My golf swing is out of A&E, following Sunday’s tribulations. At least, I think it is.
Amazing what a little wind, rain and one of the slowest four-balls ever to play the game can do to you. Well, a lot of rain, actually. And make that the slowest four-ball in history.
Are these excuses for my ghastly performance in the club monthly medal? Well, yes, I admit it, they are. My golf swing, to be honest, imploded from the very first tee. Somehow I forgot all I had been working on during the past few months and went out and played with my old swing.
Which can be okay, in a nasty, left-to-right sort of way. It’s just not how I want to play golf, that’s all. So there I am, grumpy, wet through after six holes and with water sloshing around inside my shoes, and we’re going at a snail’s pace. The only consolation was that, by the 9th hole, I had at last worked out where I was going wrong. By then I could barely hold my eel-like clubs, of course, but better late than never. At least I managed a few real golf shots and a few pars on the way in. Not on the last three holes, though – they had turned into lakes.
My score at the end? Would you mind if I don’t publicise that? It’s not so much the shame – everybody struggled, to be frank, with the winner – the winner! -playing to four over his handicap – but the memory. I’m trying to erase it.
Today, at the range, my swing seemed pretty much back to where I want it to be. Physically, I’ve been released from A&E. Mentally? That may take a while longer.
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