gibberish

“Fingers twitch over keyboard.

Mind wanders off to the wilderness of Arran.

As the prospect of conflict weighs heavy.

On the soul.

Bring it on.

The Auchrannie Quaich.

To the victor. The spoils.”

Yes. I’m off in search of the trophy. Shame I’m pish at golf.

I will, of course, win best dressed man.

My golf, as regular readers will know, is a mixture of disappointment and disaster mixed up with a smattering of anger, frustration and bad luck.

I am never, ever lucky and when push comes to shove I always lose on the last - like last week in the club doubles.  Add to this the fact that, on account of my putting so badly on Sunday, my putter is now in putter hospital (ICU) I was not feeling overly confident about beating my mate ‘Senor (El Bandirto ) Chris Rough’ in the Club Handicap championship first round

When he announced that, far from his handicap being cut because of his Mexican tendencies, it had just gone UP and consequently I was faced with the challenge of giving him a full six strokes my heart sank.

Disaster loomed.

Sure enough, I quickly surrendered an early lead to go one down but scrambled to the turn all square.

Neither of us were playing the beautiful game.  In fact it was like an East Stirling v Dumarton relegation play off match.  Huff, puff and a lot of fecking swearing.

But gradually Chris succumbed to my pressure (Actually he just drove like Nikki Lauda - on the burny day) and I found myself on the 16th tee two up.  Sure enough, he won the 16th to take it back to one and somehow I managed to grind out a half, despite giving him a stroke, on the 17th.

Dormy one.

All there to lose.

Chris hit his best drive of the night to the par three 18th (20 feet from the pin).  I hit a piece of shit to 40 yards, left, in the rough.  My second was so-so leaving me a 15 foot downhill putt from off the green.  Chris, meanwhile,  was 10 feet away from a three.

That was when life deviated from the script.  The pin removed; Gorman stood over the 15 footer, gently nudged the ball holeward and with the very final roll of the ball it dropped.

Victory.

Poor old Chris.  How will he ever live it down!

This was the scene that greeted us on the first at Dundas Parks Golf Course today as we teed up for the Club championship doubles.

Frankly, it was uninviting.

But we didn’t hesitate. Twice we had to come off the course as the lightning pelted the course left right and centre. But the game must go on.

And, sure, it rained a bit.

A lot actually.

Like Gladiators. myself and Dick Whittock, a nice older guy from Kirkliston (known locally as Cheesetown) built up a two hole advantage, ground out over the first ten holes only to play like a couple of fannies on the 11th to go back to one up.

By the 13th it was all square as Trevor Jones sank putt after putt. And his playing partner, Douglas was rock solid throughout.

And level was how it remained until the 17th when they snuck into the lead. The damage was done. A half on the 18th meant dreams of trophy lifting in the Greensomes will have to wait until 2009.

Bummer.

This is brilliant.  Click on the interview panel on the BBC sports page at this link.

Craig Levien, Dundee Utd’s manager, letting off steam after losing a crucial game to Rangers today. Now, when I say letting off steam I mean totally losing it. I like and respect Craig Levien - even if he is a Jambo - and I know exactly how he must feel

And oh what joy to find this old school photo of him on google…

And this one…

Yes, that’s right. It is yours truly on the left. A vision in black. And not overly gaylordish.

Now, we all know that referees favour Celtic and Rangers, but according to Levien, Mike McCurry’s performance today was nothing short of a scandal. He calls him a cheat - which will get him in big trouble with the numpties that run our game - but he is almost certainly right. I haven’t seen the incidents in question, but judging from this outburst I think he probably has a point.

Listening to discussion about it on Five Live’s 606-phone in a Rangers fan brushed it off by saying…

“They’re getting all excited about this one game. Maybe if they’d tried this hard all season against lesser teams this would be less of an issue.”

A neat body swerve I have to say, but, you know what? Totally true!

And that applies to every other team in this shitty league.

And Hibs are no exception.

They turn up for the old firm and Hearts matches and don’t bother their arses against the likes of Aberdeen, Motherwell, St Mirren…

That’s why I don’t go along any more.

Great golf week for Tom.

First off he was playing at number three in the team match at the weekend against a six handicapper (Tom’s off 21) and they play off scratch in these matches. Nevertheless, he halved the match having missed a putt from a foot to win. Doh!

Then yesterday he won the first medal of the season (he won three last year at Ratho and three at Dundas, plus another two prizes). The good thing was this medal was also the qualifier for the Dunfermline Building Society sponsored SGU Scottish Junior Masters.

He might now be cut to 19. I’m 18. Yikes!

It’s well seeing that last week was a blip then. I played like Stevie Wonder’s less able-sighted brother. Like Heather Mills with her legs off. It was awful. 32 over par for fuck’s sake. AFTER my handicap was deducted

I didn’t play LIKE tiger. I played like A tiger, and you tell me the last time you saw a tiger sink a 12 foot putt and I’ll call you a liar.

This game drives me to fucking distraction

I don’t know anyone who has EVER been last in a medal. I was today and I was AT LEAST FIVE TIMES last season. It’s just an embarresment and, you know what, I actually felt sorry for Jon Rough who had to endure playing with me.

May I introduce you to the Tiger Woods of South Queensferry?

One tournament played in the 2008 season.

One victory.

Yes, I am that good. I may have a late developing career as a professional golfer because today I, dear reader, won the opening day Texas Sramble at Dundas Parks with my team members, Paul, Calum, Trisha and Ewan.

In a nine hole contest we shot six pars and three birdies which, after deducting our handicap of ten, gave us a net score of 22 (13 under par)..

Eat shit Tiger. When did you last shoot 13 under par?

Tom had to sit watching (total loser) as we walked elegantly and dignified to the stage to receive our trophy. A bottle of Scotmid Red Wine and six quid.

Whoo hoo.

Gerritrightupya.

I guess this must be my best photo because it has attracted the greatest number of comments on my Flickr site here and has just been nominated on Scotland in the Gloaming’s blogspot.

My first ever nomination!

It must be a blog written by very wise and artistically talented people.

No really, it has to be.  Look here.

Here’s a fact.

The difference in ranking terms between world golf number one,  Tiger Woods, and number two, Phil Mickelson, is GREATER than the difference between Phil Mickelson and the World number 1,000.

That is why Tiger Woods is a god.  It just so happens he is decent, honest, truthful, faithful and, dare I say it, handsome.

Tiger is closer this year than ever in the past to concievably winning the Grand Slam of Majors.  I suspect he will slip up somewhere and have to settle for three, startiong with The Masters in April.  And his performance in The Buick last week, on the course that hosts the US Open, suggests that is in the bag too.  He’s only played two tournaments thus far in 2008.  The result?  Two wins.

The scale of that achievement was demonstrated vividly last night when J B Holmes picked up his second ever career win (unusual in most golfers to achieve even two). His reaction said it all.

On the other hand, two wins in two weeks, one in Europe, one in the US, says that even Tiger is perhaps under-represented by his world ranking.

Played golf at Ratho yesterday.

The greens weren’t very green.

And the bunkers weren’t very sandy.

But Tom, Jon and I all scored one under net par 68’s.

Great game.

So, I’ve rapped a pitching wedge to 6 inches from 110 yards and sunk the putt for a birdie three when the phone rings.

“Mark, the house is on fire.”

“OK, I’ll be back by half two” I reply.

” I just missed an eagle by inches.”

“Yes, but the washing machine is belching black smoke and now two of the cupboards are melting.”

“Does that mean I have to come back?” I venture.

“Why not phone the Fire Brigade?” I suggest.

“OK, but I think I would appreciate it if  you came back.  I realise you might think everything is ok.”  So I did.

They were waiting!

Hmmm…

If the insurance doesn’t fork out I swear I will do a Michael Douglas!

At least the lid was on the stew, so we had it for lunch.

As I head off to enjoy, with a heavy cold, the Hogmanay celebrations it’s time to bring the 2007 blog to an end.

Looking back on the year one thing will rise above all other memories of 2007, the passing away of my father.

A great man who had a great send off.

Saturday past was a poignant ending to the year as we committed his ashes and closed a half open door. My Mum, all of my sisters, Jeana, Denny and James were there at a simple ceremony that was just right.

I have said much on this subject , but it can be summed up here.

The Hibees winning their first cup in 16 years was a great highlight too, but slightly marred by the aftermath and then JC’s ‘walking on water’ turning into ‘JC plays Judas’ in December.

Shame on you JC.

A full year of working for myself was very rewarding and proved I can bring the family up at the same time. That meant a lot to me.

As did my 78 on The Queens Course in November and my 78 at Ratho in August, my first ever single-figure-above-par golf round.

Amy’s Standard Grade results were outstanding and made both Jeana and I very proud, as did Tom with his pre-eminence on the golf course and Ria’s determination on the Gymnastics floor. She finally achieved that elusive bridged kick-over during the summer but was once again thwarted in her chase for a merit at her cnmpetition in November because the judges raised the bar and docked her points because her cuffs were too long.

It will happen.

Jeana’s contribution to a beautiful; Queensferry and her ability to manage the Queensferry’s non-gardening population in a rendition of Strictly Come Cat Herding was worthy of merit.

In books Joshua Ferris’, Then we came to the end was my new book of the year.

In music it had to be Robert Plant and Alison Krauss’ Raising Sand.

And my movie of the year? A tough one, but I’ll plump for Control, just edging out Atonement.

TV show of the year? UI’m tempted to go for The Secret Millionaire but the one that inspired me most was the Genius of Photography.

The greatest thing that happened to me technologically was the discovery of Flickr and the amazing avenues it opened for me.

Gig of the year was a close call between midlake at the ABC in Glasgow and Candie Payne at Cabaret Voltaire. But I have to give it to midlake because they are the greatest band on earth right now (including Arcade Fire) and I saw them.

Ridiculous decision of the year undoubtedly goes top The Nobel Prize Jury who gave Al Gore the Peace Prize. Why? Great guy, great politics, great movie. Peace prize? Get real.

But awarding that free kick to Italy in the 90th minute runs it close. But that’s not just ridiculous. That’s corruption.

And my man of 2007, for several reasons, was Mike Donoghue.

Restaurant of the Year was, no question, Kismot.

Best day out was, ironically in a way because it was set amongst so much sorrow, the day Jeana and I walked to Cramond Island in a post-funeral state of exhaustion, shock and trauma to return, in a way spiritually refreshed, and to be met by Tony Delicata’s offer of a free lunch at The Cramond Brig.

Tony. That hit the spot.

Performance of the year went to my sister Jane for her rumbustious rendition of A Fairy Tale of New York at the FAT Christmas show.

Twats of the year? Mondial Insurance. Get it up Ya.

Muppets of the Year. Sky. Get it up ya. (But at least we’ve had a laugh at their expense.)

Wife of the year? Jeana Gorman.

Put it this way. I couldn’t live with me.

And so to 2008.

My hopes?

Terry makes a full recovery.

Terry and I share school barbie duties at St Margarets in June.

Hibees remember they are a football team now that they are a succesful business. You’re not in the dock yet Mr Petrie but there will come a point after you’ve coined in another few million in January when enough is enough. (Oh yes, and we win the Scottish Cup, but even before it starts I’m putting that one on hold for 2009.)

Tom gets down to a 14 handicap.

Tiger Woods wins the Grand Slam (I don’t care I love Tiger Woods) but Scotland also find a golfer (Mark Warren looks the only real contender.)

I win something, anything, at Dundas Park.

PT Anderson wins Best Director at The Oscars.

Amy skooshes her highers.

Ria gets a merit at Gymnastics.

Jeana realises her potential. (Or at least realises she’s realised it!)

My mum and Emily have a fantastic time in China.

Carlisle Utd get promoted to the Championship.

Boris the Spider returns to the racetrack.

I am healthy throughout.

Despite feeling like death warmed up - terrible cold - I went out for my last golf match of the year with my five Arran Golf mates, my 13 year old son, Tom and my brother in law, Alan.

Having the cold is a life-threatener for us men as the hilarious link in James’ comment, below, points out so I think I deserve some form of recognition.  A CBE perhaps, for services to golf?

Needless to say Tom finished the year the way he started, playing the boys for the first time he whipped their/my asses, scoring a 5 under par nett 65 at Dundas. Ian shot a level par 70 and Vince and I scrambled home in net 71’s. The rest were trailing in our wakes.

But it was Tom who set the bar so high that no one could get over it, coming home 4 under par (net) for the last 5 holes.

I predict, if he keeps playing next year,that come the end of 2008 he will be off 14 or less.

This time last year, when he was off 28, I predicted he’d get to 20.

I wasn’t far away.

44 out.

34 back.

Tom was crushed, but happy for me.

Home run was 4 4 3 4 4 4 3 4 4.

6 pars, 2 bogies and a birdie.

Back of the net.

A net 60 to the course par of 68.

I was happy.

Go on yersel’ Monty. (And Marky boy, of course.)

Scottish golf has had such a bad year that it would be fair to say that my personal emergence from the woods to become a credible 18 handicapper has been one of the Scottish Golf Union’s highlights.

So today’s golf world cup win (as predicted by Monty) was not universally expected.

What was even less credible was that I spotted Dougie Donnelly at Gleneagles this afternoon and whispered the fact across the table to Jeana.

She was astonished.

“Colin Montgomery?” she whispered in a tone below the one that dogs can hear.

“Yes.”

(”The guy you snogged in 1988?” I must have subconsciously thought, seeing as I really thought she had said “Dougie Donnelly?)

“It doesn’t look like him”, she replied

Naturally it didn’t because a) it wasn’t and b) it was Dougie Donnelly and c) Dougie Donnelly doesn’t look like a bulldog licking piss off a nettle.

Judge for yourselves…

Monty?

Or Dougie?

Spitting images?

OK, they’re both gingers, like the Mrs, but how could Monty be relaxed at Gleneagles at the same time as he’s lifting the cup in China?

For the record, Jeana was at a corporate do in 1988 and Dougie was the compere. In a moment of weakness Jeana shreiked across the dance floor “Dougie, gie us a kiss.”

And you know what?

He did.

For the next week, Jeana and I will be staying at our “seasonal ownership” house at Gleneagles.

It’s actually a timeshare.

If you happen to be a burglar reading this, the rest of the family will be slumming it at home; so back off you thief.

Hmmm, shame about the weather forecast.

Tom has won eight golf competitions this year and his handicap has dropped from 28 to 21 so today was the prizegiveing at Ratho Park.  We marked the moment on film.

(Of course it’s not so much that he played well as the fantastic coaching he gets!  Modesty does not permit me to reveal the name of his Paternal coach.)

So, you’re out for a wee 4 ball with your pals when Tiger Woods creeps up on you and challenges you to a nearest the pin competition.  How do you react?

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At the Tods Murray do I was at on Wednesday the auctioneer was the Fifer, Willie Allan. Superb guy and the best I have ever seen in action. And he’s a teacher from Methil mixing it up with the toffs. Good on ya Willie.

After calling one of the aforementioned toffs a “gippo” he taunted Gregor Townshend by saying he “Couldn’t kick a sailor off his sister.”

The quote of the year so far…