How much? I nearly had a coronary

As previously mentioned on ibleedgolf.com, I have been lucky enough to play Loch Lomond GC, one of the holy grails of UK golfers. I gave a broad hint to the level of financial outlay involved and reading ‘The Money Game’, submitted by m’colleague Roland Paterson, got me thinking. I thought I would expand on this & provide more details of the day – what happened was an extreme example of a ‘Money Game’ and one which I will never forget. And neither will my wife.

I’ve been asked a few times how I came to play at Loch Lomond – surely that place is the preserve of the rich & famous, not the destitute & unknown? Well, my old boss became a member there soon after it opened (with a mere fraction of the outlay now required to join, I hasten to add) and travelled north maybe three times a year to play, usually with colleagues & a client or two. In 2003, he offered up return flights, transfers and a round of golf to anyone willing to go large enough in an auction in aid of Comic Relief. I’d just received a commission cheque and, having bought custom-fitted Mizunos a couple of months prior to the auction, I was feeling bullish. I knew the package was worth more than £200 – the green fee alone would normally be £175 – so closing the deal at £205 was, in my mind, a good price for a good cause. The date for the trip was set for September 2003 – five months to go and already it had cost £205 - a solid start.

Fast forward to September – I spent that summer playing plenty of golf in a variety of locations in anticipation of this amazing day and I was feeling happy with my game as I arrived at Heathrow, clubs & clothes in tow, for my 6am flight to bonny Scotland. It was during the short flight north that David, the member, decided to inform the rest of the group of the format &, more importantly, the stakes for the day. He and Nick, a fellow director, would take on Spencer & myself, two sales monkeys, at better ball Stableford matchplay over the 18 holes. What about the stakes? The losing pair would pick up the tab for all food & drink consumed by our group throughout the day. As the lower handicappers (and, frankly, technically superior golfers) Spen & I would cede six shots to the senior men. Now, had I not been so engrossed in my own excitement about the day ahead, I would have smelt a rat at this juncture but, buoyed by my own sense of good form and reports I had heard about the standard of our opponents, I felt the challenge was but a minor hurdle.

Upon arrival at Loch Lomond, the treatment was nothing short of first class. Our clubs were unpacked, tagged and whisked off to be cleaned & delivered to the range, whilst we took a gentle stroll into the clubhouse to get changed & have breakfast. A fine feast was devoured and we were ready to head out, making a quick detour to stock up on supplies of drinks, fruit & chocolate for the round. In the distance, I could swear I heard a till ringing...

Spen & I spent a good half-hour bashing Titleists into the middle distance, followed by a putt or nine, whilst David & Nick took on board extra coffee. It was then time to stroll to the first tee where we met our caddies for the day – David had, handily, forgotten to mention this on the flight up and it was blind luck that I happened to have enough cash in my pocket to pay the man for his efforts (and considerable patience) during the round. So, not including the breakfast consumed & snacks collected, I’m up to £255 committed. Gamesmanship aplenty...

Nevertheless, I still felt pretty good about the standard of my game and our prospects of taking the spoils and this confidence was given a shot in the arm when I witnessed what was, and to this day still is, the worst opening tee shot I have ever seen. David (he’s the member, don’t forget) nonchalantly stepped up to get us under way. The first tee had, in front of it and to the left, a small pond. It wasn’t in play and was, frankly, nothing more than decoration. So much so, in fact, that Google Maps shows that it’s been removed. David’s tee shot dribbled into the pond. Lovely, we’re in here, I thought. Over the course of the front nine, Spen & I mixed the sublime with the ridiculous whilst David & Nick were steady & unspectacular – the game ebbed & flowed with little in the way of daylight to be opened up between the pairs. Coming off the eighth green, next to the clubhouse, we found ourselves 2 up – handily placed, you might think. We would shortly discover things were about to get a little trickier. 

The silver service you receive at Loch Lomond includes one of the waiting staff coming out to greet you as you come off the eighth to take your refreshment order, which is then delivered to you after you have teed off on the ninth hole. With the benefit of hindsight, David had planned this moment and, before anyone else could draw breath, four double whiskies were ordered. I hadn’t expected this and, as I would shortly discover, neither had my golf swing. For anyone unfamiliar with alcohol etiquette in Scotland, the concept of a ‘measure’ of whisky is somewhat loose; more of a guideline that a rule, so the drinks we received after playing our ninth tee shots could best be described as ‘generous’. Deciding that it was a marathon, not a sprint, I gently sipped my warming beverage as we made our way down the hole and we walked off with a friendly half. If one could pinpoint the moment that the wheels came off, it was just about to occur.

David, with a smirk on his face, informed us that it was inappropriate for our drinks, lovingly matured over at least 12 years, to be ‘in play’ starting the tenth. This meant both Spen & I, having planned to take invigorating sips every so often over the course of the back nine, had to chug the best part of an English double immediately prior to our tee shots. Bastards. With a degree of inevitability, our balls found cabbage, water, bunkers – anything except the short grass throughout a car-crash of a golf hole.

Trading blows over the back nine, we arrived on the short seventeenth 1 down but with everything to play for. To cut a longer story short, it all went tits up – we both made an absolute horlicks of the hole, even contriving to lose it to a bogey. The match was lost and it rendered the textbook birdie I produced on the last hole completely irrelevant. My pride was savaged &, more importantly, my wallet was about to take an absolute roasting, the degree to which I was yet to fully appreciate.

Handshakes & banter were exchanged, caddies were thanked & paid and we made our way into the clubhouse to get changed & crack on with the post-match refreshments. Or, as I refer to it now, pay a visit to Sketchleys.

Food & drink aplenty were ordered by all, including desserts for our conquerors – having ordered them (fully aware that we were paying) they took great delight in eating a mere mouthful before declaring they could eat no more. The shits. Sticky toffee pudding, to this day, brings back horrible memories. The growing pain in my pocket was exacerbated by my own playing partner who decided, in a move still unexplained to this very day, that it would be a good idea to order three bottles of wine costing more than £50 a pop. I was starting to feel queasy, and I was still yet to see the final bill.

So, having entered the clubhouse £255 in the red and fully aware that half of the tab for food & drink was to be added to my outlay for the day, I braced myself for the reveal of the final, awful truth.

I nearly fell off my chair.

We had contrived to spend, between the four of us, more than £350 on food & drink. Christ on a bike. I really, genuinely, hadn’t bargained, planned or expected this one. Some personal highlights of the lovingly itemised tab were bananas at £1.75 each and the whisky, disappointingly skulled standing on the tenth tee, at £12.50 a throw. I dug out the credit card, made a silent prayer and worked out how best to break the news to my other half – all while Nick & David pissed themselves laughing. £430 all in - bloody hell.

So there we have it – a bona fide, once-in-a-lifetime Money Game which bit me. As Roland said in his piece, keep an eye out for gamesmanship – it can come in all shapes & sizes.

I am the Part-Time Golfer