It doesn’t matter a jot what I think. The scorecard does not lie. Adam and I lost to Steve and Steve in the 2011 Lindfield Foursomes Final on Friday.
Bruised, bruised, bruised…
It doesn’t matter a jot that Adam (8 handicap) and I (11) went round in 6 over. Somehow that was not good enough.
But I still feel like we have been mugged by the matchplay format. And Adam has gone and lost two finals this year, which is bordering on the cruel.
Steve 1 and Steve 2, basically, pull off the perfect matchplay game. They go round in 15 over, off handicaps of 16 and 17. Which may not seem remarkable. But it’s the way that they do it that matters.
After seven holes they are a phenomenal 2 over par and leading – effectively, they are combining to play like single handiappers. Adam and I play the first seven holes, meanwhile, in 1 over and we’re hanging on for dear life.
Steve 1 and Steve 2 then play the next three holes like complete beginners. They pick up their ball twice before holing out but probably play them in 10 over.
They then return to their admirable impersonation of single handicappers to score 3 over for the last 8 holes. The match goes to the 19th where they par the difficult first for victory, not even needing the extra shot they are allowed on this hole.
In terms of matchplay, this is the ideal way for higher handicappers to construct a winning round. You could not script it better.
Steve 2 makes a smiling admission in the bar afterwards that “I like playing off 17”. He used to play off 9, he confides. But that was 10 years ago. Hats off to him and his namesake. They’re true gents, and played wonderful golf.
And Adam and I played really well too. Ultimately, it all comes down to small margins.
On the 18th and leading by one hole, I had a 160-yard approach. Having lost my 6-iron weeks ago, I opted for a knock-down 5. I thought I had caught it perfectly, but I flirted with the hazard in front of the green. The ball caught the back edge, jumped up and fell back in. Another yard and it would have been on the putting surface, all but guaranteeing a half on the final hole, and the match.
That missing yard cost us the match.
It was a wonderful afternoon, played in the best of spirit. Loved every minute of it. My bad swing only re-surfaced once.
I’m really chuffed with my Knightsbridge long game. My short one? That’s next on the agenda – I’ll be pestering Dave and Steve shortly on that score. But, having slept on it, the overwhelming feeling remains.
I can’t quite work out how we lost, whatever the scorecard says. We played great, I suppose, and Steve 1 and 2 played greater. Winning competitions is hard work. Bruised, bruised, bruised….