I don't often recount much about our weekend fourball matches, as life is far too short for that... But this was an unusually interesting weekend at The Ridge, plus Maggot was off in L.A. and he's the one guy that actually will listen to a blow-by-blow account of our matches...so while we've had Maggot-approved content often, typically involving Kate Hudson (don't ask), you should feel free to consider this Maggot-only content.
Saturday we were short-handed, with a three-ball comprising Bruce Berman, Steve Fox and your humble blogger. Bruce is the best player at our club, a three-time club champion that is not the current holder only because his mother scheduled her birthday party on an unfortunate weekend last year. Though to be fair, Bruce's handicap has ballooned a full 50% this spring...to a three.
Steve is a five or six that is most on form early in the season, no surprise since he worked all winter with a former assistant pro at our club. As I do regularly when we're less than a golf minyan, I invited Kent St. Charles, d/b/a Kunta Kente, to join us. The balls were tossed and Kunta and Bruce were partners, a formidable opposition team for sure...
We started on the back nine, and Steve was fortunately en fuego... fortunate because I was no better than carry-on baggage. We won the back side two-up, but here's what amused me to no end... On No. 12 Bruce pushed his drive OB Right (actually, it got even wackier, as Kent's drive took two bounces in bounds and then somehow hopped the stone wall) and on No. 15 he topped his drive and it didn't reach the fairway... why the amusement? Those are the two holes on the back on which he got a shot, and Bruce NEVER gets shots... as he noted over lunch, he typically feels that he has to birdie those holes to halve, and the weird circumstances obviously had him off his feed.'
Steve did not play nearly as well on the front, but fortunately my game showed up at that point... I had a one-over 35 on the front, with a silly 3-jack to boot. And it might have been better had my partner not decided to inform me that I got a shot on the fifth green.... as I was taking the putter back on a 12-foot birdie effort. Thanks partner...
We closed the bums out on the overall on No. 8, and came to No. 9 all square on the second nine. Our ninth is an uphill Par-5 and Kent of course bombed his drive and put a hybrid on the front fringe in two. The mere mortals in the group played the hole cleanly, and had short wedges to an accessible middle pin. Steve putr his to nine inches, and I followed with a tasty offering that snuck inside his..Bruce's wedge looked great in the air but ended up some 15 feet behind the pin. Kent made his simple up and down and when Bruce's putt caught the lip and fell, we all realized at the same moment that all four players in the group had birdied the hole. I think that's a first...
Sunday was a different cast and fortunately quite a bit warmer... we had five players in our group for Sunday, the worst of all situations. Warren Light was Interim Fuhrer and exercised his authority by selling me to another group for $24 in beads and trinkets... admittedly a group that he knew I'd relish. That group included Bruce, as well as Phil Drogin and Mitch Cohen. Phil is a two-time club champion that hits the ball a bloody mile and Mitch is also a good stick, though he's had some physical issues and is struggling
Now Mitch thought our time was an hour later and didn't get there until the third hole, so just set up a simple match for the remaining fifteen holes (our 7th hole is closed). In this case we did the high-and-low handicap thing, so Phil and I took on Bruce and Mitch. After butchering the first two holes, I found some actual form and won us the third and fourth with pars... we gave them the fifth when neither Phil nor I could convert simple up-and-downs, but that was the only hole where neither of us made a par. We then started halving holes through the eleventh, with some really good golf being played, though thankfully Bruce was struggling a bit with his short putts.
We pick up the match on No. 12, where Phil pulled his drive a titch and got and awful left bounce. Now No. 12 is our toughest Par-5 by far, because a little creek fronts the green. Almost anything that hits short risks kicking back into the water..
After playing my second I saw that Phil's ball was next to a tree between two roots. Now he only needed to advance it twenty or thirty yards to have an iron in, but being of sound mind he flinched on the shot, topping it forward maybe ten yards and leaving it in the rough. Bruce immediately starts goading him that "He's got this" and I see Phil look at his GPS watch so I instinctively check my own, which shows 241 yards to the center.
Phil pulls his three-wood and simply crushes the ball....it's immediately obvious that he has nailed it on the screws and the ball flight is a thing of beauty, with a second-stage booster kicking in when needed... Phil instantly starts walking after it and, with a pronounced smirk on his face, informs that, "I had to take a little off it."
Back in control of the tee, I hit a solid drive on No. 13 and Phil gives me a "Good shot." To which I respond, looking towards Bruce and Mitch, that by "good shot" he means that I'll be no more than forty-five yards behind his. Of course Phil pulverizes one, and despite my saying "Make that fifty" while it's in the air, he ended up with exactly forty-four yard less in. Yanno, I'm far from the longest guy out there, but I'm not a particularly short-hitter either...
We closed them out in embarrassing fashion, when a horrible pulled putt of mine on No. 15 went in after hitting an aeration hole and somehow picking up some needed speed. We also grabbed a $10 press on the last three holes mostly courtesy of my partner, but I nailed it down by putting my wedge into No. 18 to six feet.
It's always fun to attempt to summon your good stuff when out with the stronger players, especially when they're also delightful company. Lots of laughs, lots of trash talk and lots of good golf involved... and some bad golf as well, but amongst friends.
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