London Competition

Been away from this for a few days while living it in London. A few days ago we began what Luke named the British Invitational. I called it the Luke Dad Invitational, but whatever it was it was a four round event at Moor Park Golf Club with full handicaps in play and the usual bet. If Luke wins, Dad buys dinner. If Dad wins, Dad buys dinner. How can I lose?! The first two rounds, the first on the High Course, the second on the West Course, went as expected. Even playing two tees up and getting 22 strokes, I couldn’t keep up. Besides the usual factors, I chalked it up to burned out fairways that required a surgeons touch to make solid contact and 

extreme concave greens that required a philosophical reimagining of how greens are supposed to break and run. Note: I never solved them. Anyway, due to my age, bad back (epidural six weeks ago), and hilly terrain, we took a buggy (cart in UK) for the first two rounds. Then came the inter club tournament that I was scheduled to caddie for, the point of all this and the impetus for the resurrection of the Accidental Caddie blog. After experiencing the hills in a buggy and checking my birth certificate, I ruled out carrying his bag for 36 holes in one day. But using a buggy would not allow me to be his caddie. I had the option to push a trolley (hand cart in UK) but in the final analysis, we decided Luke would carry his bag and I would walk alongside him (with a back pack of water, etc.) and be the caddie. I later rationalized and it proved to be true, that Luke could easily manage his bag while the additional energy it required might help absorb his built in competitive golf anxiety. When I shared this theory with him later, he didn’t disagree. The morning alternate shot round against the other hot club team was competitive in all four matches. The men of Knebworth Golf Club would not be push overs like most of their other matches. Luke’s club’s team had five Division 1 players on their roster.  The pair that matched up against Luke and James (the Moor Park captain) were capable foes and from the outset showed that they would not go quietly. James, was an affable and charming captain but liked to win and hated to lose even more, so he chose Luke as his partner. When things started slow he tried to motivate Luke in ways we’ll call tough love. Admittedly I shared with James on more than one fairway stroll that Luke is not a morning player and often needs to be “woken up.” Whether that was the cause for his borderline abuse, I’m not sure. One of the competitors walking back to the tee with Luke in the alternate play format asked Luke why his partner was being so tough on him. By the back nine Luke and James were down three based on some early stellar play by the Knebworth team, combined by some lose play by Moor Park: an OB tee shot by Luke on 9 which would be recounted more than once later on, as well as an unfortunate 6 iron chip from jut off the green that rolled over the green, a yard from OB. Eventually Luke did wake up and helped them get to one down with one to play, but a halve on the 18th, gave the Knebworth duo the win. I had done all I could to awaken Luke early but nature had to take its course.

In the afternoon singles rounds, with the team match tied at 2-2, Luke drew their best player who played steady and kept the round even until early on the back nine. After missing a six footer to go two down and watching Luke play loose off the tee but consistently recover, his opponent started to quietly (except for  yelling “fuck cunt” a number of times) unravel until Luke had a four footer to close out the match on 13, five and four. While his opponent doffed his cap ready to accept defeat, Luke missed the clincher and we moved on. When Luke lost the 14th, (three down with four to go) I could see Luke replaying videos in his head of past “not closing the deal” as he teed off on the par five 15th. I started seeing those videos as well, so when his approach shot went wayward and wound up behind a tree about 80 yards from the pin with a leafless branch threatening and deterring Luke from attempting an otherwise simple pitch to the green over a tree, I spoke up. Luke was seeing disaster without a solution, and I was seeing a good chance to end this thing before we faced a two up and two to go mind fuck. Hit the shot Luke. Nine out of 10 it will be okay. Let’s throw the dice. His head spinning or my positive argument was convincing, but he hit the shot, nicking the branch but winding up on the green for a two putt and the win. Luke had come through. The Accidental Caddie had come through. All was right with the world. Moor Park defeated Knebworth 8 and 6. The victory celebration of beers, pizza and bowls of chips, included friendly but fond abuse of their quirky American In London teammate.

After a day off, Luke and I resumed the British Invitational on the West Course. Just the two of us playing and me agreeing to walk and push a trolley, the match went as the others, me not picking up any ground but playing okay. Then on the final round where I would play with Luke and two of his teammates, all scratch golfers, and one of them a plus six, weeks away from turning pro. Amidst protests, they succumbed to Luke’s demand to play the back tees from 7000 yards. I played up at 6,400. For this round I chose to experience a motorized trolley though I think I was expecting a remote controlled one rather than just motorized, but not having to push it up hills was worth the price of admission. Meanwhile, Luke’s match, with a ten pound wager, playing the rising pro straight up and giving four strokes to the other, proved competitive. Halfway through the back nine Luke looked to me for a pep talk to close it out. If memory serves, I said don’t play safe, stay aggressive and trust your swing and your ability. Don’t be a pussy. (Can one still say that?) He won going away. Afterwards, Luke said the rising pro had a bad day but I wondered (to myself and Luke) if his transitioning from am to pro might be premature. And how would someone about to turn pro, feel about losing to a guy with a full time job, who only gets on a golf course one day a week. On the other side, Luke wondered (again) out loud if he had what it takes to compete at the pro level. I told him what I’ve always told him: that he does have the talent, but the psychological make up that is required to do this four rounds a week for 20-30 weeks a year is something that is for a very few and not the faint of heart. I told Luke he’s right where he ought to be, and enjoy it. 

GOING INTERNATIONAL

I’m back. We’re back. But we’re going international now.  I’m at the airport heading to London for my next Accidental Caddie engagement.
So checking into the blog for the first time in a long time (It’s been so long I even had to use Claude to update the DNS, CName, blah blah… last time I posted there was no Claude, no ChatGPT. AI, though increasingly in the news, was still borderline science fiction. No more.) On looking back at my last post, I realized, after providing the teaser about an upcoming competition at The Preserve Golf Club on the Monterey Peninsula, I hadn’t followed through and posted about it. If I thought I had loyal blog followers I would feel guilty about leaving them hanging, but I have no illusions. I do this for me, and Luke, quietly, gets a kick out of it. Anyway, The Preserve. Let me just say that driving to The Preserve along narrow roads so treacherous I imagined a trek to the Tibetan monastery in Lost Horizons. On the first day driving to Luke’s practice round, but my recreational round, I said to Luke that we needed to leave plenty of time before and after tomorrow’s round to get here and back, because this isn’t a road you want to be in a hurry on. Anyway, the course was spectacular, but what’s in the water up here that allows  members to be okay with risking their lives every time they want to tee it up here? Is a good round of golf worth risking your life? Maybe. Long story short, we had a good practice round with Luke’s partner, a rising college freshman who was the grandson of one of Luke’s post-college mentors (in my day I didn’t even know what a mentor was), and the mentor/granddad (of course he was younger than me as Luke always takes pleasure in pointing out). Next day, as I remember, they both faired pretty well as a team but didn’t make the first page of leader board. Still it was another day to remember (or try to remember). Then we had to hustle back to Monterey airport (on the Road of Death) so Luke could fly back to Florida for a last minutely scheduled interview for a new job. But what about Dad? Dad would have to fend for himself soloing in our rental car north to San Francisco, but with a day to spare, I got a tee time with three other randos and teed it up at Half Moon Bay Golf Links, about a half hour south of SF airport. Licking my wounds from being abandoned by my kid, I wound up having a great time with this hodge podge of golfers, all of us with teenage handicaps, but earnest about our game. One guy was an arty sort of fellow from France, another a down home solid good old boy from Nebraska, and the other, I think, from South America. You can’t plan this kind of golf day. It just happens. We eventually bid each other adieu, and see y’all, and adios, before I made my way back to San Fran, turning in our car and flying back east… that was 2022. It’s now 2026. Luke has been charging through the corporate world and is now head of Flights and Fancy (I made that up to protect the innocent) with a major airline, living in downtown London. After spending his first six months there checking out the potential courses within an hour train ride, he joined Moor Park Golf Club, with two eighteens and a clubhouse that dates back to the House of Stuarts (that’s the 17th century for those who aren’t ready to be contestants on Jeopardy). Unsurprisingly, he was drafted by their scratch inter club team (they’re called the Scratch Team… 5 Division 1 players on a team of 8) and when he told his captain he’d miss their important upcoming match because his dad was coming to town, his captain dropped to his knees begging him to play (I’m exaggerating). After pleading his case to me, it’s going to be throw back Sunday with dad on the bag (bog on a trolley) in the 36 hole inter club match. The Accidental Caddie rides… well walks… again.