Last Sunday, Martin Kaymer won something called the “Nedbank Golf Challenge” in Sun City, South Africa – “his first title of 2012”, according to www.nedbankgolfchallenge.com. Graeme McDowell also won the “World Challenge presented by Northwestern Mutual” that day in southern California, by three strokes over Keegan Bradley. As these glorified exhibitions were drawing to a close, Whitekirk Golf Club hosted Dunbar Golf Club in the East Lothian Winter League. In contrast to those other two events, Whitekirk vs. Dunbar was a true challenge which actually meant something to its participants above and beyond a juicy end-of-year paycheck.
Golf in December is an unusual animal. In the US, several loosely affiliated, limited-field events like the Tiger Woods-sponsored “World Challenge” are held before the PGA Tour goes entirely on Christmas vacation. (Simultaneously, the final stage of Qualifying School last week saw Oliver Fisher, Robert Karlsson and 24 other golfers who have never been in your kitchen win US Tour cards for 2013.) The European Tour migrates to South Africa. The only semi-prestigious golf gets played in Australia; this week’s Australian Open could claim to be the real Fifth Major if only the best non-Antipodean golfers in the world could be bothered or trained to fly south for the winter like their predecessors once did – Jack Nicklaus and Gary Player won the Australian Open 13 times between them – and their tennis equivalents still do. Should we begrudge them a brief holiday at the end of a busy year? Perhaps not, but let’s not pretend that Kaymer or McDowell accomplished anything more than adding a few zeroes to their bank balances.
Back in Blighty, where the sane golfers are hibernating, some of us trudge onward through wind, cold and damp. Many golf clubs continue to hold monthly medals and organize fourball or foursomes leagues or knockout tournaments, giving fanatical amateurs a competitive excuse to get outside. Where I live, east of Edinburgh, the best players of most clubs also face off against each other in the East Lothian Winter League: five foursomes (alternate shot) games per team match, Ryder Cup-style, with a round-robin schedule and promotion/relegation between two divisions.
I have been playing in the Winter League for Dunbar since 2008, and it is consistently one of the highlights of my golfing year. I’m always honored to represent my club in inter-club competition, and team competitions excite the senses in ways which individual rounds cannot. The foursomes format was surely invented by a Scot in winter: matches are faster, and you can remain bundled up in jackets and gloves longer between shots. Plus, the wintry weather can pose delightfully different challenges to anything else you might face during the year.
Case in point: our match away to Whitekirk last Sunday. My seaside town of Dunbar was frosty that morning, but Whitekirk – a mile inland from the Firth of Forth and on higher ground – was literally frozen. I dropped a golf ball from shoulder height onto the practice green and it bounced above my knee. Soft spikes made the same sound on the greens that metal spikes make on cart paths. On the 10th hole, I slightly pulled a 9-iron approach shot and called, “Cut! Cut!” – the ball landed short and left of the green, kicked high in the air and to the right, bounced several times on the green itself and rolled off the green to the right, at which point I yelled “Hook!” Why we were allowed to play and putt on frozen greens remains a mystery to me, except insofar as the League must go on; our next fixture is on 16 December, and reserve dates are few in the calendar between now and the (scheduled) end of the season in February.
But this is the joy and the agony of matchplay golf: conditions may be ridiculous, but they are equally ridiculous for both sides, and the winners will adapt to the conditions more quickly. On the 12th hole, I putted down an icy bank from 30 feet behind the green, deliberately bouncing the ball through and over the rough and down to within a foot of the hole for a par to even the match. On the par-5 15th, both teams hit balls out-of-bounds, and I was left pitching onto the green and deliberately stopping the ball 40 feet short of the hole so we might two-putt for an eight and win the hole with our opponents lying nine. You won’t see those tactics in Sun City any time soon.
As this column continues, I intend to write about the PGA Tour and the highs and lows of professional golf in America – not the bogus “Challenges” of December, but the meaningful events and dramatic moments which glue you to Sky Sports on Sunday nights. Each month I will also feature several golf courses in Britain which are worth seeking out – courses you may not have heard of, but which are worth driving five hours to visit and play, courses worthy of a long weekend away. But I also hope to showcase some of these more personal moments which typify how golf in Britain can be so different, and often so much more interesting, than it is back in the States. Unlike many other sports, for most of us golf is a mix of enjoying the personal and admiring the professional, and it is that mix I aim to balance on this website and in the magazine.
At Whitekirk, my partner and I went to the par-3 17th one down. Our opponents pulled their tee shot, and I hit mine right at the flag – but I’d not accounted for the slowly thawing ground, and my ball plopped gently into the turf and stopped 30 yards short of the flag. The other guys pitched onto the green, and their ball bounced and bounced and rolled through the back. My partner chipped expertly to within six feet. The other guys took a free drop from casual ice – and promptly chipped in for par. My six-footer lipped out. We lost the game 2&1, and Dunbar lost the match 3-2. Thank goodness the next match is never more than a few weeks away.