It’s 2008, it’s August, it’s a full moon and it’s the annual
Griffith Golf Tourrney. A 10.00 tee-off
was almost too much for the youngsters (Charlie didn’t even make it) as Malton
Golf course reluctantly gave itself up to some of the biggest divot-diggers the
game has ever seen. The front nine saw
Pete the pro keep whippets Tom and Sam under control as Jim and John struck out
from the clubhouse.
From a fashion perspective this event always breaks new
ground. Jamie sported a scarlet elbow
brace to prevent tennis elbow and Sam’s Sunday best gave way only to John’s
Pyjama top pink stripy shirt. Goodness
knows what Pete had on under those baggy chinos…
golf defies all logic and eschews anything that remotely resembles a straight
line between tee and pin. This being the
case, the course becomes more of a nature walk or a ramble between thickets,
ditches and long grass. Entertainment is
always provided by this pageant; the blend of Pete’s masterstrokes, Sam’s leggy
drives, Tom’s pants down, ass-out posture and the sheer gravity-defying
audacity of Jimbo’s long-drop putts.
Golf scoring is a scientific business. Just how many adjustments can you make
without anyone noticing? Is it ever a good idea to let Tom and Sam manage their
own scorecards? Only a huddle over a
cool lager at the end of the day would reveal the true leader board status. By
the time of our arrival lunch orders were suspended but deep ham sandwiches and
fierce mustard compensated as players adopted ancient maths practices to
assemble some kind of total for the many and varied performances. There was
more cooking going on at the table than there was in the kitchens.
Results were vague but a ragged order of merit emerged
nonetheless: tail ender Tom at 121 saved the face of John at 120; record
breaking Sam at 107 put up a generation challenge to Dad, Jim at 109 and Pete,
despite a weekly investment in playing, coaching, the best clubs and a golf
career spanning some 40 years managed a humble 80 on a course par of 72. Come on Tiger.
Trophy time and last year’s winner Pete announced he’d left
the trophy at home despite putting it out with the clubs that morning – so who
would it have gone to? my vote is for Sam "beefy driver" Griffith who
with new clubs could even start to improve.
The Donkey Tail goes to Charlie for missing out a great day in the sun
chasing little white balls round an almost empty slab of Cambridgeshire.