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 2nd 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 18th. 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.
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