Golf Returns to Beijing & Rickie Returns to Golf

First up, the Volvo China Open. Being played at Topwin Golf and Country Club for the first time should present a challenge for all players. Tipping the yardometer at 7261 yards this picturesque Woosnam designed course is not to be trifled with. Sitting at the foot of the Great Wall of China, which is in view from practically every hole, it would be easy to get distracted, and end up in the water that features on all but 3 of the holes. 

Holes 4 and 12 are both Par 5s boasting a yardage of over 600 yards, whilst 8 and 18 should be reachable in two for some of the bigger boys. 2 is a brutal par 3, at 249 yards it will likely stack up as one of the hardest holes on the course. Hole 11 is only 317 yards, which means we could see some eagles from the bombers. 

Undulating fairways and greens may introduce some elements of instability so perfect course management will be required here, and the hit and hopers might be in for a bit of a no hoper week. 

Defending champion Ashun Wu is 200s. Frankly, that's rude. Yes, it's a different course. Yes, he's ranked 196 in the world. But the 30 year old is humbled by the great honour of defending his national open, and I think that merits considering him. The big price also means that very little capital needs to be risked for reward, happy days. 

Alexander Levy won this tournament when it was at Genzon, the current course for the Shenzhen International, which was played last week. Winning it on your debut is pretty impressive, as is following that up with a T3rd the following year. The 25 year old Frenchman, ranked 100 in the world comes in to this tournament with form figures of 4-T14-T63-2-T24, which puts him in some pretty fine fettle. He and some fellow compatriots recently set the World Record for the fast hole of golf, and I think the Frenchman will be out to win this week. Seeking his 3rd European Tour win and a tasty pay-day of over 450 thousand Euros, Levy will be my top pick this week. Quotes of 16s seem a little under-generous from the bookies, but I suppose there's a little bit of fear worked in there. 

Part of my calculation this week is based on some of the strong performances from the Spanish Open. Luiten in particular had a good week, and arrives here in good form, with figures of 2-2-MC-6-T15-T8-T13-T5, all somehow without a win. Joost (which is pronounced in such a way that it rhymes with "toast" (can you imagine what my reaction blog is going to be like already?)) hasn't had a win since 2014, and could do with one. The Irish Open is coming up soon, and a confidence boost is needed. Luiten is a little too short for me this week, at 10s, but cutting him from the plan is difficult. 

My other worries for this tournament read as such.

Lee Slattery, he had a stunning three days last week, but faltered at the final hurdle, and struggled on the last day, missing fairways and greens alike. But Lee is a trooper, and will take the positives from the weekend. 

Soomin Lee, looking to make it two wins in two starts, he has the ability, so keep an eye on him. 

Now, to New Orleans, and the Zurich Classic. Justin Rose returns to defend his title at this 7425 yard course. There are a couple of makeable Par 4s here, some long Par 3s, and an excellent closing risk reward Par 5. Rickie Fowler tees it up for the first time since the Masters and he basically couldn’t have had a worse tournament. Missing the cut was awful from someone who should have been in strong contention in Augusta, but he did not perform. Last year, in a poll of other players on Tour, he and Ian Poulter were voted, very unfairly, as the most overrated players on Tour. Poulter seems as though he may have taken this a little to heart, but Rickie bounced back spectacularly. He won The Players Championship last year, and guess what tournament is in three weeks’ time? Sawgrass beckons and Rickie knows he needs to get on form.

He missed the cut in New Orleans last year, and the year before, and could only muster T32 on 2013. I will find it quite hard to axe Tricky Rickie from the staking plan this week, and any spare pennies will likely wend their way on to the bold and excellent player. But he isn’t going to form part of the initial plan.

Billy Horschel is my top choice here. He won this tournament in 2013 and is in good nick at the moment. The world number 44 hasn’t missed a cut since Dufner won the CareerBuilder Challenge, and has form of T4-T54-T17-T38-4-T20, which is impressive. Billy had a serious chance in Texas last week finishing with two birdies in his last 5 holes, which was unfortunately too little too late, being level for the day up until that point. He had two wins in 2014 but hasn’t won since, so hopefully a good bit of confidence at a course he knows and has won on should inspire him to do well. Priced at 20s seems accurate and I will snap that up.

Cameron Tringale is my next pick. He’s never won on Tour, he hasn’t had a top ten this year, but I’ve got a feeling about him this week. His course form reads 2-T17-MC-7. Apart from the slight anomaly with the MC, he has displayed good form at this course. Cameron is still searching for his first career win on Tour and this could be the course for him. Quotes of 55s from some of the bookies are good, especially when you can avail 6 places.

Thomas Aiken is my outsider of the week. A winner on the European Tour, but not since 2014 is searching for a revival to his career. Aiken is one the best ball strikers on the Tour, and his driving accuracy rank is number 1, at 74.66%. I expect that to play well this week, with lots of water and trouble for errant tee shots. He isn’t a huge hitter, but a methodical mind-set here should serve him well. Hugely priced at 400s with one firm, Aiken is another chappie who doesn’t need a big stake to make money.

Some words on Hoffman, Rose and Day. Hoffman is my man of the hour and I would expect him to play well here, given the confidence he will have gained from winning last week. Hoffman didn’t play here last year, but touted a T5 in 2013 following a fairly lacklustre 4^th round, and priced up at 25s (again) I’m sure I can find a little space for him in the plan.

I am unsure what to make of Justin this week. Teeing up for the first time since a good T10 in the Masters, and his form figures are excellent. T10-T28-T9-T17-T16-T6 are all very convincing, but I fear Justin is losing his killer instinct. But the defending champ thinks he has learnt how to play these greens with their slight and tricky undulations, so only time will tell. I am not overenthusiastic about quotes of 8s, so he might have to wait until the weekend for a bet.

And finally, to Jason Day. Day cited fatigue for his poor third round performance at the RBC, and is clearly in the mind-set that the week off he had will have fixed that problem. Frankly, I am not so sure, and am worried the World Number 1, and member of the Anti-Greg-Axis might underperform this week, and I have no desire about prices of 11/2.

Well there we have it, no doubt I’ll be proven considerably wrong immediately, and will have to lump to slump over the weekend. Only time will tell. 

Careering Korean's Career Derails Delicious Double Dream

What a week. What a stunner. An excellent rate of return was had this week. A slim trim staking plan minimalised losses and maximised profits. I truly was Maximus Decimus Meridius. Well. Not really. A bit though. I felt pretty powerful. Well that isn’t completely true. I felt useless. Maybe the metaphor does work.

On Sunday I was, somewhat ill. Maybe not ill. But I felt ill. I was certainly hungover. Which is basically the same. I was the world’s most hungover man. Yet I was to find no pity in the arms of Mrs Golfing Greg. At first, I thought she would take great care of me. I was humbled in a most inhumane fashion, hungover to the point of poisoned, and she asked me, was there anything she could do for me? Finally, salvation was mine. I knew for what I would ask. I knew, in my heart what I had to do. And I asked for it. I said “Yes, there is something that you can do for me, please murder me.”

And would you believe it, she had the cheek to refuse my one request. All I wanted in those dark hours was to depart the realm of the living and inhabit a more comfortable land, but I was denied. Were I, an Englishman, to live in Switzerland, I surely would have not suffered the same indignities. Although perhaps that’s for the best because I don’t think I could afford to be continuously put down every time I’d over-indulged on the vodkas. I also can’t afford to have radical cognitive and behavioural therapy to prevent continuation of such activities. I also have no real desire not to continue to push the boundaries of what my liver will save me from, so perhaps I should learn not to be so whiney about everything.

But that’s not why you’re here. You’re here for Golfing Greg to regale you with heart-breaking stories of how he came so close to winning millions of pounds and how that made me want to join an electrical appliance in the bath or some such other nonsense. Usually for you haters, you cynical people who come to hear me drone on about how woefully unlucky I am, you are rewarded. But not this time. This week I was clever. Not clever enough, but still sort of semi intelligent.

On Wednesday I placed three bets. £5 each way on Hoffman at 25s (six places). £5 each way on Aphibarnrat at 14s, and a £5 each way double. I decided against Brandon Stone in favour of Aphibarnrat, much to the lamentation of my each way double dreams, but oh well. Hoffman did the business for me. He didn’t do it easily, and I would suggest that at times, he didn’t even do it particularly well, but he did do it. 

On Thursday Stone was playing excellently, so I had £5 each way on him at 40s, but he was 80s to start so that wasn’t as good as it could have been. Then I had another £10 on him at 22s to win because he seemed rampant. At this point, for some reason, I opted not to have another each way double. More idiocy. Finally, early on Sunday I had a double. £10 win, Hoffers and the Stone.

Although I was nowhere near recovered from my terrible illness, I powered through and watched the golfery. It was most enjoyable. Some of the major contenders were falling by the wayside and my man was puttering along nicely. Hoffman (Boffman) was helping cure my sore head. A good couple of putts, and some bad mistakes from his opponents meant that all of a sudden, around about the 11^th or 12^th hole, cheeky Charlie found himself in the lead. At this point I found myself getting worried. Now there was pressure. And I did not fancy my man to hold up to the strain that well. And then the horrible sports-casters at CBS or the Golf Channel or whatever decided to try and stick a dagger in my abdomen and give it a right old wiggle. They decided to put up a stat that shows how Hoffman was something like 26 over on his final rounds during the current season, the worst record of anyone on the tour.

I understand that showing interesting and pertinent stats is probably part of some initiative in golf broadcasting but it really makes me want to do murder. Raikkonen’s race engineer did it to me a few weeks ago and everyone always wants to point out how the lead guy can fail. But chipper Charles didn’t fancy listening to their stupid stats. He continued to carry on like a trooper and just hummed on making pars and the odd birdie. This unfortunately opened him up to someone like Patrick Reed to decide to come storming up and around Charlie (didn’t help that they were playing together), then I started really having heart attacks. Every time Charlie stood up to the ball my poor heart stopped and I would be blue until Boffers found the green.

Truthfully, and anyone who watched will know this, Patrick Reed should have won. Over the last four holes he played much better golf, but his putting was letting him down. I was having more and more hearters (heart attacks) and it was all his fault. He moved within one shot at 17 and proceeded to 18.

18 at San Antonio is an excellent Par 5. I find that this is always conducive to climactic finishes, if not slightly ruinous. Reed was in the rough off the tee. It didn’t look like he could get to the green in two. Hoffington bear was in the fairway and it appeared as though things would be ok. Reed then decided that he would go for the green. This prompted a solid 10 minute delay whilst they waited for the group ahead to clear the green. During this time my heart rate became somewhat erratic. My breathing was ragged and I felt dizzy. The hangover from hell was back. My head started to hurt and my vision grew blurry. If I had backed Patrick Reed, that shot would have gone in the water. But somehow, it landed just outside the hazard, and rolled onto the fringe of the green. This, in effect, forced Hoffer’s hand and he had to go for the green now too. Which I’m sure he would have anyway. Adrenaline probably slightly had the better of my man and he flew the green landing in the bunker short-siding himself a little. If Reed made his eagle attempt, Charlie would have to be chip in Charlie for the win, or up and down Charlie for a play-off.

Reed then stood up to his eagle attempt and damn near chopped my head off. He came perilously close to holing out and I was left needing a new heart. Again. He had a gimme left for birdie. The Hoffmeister would need to get up and down for the win, and had three for the play off. A very poor bunker shot from and understandably nervous Charlie left him wanting. He was left with a nervy nine footer down the hill, with a slight break to the right.

Any normal man would be scared. But Charlie is no normal man. He is a titan of the game, a magnate of golfing excellence and he stood up to that putt with testicles reminiscent of Willett at the Omega Dubai Desert Classic and absolutely boshed it in. 

Whilst my crippling hangover prevented me from dancing around physically, mentally I was doing back flips. Lately I’ve had some success backing players before or during the final round, which is nice, but nothing compares to picking someone out of a 140 odd runner field before it’s even started.

Now, to Stone. The Stone man certainly seemed to have the stones for the job. He was one behind with four to play, and it would be a Monday finish in China thanks to some extreme weather. I believed that he would do the business for me, for some actual golfing reasons, and some other factors. The other factors were thus, his compatriot Branden Grace had won the week before. Now for a yankee doodle dandy, a fellow country man winning probably doesn’t mean too much, seeing as they basically win every other week. But for a South African, I think it’s a huge boost. Also, perhaps more tenuously, Stone’s first name is Brandon, which is basically the same as Grace's first name, which is Branden, so it was as though he had already won last week, if you think about it like that.

It was however, not quite to be. I was now tucked up in bed and watching the golf on my phone with my headphones in, so as not to disturb Mrs Golfing Greg. The first thing I saw was Stone lipping out for birdie. Same story on the next hole, and the next, and the last. Whilst he was at one point in a tie for the lead at -14, it would not be enough. Soomin Lee was on the hunt for victory and he would find it. An excellent birdie at 16 gave him a one shot lead over my man, and he progressed to the Par 5 17^th.

The commentator then decided to attempt to reassure me by being really heinous. He reminded everyone of how Lee had put his second shot here yesterday, straight in the water, and taken a seven. 

“Excellent,” I thought, “He’ll start shaking like the proverbial dog soon and will promptly dump his ball in the water three times and take a twelve.” 

He did not put it in the water with the driver. Bugger, I was running out of time. But then the commentators piped up again with their awfulness and caused us all to remember that it was Lee’s second which went wet. This was, in his opinion, because Lee had made the ballsy decision to go for the green in two on his third round, which had cost him.

The chirpy commentator said something like “He won’t do it this time everyone at home, that would be silly, he’ll lay up and then try to get up and down for birdie.”

“Dreadful,” I thought. That kind of behaviour is frankly unacceptable from someone whom I need to drop several shots at this hole. However, Mr Commentator was wrong. He isn’t wrong very often, and I rather enjoy listening to him, but thankfully, on this occasion, he was wrong. Lee was an attacking player, and he absolutely was going to attack this hole. I started to get somewhat excited. A lot could go wrong here. A relatively treacherous bunker was to the right of the green, and there was water right of that, and long of the green, there was also water.

Unhappily super Soomin was able to land his ball with drone like precision and was left with a 20 or so footer for eagle. The careering Korean’s career then went from good to God like when he absolutely railed the putt in. The ball never looked as though it was going to go anywhere else and it found the cup in a heart sinking kind of way. I was happy for him, but I was already researching Asian tropical diseases that I hoped he might succumb to down the final hole and be forced to retire, allowing my man to enter a play off with Luiten, a feat I’m confident he could overcome.

Soomin entered 18 with a three shot lead. He found the bailout area off the tee. There was a bunker there which would have been ok, but unluckily for him, he found an awkward lie in the rough just short of the bunker. The intention was pretty smart. Don’t go anywhere near the water if you don’t have to. The commentator then correctly told Lee what to do, lay up, try and get up and down for par, if not bogey would do, and so would double bogey, and a triple would get him in a playoff. He seemed to be trying to take too much club and Mr Caddy successfully talked him down to an eight or a nine iron. After all, he only needed to knock it 100 yards down the fairway, which he did, very well. 

Lee was not able to get up and down for par, but did make his bogey putt, and cemented his first European Tour win, and put the final nail in my double. Oh well. I was happy for him. Stone had had his chances, and he wasn’t able to take them, and there was nothing I could do about that any more. I had still had a very good week, and I was looking forward to the very brief period on Monday in which I would consider not having a bet on the Golf the coming weekend, and chuckling at my foolishness. 

By the Grace of God

It seems unlikely that you would know this, and even more unlikely that you agree, and after reading this you certainly won't believe me but, I was not incredibly excited by the golf last week. My failure to absolutely cream it at The Masters left me in some doubt about my golfist selection ability, and backing after a major is oft prone to huge upset. 

However, it only took me about 8 seconds to decide that was not the case. First up, the Spanish Open, back at Valderrama after such a long absence. At around 6900 Yards, this course is smaller than all courses on the US Tour. It is however, a spectacular course that should not have been out of circulation for five years. Twisting, turning, lined by cork trees, undulating and narrow it is a real test of mettle. Ok so I was interested. But I was determined not to spunk the Willett winnings in one lump.

Hmmmmmm.

Then off to South Carolina, USofA. Harbour Town Links, another short course was hosting the RBC Heritage Open. Another tight tree lined course. A beautiful course, on the water (duh!) with some stunning vistas and the smallest greens in circulation. Luke Donald was the form runner up filly here and would canter through true to form. I decided to ingest all of the information from the PGA Tour website, collate all the stats and pick some players based on that super informed analytical information picked out the top golfist, Snedeker. Brandt decided to join the club of golfers who hate me and miss the cut. KJ Choi was then the main choice, the low powered accurate former power lifter was sure to perform here. He was in contention several times this year, and seemed purpose built for this course.

He was also in contention here until Saturday at which point he decided to ruin my life. Not that badly to be fair, but I was rather three sheets to the wind so that's certainly how it felt. I responded by ordering another pitcher of beer. 

Obviously I was aroused. Well, not aroused, but my punting nose was sniffing like a dog at a lamppost. Yet I did not commit. On Thursday I stayed true to my thoughts and had a few £1 doubles and some wins. I was content. I could thoroughly enjoy watching the golfery with some interest and awe at the courses.

It was in this relaxed frame of mind I decided to go mental and lump £100 on Day on Friday at 5/2. Obviously. You can't lump to slump without lumping. Jason Day then decided to continue to ruin my life and shot 8 over on Saturday.

More beer please. 

I happened to be out bowling on Saturday evening, which was the perfect release. They sold beer and burgers and I was able to pretend I was bowling Jason down the alley at 10 little Chois. Then, some horrible person decided to put the rails down and I couldn't even do that very well. So I ordered more beer and another burger. I continued to drown my sorrows, and decided to have another look at the betting, but thankfully, I either didn't see anything that appeals (my memory is somewhat hazy) or I passed out without being able to whack the bank balance on something. 

Come the morning, I was in something less than fine fettle and left the sanctity of my bed in search of bacon and some sparkling water. A somewhat providential encounter with my Father was happened upon. Pops asked me to put £2 win on Thomas Bjorn (33s) in the Spanish Open and Grace in the RBC (14s), as well as a £1 double. Not being able to consider the gut wrenching feelings I would experience if I had to fork over such financial aid with nothing of my own I backed the same thing to, and retreated to the comforting bedroom to attempt to achieve optimum cosiness.

As some of you may know, there is only one way to achieve optimum cosiness. It is not (as idiots think) by having a nice warm bed in a nice warm room. The room, needs to be as cold as possible. All windows open, and, if you have one, a fan on. Naked, you must then climb in to bed and fall asleep as quickly as possible. Later you will awaken in a downy dozy state, warm to the bone, and afraid to leave your divine duvet state lest your extremities become frostbitten and fall off. This, empirically, is the only way to attain optimum cosiness.

Back on track, awaking later I didn’t want to leave my bed. However, the lust for images of warm Spain spurred me from my slumber. But I was compelled to stay, so I did.

Later, I went and watched the culmination of the Spanish Open. Bjorn had gone the wrong way down the ladder and Johnston, a relatively local lad (to me, not Spain) had come through and clinched the title. I should have foreseen this, much as George knew he would have to shoot Lenny at the end, I should have seen Johnston creaming home, with a superb final score of +1.

What a testament to the course that, short as it was, +1 would be the winning score of the tournament. Kjeldsen had one of the best last days and picked me up a modicum of place money, so thanks Soren!

Then I had some more sleep, before preparing for the RBC.

The way in which I prepared was this. I had a huge roast dinner. Then, checking the scores, I saw that Grace was playing well. Bearing in mind that I decided not to lump everything this weekend I swiftly had £46 at 9/2 for Grace to take the cake in Harbour Town.

The man from South Africa actually made for relatively painless viewing. Donald was the only real competition, and unfortunately Luke just didn’t turn up. He suffered from the 54 hole lead disease and whilst he didn’t completely crumble, he drifted far enough for me to have £10 on him at 20s to cover myself in any event. Grace made a late bogey and Lukey had a makeable birdie putt, but Donald Duck just couldn’t make it and Grace led by two coming down 18.

A drive that was almost two good left the South African in a good position. He was a long way from the pin after his second though, and I was only really worried about a three putt, which would leave Donald needing to score -1 from his last two holes. Luke failed to birdie the 17^th meaning he would need an eagle on the last to force a playoff. Father dearest went to bed counting his eggs and told me to come and get him if Donald eagled the last. I replied that he would know if Luke eagled, as there would be a power cut when the toaster joined me in the bath.

Donald’s line on his 2^nd shot was so good my heart stopped and I went in to a coma for a minute. But then it just went in the front bunker and it was time to dance around again. I love dancing around. All in all, a good weekend.

Finally, a challenge. This time of the year may mean bonuses for some of you. The World’s Baldest Man decided to lump his bonus of some football. Over 2.5 and match result which made profit, and an over 10 corners market double. We were waiting for a corner for the final ten minutes and all our threats of genocide could do nothing. No scenes. Furthers lumps went south. He should have taken my initial tip of Rosberg to win the Chinese Grand Prix, which came in from 5/2 to 1/2 by race day. Another 50% strike rate left him with bonus withdrawn and 208.67 to play with. He then turned to yours truly for a tip. Obviously I tipped Nico, which was good, and Jason Day, which was not.

Sorry mate.

Steely Sheffieldian Steals Spieth's Show

I'm going to start this week with an obituary. Of Bubba Watson. The big lefty was, as you know, my tip of the tournament. I told everyone I knew about him. "Remortgage the house" I was telling friends and co-workers alike. "Put your wages on him!" was a common phrase those near me may have heard. Obviously, I consider myself an aficionado on golf and I'd been acting like it. Roaming around fully erect for Bubba. And what a start he had! Three under after 8, and I was having to change my pants. But then the unpleasantness started. Six bogeys and a double drowned another two birdies and the loopy lefty was plus three for the day. Yet somehow I remained confident. The two time winner was still there. He was only nine behind. With three rounds to play! Bad weather was forecast and surely Bubba would dismantle Augusta as he once had. Twice had. The third was around the corner.

But no.    

Apparently not. 

Evidently, Mr Watson hated me. It was obvious. It was all my fault. My cocksure assurances that he would take the greenest and jacketiest of crowns had offended him somehow. Or perhaps it was the fact that I'd hedged with Day and Scott. For all I know they'd all gotten together, and decided that they'd won me enough money and they were going to play like a trio of idiots.

Maybe they'll pop round this week and kick my skull in too.

Or rather just set me on fire.

Or rob me.

Or all of the above.

Or none, knowing that I'd probably be happy to have met them.

Yes that seems likely. They got together and decided that they'd won me too much money recently, and that I should have eyes wetter than Spieth's balls. Golf balls that it is.

I can imagine the conversation. 

Bubba: Hey, shall we all mess up Greg this week? 

Adam: Yeah cobber, I hate that guy. 

Jason: But I want to win the Masters. 

Bubba: We'll let you win it next year. 

Jason: I'm not sure, I'm a professional, you know.

Adam: JD, have a tinny, Bubba's put the shrimp on the barbie, and let's all just chuck Greg down the dunny.

Jason: OK.

All: YAY! Teaaaaaaam Slump. 

That almost certainly happened. Possibly without the slight Aussie colloquial racism.

Bubba shot another awful round, and was set to miss the cut. Bubba? More like blubber....It was only two bogies and a missed birdie from Spieth coming home on Friday that meant the 10 shot rule kept Bubba in the tournament. At this point I was in contact with whoever wrote the Geneva Convention & Amnesty International to report an act of torture. I also had the RSPCA as a backup and the NSPCC because I felt like a child. How could I have been so wrong? 

Blubber's 3rd round provided no redemption and his one under on the final day was just rubbing salt in to the wounds. Thankfully, I'd already abandoned all hope and jumped ship. Bubba might have a Master(s) plan to crush me but I wasn't going down without a fight. 

So, here he lies. The two time Masters champion is dead (to me). As far as I’m concerned he can stay there. Such passionate hate I have for him now. I can think of no clever pun or play on words such is the upset that the man with the pink driver has caused me this week. It could be a long time before I ever back him again.

Maybe.

Scott was obviously playing upside down but I still had some hope with Day. All interests were now lumped on the least enthusiastic conspirator. That didn’t happen. I don’t really want to go in to it, but for all my praise he didn’t help me.

All joking aside, it is a clear marker he has set here. I think that it would be generous to describe Day’s game as being at 50% over this week, and he was still in contention. It is an obvious sign of how absolutely exceptional he is, that he is able to play like that, when not on form.

And then, like a light at the end of the tunnel, an angel in my time of need, the first drop of rain after a drought, the group chat piped up. Who was having what on the last day? 

Westwood? Hideki? Spieth? Matsuyama? Willett?

Willett. 

Willett? 

Yeah Willett. 

Can you place it for me Greg? I have no money, spent it all last night destroying Harrow. 

Yeah sure. £5 ew at 20s? Sure, it's on mate. 

Can I have Westy ew? 

Of course. Done. 

Hey you know Willett is seriously overpriced here. 

You reckon? 

Yeah. 

Me too. 

£5 on the win? 

Yeah. 

Me too. 

Hey he's 22s now. 

Brilliant. 

Obviously the above is paraphrasing. The group chat doesn't exist and if it was ever actually released there would be a few more appearances in The Hague. 

As to whose suggestion it was to back Willett is likely to be as contested as who got us £5 entry on Paddy’s Day. The truth is likely to remain shrouded in mystery until the end of time. But, it wasn’t me. The self-styled Mr Harrow certainly mentioned that wily Willett was a big price at 20s, but ‘twas the Rock who backed him first. Well. I mean I did. But I did it for him. Only one man in the group chat didn’t back the new father and Daddy of Augusta, and now we hate him.

But we still had such a long way to go. Early on it looked as though we were all going to be out of luck, and out of pocket until payday. And then it looked even worse.

Spieth, being awful and also excellent at the same time rallied after a bogey with 4 back to back birdies to take a horrible commanding lead. Heir Spieth was making the Masters look more like Auschwitz than Augusta.

Willett was two under for the front nine but Spieth was four under, and looked set to run away with things. But Willett was an exceptional fighter pilot and the English would surely prevail against the Luftwaffe!

What happened next was of such gravity as to resonate throughout the universe. Super Spieth, the wire to wire winner of last year. And pillar to post leader here, who had not surrendered his grip on the Masters since two years ago, made bogey on 10.

And 11.

And on 12, a par 3, he took a 7.

All of a sudden he was six over through three holes on the back nine, and two over for the day. 10 and 11 were routine bogeys. Poor positional play led to missed par putts. But 12. 12 was something else. 12 was a shocking reminder that a game that looks so easy in the hands of Spieth can play mental games with you, and can make you suicidal. If I was Jordan, I would have been reaching for the razor, not for another ball. I would have just jumped in the water with the 2^nd ball and hoped it ended. Or borrowed a toaster and had it join me.

He had had a huge amount of good fortune so far. He blocked his tee shot out right on 4, and was fortunate to be able to get up and down for par. He blocked his second right on 5 and escaped with just one bogey, thanks to the free drop from the grandstand.

But as I well know, Lady Luck is famous for vacillating upon whom she dotes. And by 12, poor young Jordan was, as they say, shit out of luck. The result of his first shot was a combination of poor course management and that horrible block. Attacking the pin with a 9 iron. Why? He was closing in on another Green Jacket, and should have clubbed up and aimed left. But no. He didn’t. He blocked it out, and went wet.

Jordy looked sad. I felt sad for him. The group chat exploded.

SCENES!

Shocking. Claims of match fixing. Theories that Spieth just laid himself at 1/10000 with his total career earnings. Absolute dejection for the Texan.

Spieth oddly chose to drop not in the designated area, from which, he would have known the yardage. Odd, but, genius is not always appreciated in its own time. But the fine line between genius and insanity is oft toed at these trying times, and Spieth was trying to do just that.

Oh dear. What was happening?

To keep it brief, Spieth just hit the worst shot I have ever seen in a professional golf tournament. He hit the ground long before the ball, and frankly, I’m surprised it even made it to the water, but it did, and with what must have been a heart stopping plop, Spieth’s campaign seemed to be over. One of the greatest Golfists of the modern game had denied himself a second Masters Victory. (For now).

He made sure his third shot (fifth with penalties) went over the water, and safely in to the sand. A solid up and down to save 7.

7.

I’m just going to leave that there for a minute.

How he had the mental fortitude to go on, I don’t know. But the greatest in their fields find something in those moments of darkness. All I find is rage and murderous desire, but Spieth found something positive. He made a solid birdie at 13 to claw one back. Good par on 14, and after a quick intersection from a rules official on 15, in which Spieth wanted to make sure he was taking a completely legal drop, it was clear that the young super star was still on the hunt.

Smartly laying up, he left himself a good number, and made birdie.

Whilst we’re on the topic of 15, just a quick word regarding Dustin Johnson. Excellent golfist. Drives like a dream. Putts like a nightmare. Famous for throwing his chances away, but still up there every week. I wanted to send him a message, and say that what he did on 15, simply isn’t allowed. Going for the green in two from behind those trees and holding the surface, is frankly, rude. But ever so brilliant, so kudos.

Back to Spieth.

He would still need to make more birdies, but anything looked possible. Mr Harrow and I then had a short sidebar.

Spieth at 18s?

Yes.

Fiver?

Fiver.

Both?

Yes.

Done.

We were covered. Whatever happened betwixt the two, we would still make money.

Spieth dropped another one. He was done. He would now need to make a hole in one on the 465 yard, uphill, left to right 18^th. Mr Harrow, The Rock, myself, Danny Willett and his associates started counting our winnings.

Winning is excellent. It means, that you were right. For whatever reason, whatever you did on the day was right, and you wouldn’t change anything. The only thing better than winning, is winning with other people. It forms a bond. It strengthens existing bonds. And for a moment, I didn’t care that I had to carry The Rock home in Estonia, a feat that a professional strongman would have struggled with.

All trespasses were forgotten and good times were to be had. All monies paid back (sort of) and a good start before pay day. Roll on the Spanish Open.

Poor Jordy though. To have battled so hard, to then have to present the new Champion with the Green Jacket.

And also. Nearly done, so hang on. The interviewer. If you watched it, you know the one. Who asked Spieth if he was disappointed with the result?

If I had been asked that question after such a crushing blow, I would have disembowelled the person who had asked it with their microphone. I try not to swear on here, and I won’t. But I would have at the time. Spieth could have exploded and made Augusta look like Pompeii, but he didn’t, and hats off to the man.

I don’t have a whole lot else to say this week (I can hear the collective sigh of relief!), except to congratulate all those who played this week, (except Bubba), and finally be glad to be able to answer the age old question:

“Willett or Won’t It?”

Yes, yes it Willett.

Addendum.

I hate to do this, but I have to. Anyone who has read this previously, will know that I have started a viscous and at times lethargic grass roots campaign to ban water from all golf venues, due to the brutal nature in which it has clutched victory and riches from me before. But, the nature of the beast has truly been revealed. A leveller, like a ballistic bulldozer, water shall remain an exciting and crushing part of golfery. It is with this new found open mindedness in hand that I hereby, and likely temporarily formally disband the H2NO campaign, and condemn it to the depths from whence it came.

For now. 

Henley the 10th

I absolutely hate golf. I hate betting. I hate my life and I hate everything and please woof off and die. Everything is a massive bunch of woofing nonsense and the end is nigh. At one point during the weekend I thought I was assured to make so much money I would be able to make a bath out of it. Well. A small bath. With fivers. Probably more of a puddle. I thought I was going to be able to attack The Masters with the force of a fifty kilo-ton nuclear warhead. Ready to beat the bookmaker senseless with a battering ram the size of Mars. Reduce profit margins to the state of Northern Rock, and decay the trading teams in to the new equivalent of Blockbusters.

But instead of eviscerating profit margins next week I will instead be watching penniless. Obviously I have bets on. But I wanted more bets. You can't lump to slump with the equivalent of a 10 year old's pocket money. Whilst some cynics might say that I have no one to blame but myself, I disagree. It's Henley's fault. Basically all of my pre-tournament bets were woofed by the weekend, but then Father dearest had stroke of genius and we both backed Henley at 40s. Following an excellent third round he'd come in to 10s.

Excellent.

Hamilton out qualified Rosberg in the F1. Rosberg was 11/4. I snapped that up, believing the hungry dual nationality Finn-German would have old Hammy off the line, and then all he had to do was hold on to the end of the race. Gulp.

Rosberg slumped Hamilton off the line! A second poor getaway from the back to back World Champion and my man was leading. And then, oh sweet glory! Bottas, Rosberg's (sort of) fellow Finn shunted Hamilton, knocking him down the pecking order even further!

From that point on, the race was a relatively uninteresting affair. For me at least. But then towards the end the usual feelings of oncoming upset and heart attacks we being realised. Kimi's (the final nail in the coffin (see what I did there?)) race engineer was trying to make me cry. The man, obviously just doing his job, was continuously reminding Kimi, and therefore yours truly, about last year, where mechanical problems allowed him to overtake Nico.

Now this must have been very positive for his Finn, but not for my mine. He was trying, actively, to kill me. But. But. Nico is the king. Not yet. But soon. But he is the king. I'm going to make him a crown. Ice cold nerves and solid strategy kept the rally champion at bay, and Nico romped home to a 10.282 second victory. My Sunday was off to a good start. As well as £20 on Nico at 11/4, I had £20 on Henley at 10s, and a £10 double on the two. Fortune was on my side. Lady luck walked with me. Luck gave Hamilton a bad start. Luck gave him a shunt on the first corner. Luck had Vettel out of the race early doors. I was already £25 in profit for the day.

All of a sudden, the golf was on. Jordy Spieth was charging up the leader board and was making the leading boys quake in their low-down-in-the-world-ranking boots. I decided to cover myself and snapped up Hills' 11/2 about the prodigious great mew. Then I relaxed. Stupidly. Henley got himself in to a one shot lead by 7 with some absolutely emphatic putting. He was playing smart and brilliantly.

I was counting my money. Prematurely. And to my own downfall. Whilst obviously I wasn't in control of what was happening on the Houston turf, Lady Luck didn't like my ostentatious mental state and decided to punish me accordingly. And by punish I mean, well, something evil. I have been fortunate recently. Financial fortuity flew in my direction recently and I have been grateful. But it's all been going on to the usual Tour events. Winnings this way would inevitably wend their way towards wishful punting for Augusta.

So, when Lady Luck punished me this week, she decimated me. And she didn't make it quick either. The speed and quality of the golf coverage were absolutely abhorrent. Play had slowed up and over the next three hours I felt as though bamboo nails were being pushed in to my fingernails. Golf kart batteries were attached to my testicles and I was zapped at random intervals to deprive me of sleep. A thick wet towel was covering my face and gallons of water were being poured over it. Bright lights and loud noises were attacking the senses.

Woofing hell.

A bad par putt on the tenth was all it took. From then on it was as above, tortuous. I had one ticket left in the raffle. A 50p (you-know-who-stakes) double on Jiminez in the Seniors tour, and Stenson, both at 12s. Whilst this would still leave me lamenting what might have been, it would certainly have cheered me up, to some extent, if not completely. But that wasn't to be either.

The enemy and downfall of victory is, it seems, hope. Hope is the enemy of reason. The ruin of Rome. The hurt of Hiroshima. The put down on Pompeii. The aqua for Atlantis. The bombs for Baghdad. Apartheid for Africa. Hope puts the fear of God in to a man and can ruin everything.

And it had. Has. Again. My heart is broken. Black and broken. I need a new one. I need a new one and I can't buggering afford it.

I have however been able to scrape enough together to cover my chunk on Bubba in the Masters. The winner is going to come from either Bubba, Day, Scott or Mickleson. Spieth's recent and realistically minimal fall from grace he has not worried me. Mcilroy hasn't worried me in ever.

The Aussie invasion isn't over and the Yanks have work to do. Day may suffer with injury, Plagued by a bad back early last week didn't stop the machine, but it may have long lasting impact. Of course I hope not, I wouldn't wish that on anyone, but that's why he isn't my main interest. Adam Scott has just come slightly off the boil, but a week’s rest could do him the world of good. However, he was quoted as saying that he thinks that Bubba will win the Masters. Whilst a consummate professional such as Adam should be able to focus on his game, but if he and Bubba are up there together, that may weigh heavy on his mind. Bubba won this in 2012 and 2014, and as the chant goes 2, 4, 6, 8. So he'll obviously win here and if he doesn't, it's payday a few days later, so I can just sleep until then.