A trip down a lane named nostalgia

READERS never know what to expect when they start reading my column – humour one month, ranting the next. And now I’m going to write about something I’ve never done before – nostalgia and sentimentality.

Although I’m now in the twilight of my county career, I had one of the most memorable days I have ever had last month in the Mary Turner Bowl – an annual three counties event played between Staffordshire, Warwickshire and Worcestershire. Eight pairs from each county play fourball betterball at the event with the scores added together for a cumulative total.

My own enjoyment of the day was undoubtedly increased by the beautifully warm and sunny conditions, and the fact that I played a few decent holes, despite a dodgy back, and managed to appear on the card more times than my playing partner – a plus three handicapper who is a member of the Great Britain squad and 25 years my junior.

However, that isn’t what made it such a good day.

From the moment I set foot in the clubhouse, I was mobbed by people telling me how much they agreed with my article on the dumbing down of golf and my attack on the suggestion to change matchplay from three-quarters to full handicap difference.
But it wasn’t even the fact that I had so much support and agreement for what I had written which made the day so special. It was the fact that these people had just as much passion about the game as I had.

I’m thinking I should go off and join Greenpeace, Amnesty International and Help the Whale, because there is nothing as uplifting as being part of a group who feel so passionately about a cause as you do. The same phrases were brought up again and again, “Don’t get me started because it makes me so angry…”, “I get so wound up when the high handicappers keep asking for…”, “They just don’t understand what it’s like…”, etc

For once I said very little, I just sat back and listened to the arguments raging around me – except there weren’t any arguments, because everyone was in total agreement. It is almost as though a civil war has broken out between low and high handicappers, each passionately and vehemently defending their corner. That is what is so tragic and lamentable about the game now.

Before the handicap system was changed, none of these divisions ever existed. The only thing people had to be upset about was whether someone’s shorts were too short. They were totally united in their support for the game. There were no half-felt congratulations if you won a competition, said through a forced smile because your good score had caused someone else to go up point one. Every single person entering a competition had an equal chance of winning.

Whether it was a club competition like captain’s day, or an open day away, the low handicappers competed for the gross prize, and everyone else competed for the four or five prizes in the bronze and silver divisions, so everyone was happy. No-one is happy now – they are all too busy fighting for their rights. I’ve heard people say they won’t play in matchplay trophies if they are made three-quarter difference, and I’ve heard people say they won’t play in them if they are made full handicap difference.

Everyone used to play in everything. They knew the rules the game had always been played by and accepted them. As well as the passion to defend their corner, the other overwhelming thing to come through was the sense of loss and regret that all these changes have had, so that future generations will never be able to play the game that we have all loved so much.

I’ve played county golf for more than 20 years and I’ve been privileged to play with, for and against the same nucleus of players for all that time. It’s almost like a family reunion whenever we meet. We do share a common bond in that we know what it’s like to stand over a four-foot putt with our hands shaking and knees knocking. We know what it’s like waiting to be called to the 1st tee knowing that we would sell our souls at that moment in time to hit a good drive.

We also know what it’s like to go from hero to zero, and back again, in successive matches. I toured the country with many of these people when the amateur tour was at its height, laughing night after night as locals didn’t know what had hit them when armies of pint-swigging girls stormed into town and took over the pool tables in the bars.

As the discussions continued long after the trophy presentation, the whole of my last 20 years came flooding back, and I fed off the passions long after I got home. I am just so grateful that I was part of the generation for whom success, ambition and hard work were admired, and when low handicaps were seen as a badge of pride, rather than something to apologise for.

I went to bed with the biggest grin I have had on my face for weeks, and it was still there when I woke up in the morning.
I just feel so proud and privileged to have been a part of all this – and I thank everyone who has been a part of it with me.