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.