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.