My golf has been going down hill for a while but it finally seemed to bottom out the other day in the company of a man who knows a thing about ‘downhill’.
Leonhard Stock was gold medallist in this particular ski discipline at the 1980 Winter Olympics at Lake Placid and was one of a handful of Austrian sports stars, supporting the national tourist board and his long time pal at Sandy Lodge Golf Club, north of London, at the Franz Klammer wooden spoon event.
With Stock as one of my playing partners, in a tournament aimed at promoting Austria’s superb golf destinations, I set off over the heathland course with high hopes of turning the corner in my golf aspirations
And prospects looked bright when I cracked my tee shot into the middle of the opening par-5 fairway, to attract a congratulatory high five from my famous companion.
However, in trying to choke down the club to lay up short of a necklace of bunkers, that surround the green, my ball kicked wickedly into a sandy grave, from which the course takes its name. It took two shots to escape and combined with three putts earned me ‘nil point.’
A wayward drive and bunkered approach led to a similar non-reward at the next. Encouraging noises from Leonhard but I was, sadly, on a roll and the course continued to kick me when I was so obviously already down and heading for one of those orange escape nets that flank the Austrian ski slopes.
Franz Klammer
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Okay, I hit quite a few bad shots but even some of the good ones decided to torment me, some chasing through the back of greens into dodgy lies, others taking deflections into more trouble.
As for my putter, it wasn’t so much of the ‘cold’ variety that pros speak off…it had icicles hanging from its sole! Nothing would drop and I left seven or eight tap-ins on the lips after approach putts didn’t like the look of the bottom of the cup. It was never going to be my day.
The 16th hole summed up my despair. My drive flattered to deceive, kicking to the right into a pot bunker and against its ugly face. It took three swipes to get it out. My approach, in desperate search of an up-and-down for a point looked to be ‘all over the flag’, pitched short and scooted into yet another trap.
My playing partners were not so much sympathetic, by now they were apoplectic with laughter at my fate. The so-called golfing gods had conspired to destroy my faint hopes of salvation.
Beard’s loser’s speech
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I ended the day with 18 Stableford points and with the dubious honour of recording the ‘highest lowest score’ by any previous wooden spoon winner in the eight-year history of the competition.
A few years ago, I could well have boiled over with frustration, but as a 50-something, I’m more mature than that. And I’d had such a great afternoon in such good company that I felt pretty calm about it all as I received my ribbon-wrapped wooden trophy from Herr Klammer and the congratulations of other competitiors, many of whom had ‘won’ nothing!
I also received a Golf Alpin card entitling me to five free rounds of golf, next time I’m visiting Austria. With my luck I’ll probably score better between November and May when the fabulous courses are thick with snow.
