There Once Was a Boy....

Success is in short supply at the moment. Weekend punting is proving fruitful, but the fruits are usually small, and offer returns nothing like lumping ante-post. My small lump on Hahn last week nearly covered my bets for this week, but I needed some help from Mr Bank. The large chunk on Rory went awry on the first round, with the Northern Irishman carding a level par 72. Jason Day then brutalised TPC Sawgrass and matched the course record with a 9 under 63.

Rory had lots work to do. And on the following round, he did the work. He shot an excellent 64, to haul himself to 8 under, and was 7 under through 7 at one point. Rory unfortunately made bogey on hole 9, his final of the day, which is unforgiveable. Par at 9 would have given him equal share of the course record, and birdie or better, which for someone possessing his power is easily attainable, would have broken the record. It was however, not to be, and Rory was only able to muster 8 under. Day then carded an excellent 66 to push his lead over Rory to 7 shots.

The third round then proceeded to provide only agony and emotional despair. Rory, who was in prime position to shoot 7 or 8 or 9 under decided to just murder me instead, and shoot 3 over. Rory’s putting was letting him down again, and now all that will keep me safe is some kind of miraculous course record shattering round, which will also require those ahead of him to not perform very well.

Mickelson missed the cut in fabulous Phil style; carding an acceptable 2 under first round, and then a 1 over second round, which included three birdies, one bunker hole out eagle, four bogies and one double bogey. Oh well.

Sergio, like Rory, put in a level par first round. And also like Rory, he got out of the traps fast on his second round. He was 4 under though 4, then made a bogey, and another birdie, and carried on in that fashion. He carded an excellent 66, which without the bogies would have been a 63, and replace them with better than Pars...oh what could have been, but we won’t dwell. Sergio then decided to ruin my life by shooting an abhorrent 77 for his third round. Whilst I understand that the wind was up, the pins were in tough positions, and the course averaged 75.6, I would expect Sergio, World Number 15, to be able to put a better than average round together. Evidently this was not the case, and I was left reaching for the pills and the wine.

I also decided to have a little more fun on the Friday and have small tipples on Billy Horschel, local boy in fair form, who started well with a 68, then a 70, and then a 75. More pills please. I also opted to have a similar lump on Koepka, who had a blistering start with a 66, then a solid 70, and then a third round 77. What a bunch of nonsense.

My only hope now is a crusading Mcilroy, somehow able to climb to the headiest heights of scorching Sunday scoring. Thankfully due to my excellent brain working at top capacity, I reloaded on Mcilroy on Friday, at 33s. If Mcilroy wins I will pocket £500+ and will set my ringtone to the anthem of Mcilroy. It goes like this: “There once was a boy called Mcilroy who won The Players Championship, There once was a boy called Mcilroy who won The Players Championship”. This is sung in a high falsetto, and is interjected with swearing.

At the start of writing this, I had a sizeable lump on Wang in the European Tour. He was playing well, and was only one behind, looking fairly imperious to conquer Rahman. As I started to try and get £100 on at 21/20 the price started shortening and kept on going, and the best I could get was 8/11. I was somewhat happy with this price shortening, as I sensed bookies confidence in the South Korean, who dramatically won the play off last week. Since then, there has been a three shot swing, and Wang is now four shots behind.

It’s fair to say I’m in a fairly poor and murderous mood at the moment. Wang is now available at 4s and I would like to shoot someone. But I will not. I have, thanks to the surprising magic of Jamie Oliver, found a much more constructive outlet. Whilst making yesterday’s dinner, I decided to make some pasta dough. Much like making bread, this is an excellent means of venting pent up emotions, and allows me to imagine that I am pummelling the life out of those who are displeasing me. It also means that I am not going to break anything that need not be broken, like computer mouses, golfers clubs, and various other things in arm's reach.

The problem with this technique however is the need to have many thousands of kilograms of 00 Tipo pasta flour and millions of eggs. Indulging in this practice will surely see me becoming the largest pasta producing entity in the entire world, as I watch far too many unsuccessful golfists to be happy all the time. This will have its upsides however, and will make me rich beyond my wildest dreams, also ensuring I will have an unlimited supply of delicious pasta, and I will shortly end up with forearms comparable to a lowland gorilla, and the pasta making prowess of a small Italian grandmother.

I will still lament however the lack of punting proficiency that surrounds me at the moment, and will be forced to rely on the sale of artisanal British handmade pasta for financial security. That seems like a whole lot of hard work which I am not inclined to, and should be avoided at all costs. I will be watching the golf this evening with a noose tight around my neck, ready to kick myself off the chair. I do not expect myself to have any returns from my ante post bets on The Players, lest I have another bet later on, if I can sniff out some value.

All together now!

There once was a boy called Mcilroy who won The Players Championship, There once was a boy called Mcilroy who won The Players Championship.