tough challenge with Mike, particularly, playing a canny game.

A plasterer by trade, Phil plays off 26 and did not have his best game while I somehow managed to hit a few telling shots at the right time. We won at the 17th.

Phil was recently asked by the Captain if he'd do a spot of plastering for him. Phil said he would do the plastering if the Captain would teach him how to play better golf.

The Captain thought about it and said: "It would be easier if you taught me plastering."

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 10 July 2011, with grateful thanks)

Porky Shows There's More To Life Than Golf – There's Food And Drink

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Mon, 4 Jul 2011 00:00:00 GMT

We are at the height of golf's social scene, in which captain's days, charity events and summer balls fill the humdrum life of a hacker with all the bonhomie he doesn't normally get from the game.

Indeed, at our Club the less gifted players can find themselves not only hobnobbing with the hotshots but actually playing with them.

The Captain's Day tournament is a foursomes event in which the pairs are chosen at random – one from the lower handicappers and one from the higher – so that the best player in the club could find himself partnering the worst.

While it is true that severe tensions can result from such a liaison, it is also possible that with a few choice shots a hacker can become a hero on the day. Unfortunately, that wasn't my experience. I was drawn with Arwyn, my former bank manager, who plays off 12. I'm loath to give him credit, because he never used to give me any, but he played well. However, we never dovetailed and staggered to 25 points, which was a long way short of the winning total of 40.

But the Captain invariably makes it an enjoyable day. Maurice, this year's incumbent, was there at halfway to greet each of the 250 competitors with a drink and a bite to eat.

This year we were each provided with a Yorkshire pudding containing gravy and a sausage which, apparently, is a delicacy where he comes from.

Back at the Clubhouse we had a splendid cold buffet, and then at the prizegiving in the evening we had another free meal of fish and chips. It is a bit like the Olympics: the glory lies not in the winning but in the eating and drinking.

A few days later was the Bears Golf Day, which has raised more than £35,000 for local youth sport. I'm President, largely because I'm the only one sober enough to make a speech at the presentation dinner, although that was a questionable claim this year. The comedian was even less sober than me. We laughed so much at one joke, he told it again two minutes later.

We had 17 teams of four competing. The format is the best three scores at each hole to count. With me were Paul, a surveyor, Leon, an RAF officer, and Richard, a tax inspector; not only pillars of society but good golfers who helped us to 118 points, which earned fourth prize of a golf glove and a hat each.

However, the high spot was Paul getting a hole-in-one at the last, which also earned him the nearest-the-pin prize. Had it been an official competition he would have received £100. As it wasn't, he got nothing, but still had to buy the customary two bottles of scotch.

Then we had the Summer Ball at which the star was Porky, who plays off five but hasn't had a good time of late. He and Matt were the favourites in our top foursome competition but they were beaten by myself and John Dodd. It was a shock defeat Porky will never live down.

He played a few groups behind us on the Bears Day and on the 18th he hit an exquisite tee-shot that finished only inches from the flag. He marched proudly on to the green to measure what he was certain would win him the nearest-the-pin award, only to be told of Paul's hole-in-one.

He was drowning his sorrows at the Summer Ball a couple of days later when it was learned that he and his long-time partner – of the non-golfing variety – were thinking of getting married. He was dragged on to the stage and persuaded to get on one knee to do a proper proposal.

It was a touching moment which reminded us that life isn't all about golf. It's only nine-tenths of it.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 3 July 2011, with grateful thanks)

Stableford System And A Few Drinks Are Just What The Doctor Ordered

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Sun, 26 Jun 2011 00:00:00 GMT

We paid our annual homage to Dr Frank Stableford last weekend. This involved travelling to Wallasey on Merseyside, getting hammered on the course and then in the bar.

This was a few days before the Royal College of Psychiatrists issued a grim warning that people over 65 were drinking too much, decreeing the limit was three and a half pints a week. It's a sobering thought that a hacker's ration will barely last two hours after finishing a round.

I'm not sure of the good doctor's view on the subject. But as an army surgeon who saw action during the Boer War and World War One, he probably had a more lenient view.

And, as the man whose name has been blessed by untold millions of golfers, I'm sure he wouldn't look unkindly on golfers seeking solace after a game. On visits to Wallasey we need plenty of solace because it is a tough links course which we find difficult to master, particularly in the high winds we had last Sunday.

But it is all in the good cause of helping to honour the memory of one of golf's greatest benefactors. The Stableford points system takes the harshness out of the game, especially for the higher handicappers.

It was at Wallasey in the early 1930s that he perfected the format. But 13 years ago, while writing the history of The Glamorganshire Golf Club, I discovered he was a Member and found a faded newspaper cutting which revealed that in 1898 he asked his fellow members to experiment with a new method of scoring.

It was the same system now in use but was played off scratch and a third of your handicap was added at the end. No further mention of the trial can be found until he resurrected it over 30 years later at Wallasey.

He used the same format, apart from adding your full handicap at the end, but it was only when he utilised the stroke indices and scoring hole by hole that the system took off and became the world's most popular.

Dr Frank was a very good golfer, attaining a handicap of plus one, and after moving to Merseyside he became a well-known local figure, driving a yellow Rolls Royce and sporting a bright bow tie. Sadly, he was forced from the game he loved by almost total blindness and he shot himself at the age of 89.

When we held a tournament to celebrate the centenary of his first experiment, Wallasey sent down two teams. In the convivial aftermath that lasted until dawn, strong bonds were formed and the clubs exchange visits every year.

With captain Geophrey Holcroft to the fore, Wallasey welcomed us with their usually generous and aggressive hospitality. At dinner we wore specially designed bow ties, toasted Dr Frank's memory extensively and the following day played for the bronze Bow Tie Trophy.

Martin Price and myself played last year's captain, Paul Andrews, and Eric Williams and, faced with a billowing wind coming across the Mersey, we were even more buffeted by them and were three down after five. We were still three down after nine when I miraculously parred the next three holes to turn the tide.

We were all square at the 18th, which is a superb hole, made all the more enticing by the sight of the clubhouse bar above the green. We didn't play it well and Eric needed a four-foot putt for the win. He missed by a suspicious distance.

"You did that on purpose," I said. They smiled and shook hands. "It was a fair result," said Paul.

Roger and Nev, who also gained a creditable half, with their Wallasey opponents, Anton and Mike

As it happened, Wallasey won 4-1 to retain the trophy they won at our place last year. It was a great weekend and despite its excesses we comfort ourselves with the thought that Dr Frank would approve.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 26 June 2011, with grateful thanks)

I Swear I'm Not Telling Porkies: The Dream Team Bottled It

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Mon, 13 Jun 2011 00:00:00 GMT

There are two bottles of champagne awaiting me at the club and people keep shaking my hand or slapping my back. I've never known anything like it in more than 30 years of playing poor golf on a distressingly regular basis.

They say every dog has his day; mine came last Monday. I should say "ours" since the glory was shared with my partner John Dodd. Actually, his was the bigger part but we won't go into that just yet.

Ours was a giant-killing act that has the club rocking since it involved the formidable pairing of Peter "Porky" Edmunds, playing off five, and Matt Davey, off eight, known as the "dream team".

The Stoddart Cup is a foursomes knockout that has been going for 100 years and is keenly contested. Hackers have tended not to enter because it had an 18-handicap limit but this year the restriction was lifted and John, 20, and myself, 28, felt emboldened to enter.

It was a decision we regretted when we saw the draw. This year they are running a book, with the proceeds going to charity, and Porky and Matt were installed as joint favourites at 8-1. They put £50 on themselves.

John and I were included in the "100-1 others" list and didn't even consider having a bet, even though we were encouraged by the fact we would be receiving 18 shots.

Because of their bet, our match attracted a lot of banter and Slug, who is Porky's brother, offered to buy us a bottle of champagne if we beat them. Porky is not so-called because he is fat, which he isn't, but for his passion for pork pies. I do not dare to ask where Slug's nickname came from.

His champagne offer was matched by Richie, who is running the book. "If you win, it'll save us £400. So you can have a bottle from me, too," he said.

To say our opponents weren't happy at having to give us a shot a hole is putting it mildly. Good players don't like giving that many shots but the new ruling says full allowance must be given.

But Porky did have a point when, after halving the first, we won the second with a three on a par-three and he said: "To beat you we would have needed a hole in one."

They easily won the third but on the par-five fourth a good drive from me and an even better second from John put us 30 yards straight in front of the green. I have a tendency when under pressure to putt from anything up to 30 yards from the green rather than risk a chip. But I confidently reached for my wedge and shanked it into the greenside bunker.

John splashed and then sank the 10-footer I left him to halve the hole. He rescued us again with a putt from off the green on the fifth. We won the sixth after they lost a ball and went three up at the short seventh. They won the next two to leave us one up at the turn but we won three of the next five holes to be three up with four to play.

On the 15th Matt hit a mighty drive which found the base of a leylandii. Porky had to play the next shot from his knees to the adjoining fairway and took another three to get to the green, whereupon they conceded the match.

It's tough to have to give that many shots, particularly if the hackers have a good day, and it is significant that we won the five par-threes we played. That proved the killer. But they took it in a sportsmanlike and gentlemanly fashion despite fearing the amount of piss that was going to be taken out of them.

It started as soon as we reached the clubhouse, where a small crowd gathered including Slug and Richie, and there was much cruel chortling. The champagne will be presented to us this weekend. Fame at last.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 12 June 2011, with grateful thanks)

The Shrink Says This Column Is Ruining My Game. So Am I A Write-Off?

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Wed, 8 Jun 2011 00:00:00 GMT

In order to maximise the chances of fulfilling my pledge to break 100 in a medal this year – the 10th year this pledge has been made, with an embarrassing lack of success – I have secured the services of two professional gentlemen whose lives are dedicated to improving the play of faltering golfers.

I refuse to divulge their names on the grounds that if I fail again, it will cause serious harm to their reputations and, possibly, careers.

I've already got enough pros on my conscience. Many times I sought help. In some cases there were distinct signs of improvement but my failings rapidly repossessed me.

One well-respected teaching pro gave me my money back at the end of a lesson because I was worse at the end than when I started.

I've had tips from some of the best players. On my wall is a picture of me with Justin Rose after he gave me a quick lesson. He put at the bottom: "Forget everything I told you."

I'm embarrassed to recall how many club pros I have driven to exasperation. Two of them are good friends of mine and my faults have become so well known to them, and so stubbornly resistant to change, that I hesitate to burden them again.

It is not their fault. My capacity to absorb advice has been the problem. No sooner am I filled to the brim with the soundest of technical instruction than it starts leaking out like a slow puncture over the next few rounds.

I consulted a pro whose philosophy about teaching I read on the wall of a driving range. It talked about tension and the problem of trying too hard to master a game that requires patience and a relaxed approach.

These are not qualities I've ever been associated with but now I'm close to the springtime of my senility it makes sense to incorporate them.

Under his tutelage I am hitting the ball sweeter and straighter but it is very difficult to persuade a body accustomed to much frenetic lunging at the ball to adopt immediately a slower, smoother swing. So at the moment it's a battle between the old and the new. My regular partners have seen me hit shots of which they never thought me capable. But, just as often, they see me hit shots with which they are distressingly familiar.

The former are a long way from outnumbering the latter and I've had some dire scores lately. But I remain convinced I am on the right track and I promised the pro a grateful write-up about his methods when I break 100.

The other week I received an email from a sports psychologist who had read about my travails and offered to help get my mind in better order for the task. I think he was prepared to take me on for the benefit of mankind generally because he requires no fee other than a mention in this column if his assistance was helpful.

I accepted his offer partly out of desperation, partly out of curiosity. Psychologists have been playing an increasingly important role in the careers of many top professionals, aiding concentration and composure.

This mental approach has yet to spread widely through the game to golfers at club level, although there are a few clubs where psychologists are available to members.

I had my first session last week and saw video evidence of how some stars use mental disciplines. I haven't enough space to go into what advice I received in a two-hour session but the first steps are to develop a regular pre-shot routine that will help me to become more positive and achieve more consistency.

But it was acknowledged that this column may be part of the problem because, by its very nature, it concentrates on the negative aspects of my game. Given the way I play, it is difficult for it to do anything else.

He has urged me to write a second column – not for publication – in which I talk about the positives to be taken out of my last round. Talk about giving me a hard job to start with.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 5 June 2011, with grateful thanks)

My Dirty Dozen Seems OK As 13 Proves Unlucky For Someone

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Tue, 31 May 2011 00:00:00 GMT

When you have the wretched experience of scoring 12 on one hole, there's only one thing likely to cheer you up – finding someone who blundered into an even higher score.

This happened to me last weekend in our first big championship of the year, the Barbarian Cup. Following my disgrace of a dozen on the par-five third hole, I was trudging disconsolately through the trees bordering the sixth when I encountered Andy who was proceeding mournfully in the opposite direction. He greeted me with strong words to the effect that he was having an awful round.

"Don't talk to me about awful rounds," I moaned. "I had a 12 on the third." "That's nothing," he scoffed. "I had a 13 on the first."This exchange of confessions had a strangely soothing effect on both of us. It was as if we found solace in each other's calamity and I listened without laughing to how he got stuck in two bunkers and how, in getting the ball out of one, it struck him, thereby incurring a penalty shot.

He returned the compliment by listening patiently while I told the painful story of hitting four trees before I, too, had great difficulty in getting out of a bunker.

There's nothing like someone else's tale of woe to cheer you up and when we parted I was cheered by the fact his handicap is 19 compared to my 28 and that his 13 came on a par-four while my disaster was on a par-five.

Not that these microscopic comforts lasted long. He rallied to finish with 103 while I staggered to 116, my worst score of a year in which I pledged to break 100. And so I will, once I get a grip of this more relaxed swing I am trying to develop.

Getting a grip is the wrong phrase because it is when tension tightens your grip during your swing that it all goes awry. And when my game starts going wrong it tends to stay wrong.

I am taking professional advice about this and will inform you of my progress if I make any.

Meanwhile, my pathetic performance was of no help to one of my playing partners who was the defending champion. I marked Max's card when he won this prestige tournament last year and once again my pencil was recording his score which was very impressive.

He'd only dropped five shots after 10 holes and was looking very steady. How he could stay calm and focused on his game while I was thrashing around wildly, was amazing. It must have been like trying to play chess during an air raid. Sadly, his golf began to get slightly frayed which cost him a few shots and he finished with a net 68 which was an excellent round but three strokes short of the top score. I took full responsibility.

The wind that day didn't help anyone's game and it was even worse the following day when we were invaded by rugby players.

Our Club's connection with the Barbarians RFC goes back 110 years when the Baa-Baas began their annual Easter tour of South Wales.

They took a rest on Easter Sunday which they spent at The Glamorganshire playing golf and having a riotous sing-song. It is no exaggeration to say most of the greatest rugby players in the world during the 20th Century would have had a good drink in our bar, which remains unchanged.

Alas, the Easter tour is no more but Club members play for the Barbarian Cup they gave us in 1924 and on the following day they play for the Barbarian Trophy. Last Sunday, 25 teams of four turned up to keep the tradition going.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 29 May 2011, with grateful thanks)

Playing Off The Wrong-Colour Tees Gives Me The Blues

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Sun, 22 May 2011 00:00:00 GMT

It was by far the best drive I've hit off the first tee in a competition this year; high, straight and long. When my two playing partners stepped up, neither could match it and I was feeling buoyed up for a good round.

Then, one of the trio who were playing behind us reached the tee and shouted: "Why have you played off the yellow tees when you should be off the blues?"

My heart sank. Stupidly, I had teed up my ball between the yellow markers instead of the blue competition tee 15 yards back and my partners had followed suit.

They weren't very happy because it meant there was a two-stroke penalty and we had to re-take the drives from the blues.

To say I was furious with myself is putting it mildly and my ill temper produced a half-cocked pull that trundled through the trees that separate the first and the eighteenth fairways.

My attempt to loft a nine-wood over the trees almost succeeded but caught a top branch and dropped back. I then tried to punch a low shot through but it skewed off a tree trunk and rebounded to the middle of the 18th green.

Those heartless souls around the clubhouse who had witnessed all this were doubled up with poorly-suppressed laughter as I dropped the ball off the green and made another forlorn attempt to clear the trees.

To cut a long story short, by the time I reached my original drive I'd taken eight and was still 150 yards from the green.

My recent slight improvement having been built on a relaxed approach to the game, I was in no fit state to acquire the state of mind that the late, great Seve Ballesteros described as "tranquilo".

However, after reaching the ninth with the grand total of 11 points I did manage to introduce a calm composure into my swing that produced an amazing 18 points in six holes.

I then hit an almighty slice on the 16th and my tranquilo went with it. Despite not scoring on the last three holes I still finished with 29 points but how much better would it have been without that mistake on the first?

The tranquilo also went missing a few days earlier when I was called in as a late replacement in a friendly match which has been played annually for 40 years between members of Royal Wimbledon and The Glamorganshire.

It took place over three days; the first round at Cardiff Golf Club, the second at Royal Porthcawl and the third at The Glamorganshire.

I was called upon to replace one of the visitors who couldn't get down for the first game. The problem was it was the Glamorganshire lot who chose me. If the Wimbledon team suspected that they'd been landed with a stumer by their rivals, they were far too polite to show it.

But when I drove into the woods twice off the first tee it would have been very difficult to think otherwise. I had the pleasure of partnering Steve Hamer, who was chairman of Swansea City in the early Nineties, who fought manfully to keep our opponents Dave and Malcolm at bay.

I did buck up and managed to come in on a few holes but they finished us off at the 17th. But it was an enjoyable game followed by a highly convivial curry night.

I didn't see them again until after the third and final round when I discovered that Royal Wimbledon had lost the series by just one game. I was grateful that none of them mentioned the pivotal role I'd played in their downfall.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 22 May 2011, with grateful thanks)

By Hook Or By Shank I'll Sort Myself Out. I Don't Need Special Dimples In My Balls

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Thu, 19 May 2011 00:00:00 GMT

A new golf ball which can get rid of the slices and hooks that make life a misery for hackers has been developed in the United States.

It has a pattern of irregular dimples that reduces side-spin, which is the underlying cause of a ball swerving right or left. They claim that it reduces slices or hooks by up to 75 per cent.

The ball has been promptly banned by the US golfing authorities. However, the makers say that the ball was not meant for elite golfers but for the more wayward.

There isn't a group of people in sport who need help more than hackers but I am not sure that even the most desperate among us would really welcome such an easy cure for our problems.

We need saving from ourselves – but we need to do it ourselves. A ball guaranteed to go straighter, where's the challenge in that?

What's next? A way to stop us having air-shots, or doing away with duffed chips, or perhaps an anti-shank device...

It reminds me of the story of a hacker who died and then found himself on the first tee of a beautiful golf course.

There was a shiny bag with his name on it, full of the latest clubs. He took out the driver, hit the ball 300 yards down the middle and proceeded to play in an immaculate manner that he had always dreamed of. He shot a 63 and rushed into the bar, which was full of glum men.

"Drinks all round," he shouted. "I've just scored 63."

"Save your money," said the barman. "Everyone scores 63, without fail, every time they play. We don't bother to go out any more. This isn't heaven, friend, this is hell."

And while on the subject, I had a hellish time in Cardigan last weekend. It wasn't Cardigan's fault. Eirian has been organising a weekend there for 30 of us for the past 10 years. We play at Cardigan twice and once at Newport (Pembs), and always have a good time.

This year was no different and we even managed to dodge the worst of the showers. But Sunday we were hit by a fierce easterly wind.

I'm not sure if even the new miracle ball would have stayed straight; it was strong enough to blow a bullet off course.

We were playing in teams of four, with the best three Stableford scores on each hole to count. It was not an auspicious start.

Peter, who plays off 17, hit a monstrous shank on the first and continued to be plagued by the problem. Rob, a 15-handicapper, struggled to find his usual consistency and Alan, playing off 20, couldn't get his game together for the first few holes.

But I was going quite nicely and after three holes I'd scored five points, which was as many as the other three put together.

Then the wheels came off. I didn't score for the next six holes. When I did manage to hit it straight-ish, the wind took it to faraway places. I was in miserable company because as a team we did poorly.

Alan was our top scorer with 22 points, Peter and Rob had 20 each and I had a terrible 14. But there was one bright spot. I always have a fiver bet with John, another old hacker, on who scores the most. I was ready to fork out until I saw his face. He'd scored 13.

You'd think players like us would do anything to rid ourselves of these humiliations. But if I'm going to defeat my demons I want to do so unaided by any scientific wizardry, thank you very much.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 15 May 2011, with grateful thanks)

I Finally Sober Up But Dr Em Is An Albatross Around My Neck

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Sun, 8 May 2011 00:00:00 GMT

It was in the Jigger, a cosy little pub just over the wall adjoining the 17th at the Old Course, St Andrews, that the challenge was laid at the back end of March.

My delusions of grandeur having been swollen by a few pints, I readily agreed to a fourball better-ball battle back at our home club, The Glamorganshire.

I don't usually volunteer for suicide missions but my courage had been bolstered by the best round I've ever played on the Old. This is not saying much because the most hallowed of all courses usually devours me whole.

But on this, our 12th annual pilgrimage to St Andrews, I registered a staggering 21 points on the outward nine. The back nine restricted me to 12 points but a total of 33 was still, by my standards, a heartening score.

Chris, the playing partner who marked my card. was so impressed that he suggested that we play together in the next fourball at our club. Since Chris plays off three, this was not an invitation I was likely to turn down. Good players usually run a mile from the prospect of playing with me. It wasn't long, however, before his confidence in me attracted a couple of predators. Emyr, a GP who is fighting back after being laid low by MRSA, and Mike, who plays with me most weeks and is well accustomed to my false dawns, challenged us to a game for a fiver a man.

Last Monday, the game took place, and I approached it in a mood slightly different to that in which I'd accepted the challenge five weeks earlier. For a start, I was sober and, secondly, the intervening weeks had not treated me kindly in the form department, and the euphoria I had experienced at St Andrews has been slowly eroding.

I believe, and those who play with me agree, that I am hitting the ball better than ever but, sadly, the frequency of the sweet strikes has yet to outnumber the sour ones.

I am working on a more relaxed swing and I am finding it difficult to repel the sudden surges of tension that inflict me but I am getting there. Unfortunately, I hadn't got there by last Monday and Chris had to soldier on with only flurries of assistance from me and we lost the money by three shots.

The handicap rules regarding fourballs don't help.

Whereas we get full allowance in other competitions, we get only three-quarters in fourballs. This seems fine for match-play but in stroke play it is ridiculous.

It meant that Chris lost one shot, I lost seven off 28, Mike was docked five off 23 and Dr Em lost four shots off 15.

But the big difference was Em, who was hitting the ball so well he had a net birdie on the first and a net albatross on the third.

With Mike keeping his end up as well, Chris had a major job on his hands. On the three holes at which I had two shots, I scored precisely nothing, the nadir coming at the 15th when my drive shot right and disappeared into a leylandii tree.

My provisional screamed to the left and into another leylandii. Neither ball re-emerged and they are still lodged in the depths of these appalling trees.

I'm with 30 of the lads in Cardigan this weekend, playing three games in three days and hoping to cope better with my tension demons.

Help may be on the way. A sports psychologist has been reading about my woes and he reckons that he can cure the mental block that bedevils my game. He obviously relishes a challenge.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 8 May 2011, with grateful thanks)

Shoe Socks Are OK But 'Massive Intellects' Put Their Foot In It Again

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Sun, 1 May 2011 00:00:00 GMT

Adapting to life under the new Equality Act has not been easy for most golf clubs, particularly those who've been male-dominated for 100 years or more.

The culture shock for the lads has been bad enough but when the many implications kick in, it becomes very complicated. It's a little like health and safety. The guidelines seem simple but then come the wacky interpretations fed by fear of the law, and before you know it they are banning conkers and dodgems.

So it is that socks are the centre of a heated debate at our Club. The recent outbreak of sunny weather has brought an early appearance of players wearing shorts.

This is permissible under our dress code as long as you wear socks which cover the ankle and are predominately white. What were banned were "shoe socks", i.e. socks that just cover the foot and are barely visible above the rim of the shoe. When someone appeared with shoe socks at last month's medal they were politely admonished by the captain, who was told that, under the Equality Act, if the women were allowed to wear them so should the men.

Women have a separate dress code and, female golfing footwear being a far more dainty affair, they were happy with shoe socks. The subject was brought up on committee and, after much argument, a slim majority approved shoe socks for men.

Apparently, the feeling was that if we didn't allow the same sock arrangement for the men as for the women, we could be sued for a large amount of money for breaching the act and for causing hurt feelings.

As an unashamed traditionalist, I view these developments with alarm. When I was captain of the club 20 years ago we banned shorts for male golfers mainly because of the sights we were seeing on the course. Some shorts were so brief the wearers needed a bikini wax, while others wore shorts so long they looked like Don Estelle in It Ain't Half Hot Mum.

The ban was rescinded a year or so later, but for anyone not enthralled by the sight of male legs in various stages of exposure, the standard of dress on the course is lapsing steadily. But it doesn't end there. There are other areas of discrepancy in the dress codes for men and women, such as sleeveless blouses. And women can wear their tops outside their trousers but men can't.

Then there's facial jewellery. A long-standing rule against earrings and studs was invoked last year when a man appeared with a stud through his eyebrow. If he reappeared next week wearing a pair of chandelier earrings, would we risk a legal suit if he was requested to remove them?

This must seem an absurdly trivial subject to non-golfers, but golf's unrivalled strength as a game is founded on strict and very often self-administered rules that seem petty but you tamper with them at your peril. I doubt if the massive intellects responsible for the act realised the implications of their diktat, or that the first victims would be thousands of women who find themselves faced with higher subscriptions. Some have had to give up club memberships. They were content to play once or twice a week for a reduced annual fee but now must pay a full fee which can be hundreds of pounds.

The status of the club captain, established over hundreds of years, is also affected, but this is a subject I'll return to. Not for the first time, governmental incompetence has made a mess for others to sort out.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 1 May 2011, with grateful thanks)

Forget McIlroy's Woes, Roger's 147 Leaves Him Snookered

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Mon, 18 Apr 2011 00:00:00 GMT

Rory McIlroy's sad collapse at The Masters last Sunday brought forward the usual guff including the statement that on holes 10, 11 and 12, where he dropped six shots, he played "like a hacker".

Hackers the world over will take grave exception to that slur; not on their behalf but on poor Rory's. Such is the gulf between the level of his game and ours that had we suffered similar misfortunes, the loss in shots would have been at least doubled if not trebled.

Indeed, if a hacker had scored a seven on the 10th he would most probably have done a lap of honour. Rated by locals as the hardest hole on the Augusta course, the 10th is a 495-yard par four which bends left downhill over a large, scalloped fairway bunker to a green protected by steep slopes and a bunker.

•The Last Word: Reaction to 'minor setback' shows Rory is a major player

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From the tee, Rory produced a pull hook that struck a tree and rebounded 80 yards sharp left to end up between two cabins. No one can remember a Masters competitor ever landing in such a spot. Perhaps at that moment he resembled a hacker – standing over his ball in an obscure part of the course and looking at a view decent golfers never see.

What followed has been so thoroughly dissected it doesn't need repeating. The fascination of golf is that great players can sometimes play poorly. Poor players, on the other hand, can never play great. We don't expect to. All we yearn for is to tonk it around in a respectable fashion and endure the minimum of frustrations. Although we would tend to be more sympathetic than most, there is a certain amount of satisfaction when we see a pro struggle over a few holes. At least it proves what a tough game it is.

A spectacular disaster befell Kevin Na at the Texas Open on Thursday. He took 16 shots on the 474-yard long ninth hole which was the highest total for a par-four in a PGA Tour event.

Television showed him frantically trying to hack his way out of the woods and the sight and sounds would have been familiar to so many of us.

As it happens, Na returned an 80 for the round, so if he had a par or even a bogey on that hole, he would have been among the leaders. That's the point. Messrs Na and McIlroy know they can play better. We don't, not consistently anyway, and it is difficult to know how we sustain the belief that some day we will.

We were discussing this in the bar last week and Roger reminded us that he holds the club record for the highest score in a medal.

He totted up a staggering 147 shots. Thirty of them came on one hole, the par-five third. His playing partners were aghast and if they admired his courage in carrying on they didn't mention it.

He persevered and his scores these days are around 100 – a vast improvement when you think of it.

As for me, my annual assignment begins this weekend in my first monthly medal of the year. I can't remember the last time I broke 100 but it's at least 10 years ago.

I've been trying, and writing about it in this column, for so long it seems to have become a self-defeating obsession. I have been playing well lately but there is a large mental barrier to overcome. Calamity may have come as a shock for Rory but I'm expecting one with every shot.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 17 April 2011, with grateful thanks)

NB. You can watch the video of Kevin Na’s disastrous hole in Texas by clicking here.

This Is Not The Same Old Story, I Really Did Tame The Old Course

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Sun, 3 Apr 2011 00:00:00 GMT

Not being one to brag – mainly because I've never had much to brag about – I find it difficult to recount my experience on the Old Course at St Andrews last week without a note of triumphalism creeping in.

It is also out of context in a column that for 12 years or so has been devoted to relating the frustrations, tribulations and calamities of being an incurably bad golfer to describe something overwhelmingly pleasant and satisfying.

I scored an amazing 21 points on the front nine of the oldest and most revered golf course in the world. This patch of purple didn't last, of course. I scored only 12 on the back nine but I sill finished with 33 points which is a personal best at the home of golf.

We've been taking advantage of the winter golf package at St Andrews since 1999. This year there were 16 of us, staying at the Rusacks Hotel and playing three rounds, including one on the Old, over three days.

That much golf is not easy on the legs for us older folks and we've had to face a wide, and often wild, variety of weather conditions but we've never failed to have a great time. This was one of the best – the weather was kind for the time of year; a bit chilly at first but plenty of sun, little wind and no rain.

Our third and final round was on the Old on Monday and, after two rousing nights, some of us were a little fragile when we stood on the first tee. There's hardly a more trouble-free vista in golf but, somehow, the aura of the place makes it a very nervy drive.

Chris, who plays off three and was making his debut, hit one straight down the middle. I did likewise and Potty, who plays off 14, sent his slightly down the right.

Martin, a four-handicapper and whose dental surgery I frequent, pulled a head-high drive to the left and we all shouted "fore" as it headed for a three-ball coming up the 18th. They saw it but it pitched low, swerved left and caught the middle man a nasty blow on the shin. Ashen-faced, Martin hurried over to give his apologies and I followed at a safe distance.

As we passed one of his partners he said: "I'd better warn you that he's one of the top litigation lawyers in Scotland." He wasn't, of course. He happened to be an old friend of mine, Malcolm Campbell, the well-known golf writer who lives close by.

As Malcolm put Martin at his ease, I explained: "He's a dentist, they're always hurting people." He must have been winning because, far from showing him any sympathy, his other companion said: "A pity you didn't hit him when he was playing the first."

Martin promptly hit his next shot into the Swilken Burn and I walked forward to find to my delight that I had outdriven the others. I carefully placed the ball on to the Astroturf mat you have to use on the fairways in winter and sent a nine-iron soaring towards the green.

It looked a peach but then dropped into the burn. They all gave me a bollocking for not taking an eight but after that I hardly put a shot wrong. The boys couldn't believe how well I was playing. I certainly couldn't. It was like floating on a magic carpet and my 21 points going out was three better than Chris who was havinga good day himself.

As I feared, the bubble burst on my two least favourite holes – the 13th and 14th – which I blobbed, but when we arrived at the 17th Chris informed me that if I did the last two in eight shots I'd finish with 99. Alas, the Road Hole found me out. I went through the green and over the road and took an eight.

At least my 33 took me into joint sixth with Simon, our Club champion, and only three points behind David, the winner over three rounds. That is a distinct improvement on my previous 11 visits when my usual prize has been a chocolate golf ball for finishing last.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 3 April 2011, with grateful thanks)

How Can I Relax If Everyone Else Gets A Higher Handicap?

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Sun, 20 Mar 2011 00:00:00 GMT

It's not often that I question the handicaps of other golfers but I did suffer a mild tantrum in January when my regular playing companion John had his raised from 20 to 21.

Perhaps it was the way I found out. As a 28-handicapper I used to get eight shots from him in our weekly game at Royal Porthcawl.

We were playing the third, which is stroke index eight, and I sank what I thought was a winning putt when he interrupted my celebrations – nothing more than a discreet mental fist-pumping, I assure you – by saying: "I'm afraid that's a half. You don't get a shot there any more."

It turns out that in the annual handicap review held at The Glamorganshire, where we both get our handicaps from, he had been given an extra shot.

The match captain who decides such matters is a regular at our Thursday night beer fest/forum at The Glamorganshire and I harangued him on the subject at the next opportunity. He was a little non-plussed.

Obviously, with hundreds of handicaps to review at the end of the year, it is not easy to bring every one to mind but usually the handicaps of the consistent under-performers are the ones that get raised.

Since John hadn't played in many medals and is by no means an under-performer, I couldn't understand the generosity, especially as he beat me eight and six in that game.

The match captain kindly suggested that one shot wouldn't account for me getting stuffed by that margin. That's not the point, I said. I need all the help I can get.

A 28-handicapper faces more problems than just being an object of derision. It is as high as you can go and you are stuck there while many other players are gradually creeping upwards, thereby reducing the number of shots you get from them.

Men in my age group who used to be off single figures are now edging up into the high teens. I'm not criticising the handicapping system, which works very well, but if it wasn't for the inspired decision to give the full difference in competitions, high handicappers would have an even harder task.

Now that ladies in golf clubs have equality – and it is lovely to see them enjoying it – I did hope that we could have equal handicaps, too. They can go up to 36, but I get mocked whenever I suggest it.

There is a more obvious way out of the dilemma, of course, and that is to improve. I am embarked on that very mission.

John, the match captain and myself haven't fallen out over all this. Indeed, they had a chat and John suggested that he reverted to his former handicap of 20. I feel a bit guilty now but he still beat me three and two last Wednesday.

He is, however, playing very well and, dare I say it, I'm giving him a much closer game. The previous week, in a howling gale, I halved the match with him and, but for a rush of blood this time when I looked like winning the 16th, I might have prevented the loss of another three quid.

I am taking advice on a new, more relaxed swing and it seems to be working. My game is still erratic but I am hitting a higher percentage of straight and true shots.

Relaxation in the presence of a golf ball doesn't come easy to a hardened hacker like myself. The late doyen of golf writers, Peter Dobereiner, once described my swing as like "a policeman trying to break down a door".

Although I do my best to relax, the temptation to take a mighty heave with the club seems always to be simmering under the surface.

Once tension creeps into the act, your grip tightens and all manner of errors creep in. Putting soft hands on the club and letting it all hang loose is the answer. But it is difficult to introduce such calm thoughts into a frame conditioned to hit hell out of the ball.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 20 March 2011, with grateful thanks)

Our Dawdling Leads To Blame Game But What's The Rush?

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Tue, 15 Mar 2011 00:00:00 GMT

Getting stuck behind dawdling golfers is one of the game's major frustrations and can often lead to heated arguments. We were involved in one at Royal Porthcawl last week – and my playing partner, John, and I were the ones accused of doing the dawdling.

Although totally innocent of the charge, I did find that there was a certain familiarity about the scene. At my home club, The Glamorganshire, the regular three-ball that I play medals in are often chided for slow play.

We have to admit we are not the quickest – and we do call others through when necessary – but it is too much to expect every three-ball to move at the same pace.

Our combined age is 219 years, our handicaps total 68 and, on average, we take almost 300 shots between us during a medal round.

The pace of three low handicappers under 40 would obviously be quicker and the ability to take a third fewer shots than us is a great help. There is also the matter of certain directional failings which means we spend more time looking for balls than them.

There are other groups who count their enjoyment of a round not only by the number of shots they take but by the number of minutes they take to complete the 18 holes. However, golf is not a game to be rushed.

Ask the professionals. Some of them defy every attempt to persuade them to get a move on.

In gale-force winds at Porthcawl last Wednesday, we weren't playing a competition and we certainly didn't expect a quick round. When we got to the first tee, there was a ladies two-ball halfway down the fairway and another two-ball waiting to tee off.

We waited for at least 10 minutes before we could drive off and then we waited to play our shots on to the green. All this was quite normal for starting a round on a crowded course.

On the third hole, one of the ladies two-balls had called the other two through and they had both disappeared over the ridge that crosses the fairway when we drove into the head-on wind.

I narrowly missed a deep cross-bunker but John's drive was held up by the wind and dropped into the sand. He took three to get out, finally having to play out sideways.

Neither of us noticed the presence on the tee of two blokes who had caught up with us. When we reached the par-three, there was another wait for the ladies to clear the green.

We didn't take long to finish that hole because I got a par and John picked up. We then had another wait on the fifth until the ladies got out of range.

And when we reached the sixth tee we had another wait, longer this time, before we could tee off. John went first and as I teed up, the two behind had caught up and I heard John say to them that he was sorry it was slow.

One of them then started complaining bitterly about being held up. I pointed at the distant ladies. "Don't blame them, it's your fault," he said.

"You took three to get out of a bunker. And then you raked it. You should have called us through then," he moaned.

We said we didn't even see them and even if we'd called them through, there would have been four groups on the same hole. We'd been waiting on nearly every shot since we began the round and they must have seen us.

He still chuntered on and, finally, in a rare exhibition of gentlemanliness, I stood back and invited them to play through. "No, our round is ruined, we're going to the 10th."

Ruined? You've only played five holes. But off they went in the highest of dudgeons.

We were flabbergasted and not a little ruffled. John's game was so affected that I managed to halve the match with him.

Maybe we shouldn't have become so indignant. For all we knew, the bloke might have owned the place. Maybe, he just thought he did.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “ Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, 13 March 2011, with grateful thanks)

Arrested Development After Police Inspector Lays Down Law

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Sun, 6 Mar 2011 00:00:00 GMT

Among the tell-tale signs of approaching spring last week were daffodils, crocuses, primroses and an old fool proving once more how treacherous it is to emerge from a long winter feeling as if the green shoots of improvement are creeping up your trouser leg.

The only thing that crept up my trouser leg on Wednesday was a wicked east wind that blew away all thoughts of springtime.

It also blew away the silly illusion that has been gradually building up over the past few months that my swing was getting more reliable.

You would have thought that my cruel betrayal by countless false dawns would have cautioned me but there I was in this column two weeks ago confessing to a slight stirring of optimism.

It wasn't totally baseless. I've been playing as regularly as possible during these interminable winter months and when your ball has either been bouncing madly off ice-bound fairways or getting bogged down in the mud, it is difficult to measure your game.

But my playing partners have remarked that I am hitting the ball more cleanly and straighter. It is an observation made not so much through studying my swing as counting the times that they have to trudge through the rough looking for my ball.

The clincher came a couple of weeks ago when I played with the Wednesday swindle, the Chips, and registered a 98, which is level par off my handicap of 28.

Granted we were playing off forward tees but the course was playing very long and it was, at the very least, an encouragement that my ambition of breaking 100 in a medal was in sight.

I played with the Chips again last Wednesday and it is now more like a mirage. I had a shocker and managed to scrape together a demoralising 18 points.

I didn't do my partner much good, either. The Chips is an individual Stableford competition but there is a draw for playing pairings. There were 17 of us and we each put a ball in a hat.

I was drawn with three others. We then threw the balls up and the ones that landed nearest together were the pairs. I was drawn with Paul against two Brians, one of whom is Club president and both of whom are very steady golfers.

The Chips have their own handicapping system and for some reason they make me play off 24. But with Paul off six, I felt quietly confident. Despite the fact he has been a member for 15 years we hadn't met before and I don't think he knew what he was in for. I hit the ball all over the place and I would have been apologetic even if he wasn't a police inspector.

But he couldn't have been more supportive. He hits the ball a mile and some of his approach shots were excellent but an astonishing number of his putts shaved the hole and kept his score down.

Only once did he exhort me to pull my finger out, only not as crudely. We were three down with five to play and we came to a par five where, miraculously, I was on the edge of the green for three with a shot. Paul, who'd been in the trees, said: "I'm relying on you."

He then put a wedge within two feet. "What's the matter, don't you trust me?" I asked. He laughed and I promptly three-putted but I was first down and won the hole – the only time I came in all day.

We got them back to one down but our opponents played very well to keep their noses in front and we lost on the 17th. At a pound a head it wasn't a massive loss but the performance was a bitter disappointment.

Was this just a temporary setback, a warning not to get too far ahead of myself, or another indication of the severity of my task? As we say in Wales, it's back to the draining board.

By Peter Corrigan

Peter Corrigan (a. k. a. “The Hacker"), Chief Snake (1982 – 1987)

(Republished from the “Independent on Sunday”, Sunday, Sunday, 6 March 2011, with grateful thanks)

You Bet Tiger And I Can Both Make A Mess Of The 19th Hole

manager@glamorganshiregolfclub.co.uk (Editor) — Sun, 27 Feb 2011 00:00:00 GMT

Encouraged by someone whose name I won't reveal, I placed a few quid on Tiger Woods to win the Accenture World Match Play at Tucson, Arizona, which reaches its climax today.

Tiger, as you may know, was knocked out in the very first round which didn't please me and especially not the three other people I urged to make a similar investment.

The theory was that after all his woes he would bounce back to form at this tournament but despite playing well to birdie the 18th and halve the match, he made a complete mess of the 19th and lost to Thomas Bjorn.

It was disappointing but I can't find it in my heart to think too badly of him because I had a similar experience on the 19th hole of a match last week.

Not for one fleeting moment would I dare to compare a tournament that embraces the top 64 players in the world and carries a first prize of £1 million with our winter league.

But one of the fascinations of golf is that the game doesn't differentiate between the highest and lowest of its practitioners when it comes to making you look a dolt.

It was my first appearance in our winter league this year. I can't play every Sunday but am willing to act as a substitute when anyone asks, which isn't very often.

The format for our league is foursomes and when one partner is missing the other tends to take care in selecting a replacement. Disaster-prone 28 handicappers are not usually the most sought after.

But Maurice Flynn is even more disaster-prone than me, largely on account of his club record number of air-shots. So when he went off on a Caribbean cruise last weekend his partner, Richard, plumped for a like-for-like replacement and asked me to play.

In the pre-Christmas session, Maurice and his partner Lenny "The Claw" Ingram won the wooden spoon by a distance. You have to change partners in the post-Christmas session and they wisely enlisted better golfers to play with.

Maurice was taken pity on by Richard Salt, who plays off 12 as steadily as you would expect a tax inspector to do, while Lenny commandeered his son, Peter, to help him clinch a higher place inthe league.

It so happened that Maurice and Lenny would have been on opposite sides last Sunday and the allegation is that Maurice jumped on the first available ship heading west in order to avoid losing to him.

His son being away, Lenny also had to seek the services of a sub and he was more astute in his choice of Dave Kent who plays off a generous 16 handicap.

Lenny, whose sympathetic nickname of "The Claw" is because he has rheumatoid arthritis in his hands, plays a tidy game off 27 and since they were getting two shots, he and Dave proved difficult opponents. We play a shotgun start and we began at the sixth where they had their first shot which won them the hole.

Although heavily reliant on Richard, I didn't play all that badly and it was a very close game until they broke loose and went two up with two to play.

We hit the next two greens in regulation to win both holes and tie the match. They had a shot on the first extra hole but I felt we had the momentum. Tiger probably thought the same when he stood on the 19th tee. At least he hit his, albeit in the wrong direction. Mine went straight but didn't leave the ground, bobbling along for barely 100 yards. It was by far my worse drive of the day.

Richard hit a fair recovery shot but my next shot was even worse than my drive. As Tiger will tell you, pressure can do terrible things to a man. They didn't have to play very well to win the hole and the match. Maurice won't be happy but he's still on his cruise and Richard might fare better with another sub. I wonder why he didn't ask me.