Single figures or bust . . .

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I wouldn’t say I have always been happy being a hacker, but at least I know where I stand.

I know I can hit the ball nearly 300 yards off the tee with my driver, even if it isn’t always in a straight line.

I know my short game is hit and miss; sometimes I hit what I’m aiming for and sometimes I don’t.

And, I know that if I were ever required to ‘putt for dough’ I’d starve pretty quickly.

Still, the relative happiness from golf comes from the company, the occasional sweetly-struck shot, and the one, possibly two on a good day, glorious moments in a round when it all comes together for a par, or, Heaven be praised, a birdie.

Really then, in the grand scheme of things, a 16-handicap is nothing to be sniffed at, not awful, but not great either.

But, as every average golfer knows, the happiness is fleeting. Every round is invariably accompanied with the frustration of what ifs, and the tantalising glimpse of what might have been.

If only …… If only there was more time to practise, if only lessons were cheaper, if only I had the right clubs. If only I’d remembered to throw my nine iron down the fairway instead of into the rough.

Managing that frustration is an art form that hackers the world over have mastered, it’s called the 19th hole. Apparently that doesn’t extend to the people we play with.

My future father-in-law, who shall remain nameless, has obviously tired of watching me chop my way around the golf courses of Bermuda because he gave me lessons for Christmas. He followed that up by telling the poor unfortunate charged with improving my game that I was ‘awful’.

Given my aversion to playing in the winter I’ve only just approached Chris Grantier at Riddell’s Bay about the lessons. In a (sort of) happy coincidence Court House Squash & Wellness Centre in Hamilton have started a ‘golfers fitness package’ as well that my employers dispatched me to test drive.

So, lessons, a biomechanics assessment and gym programme, decent enough weather to practice. Why wouldn’t I take the opportunity to combine them all and use it as an excuse to publicly humiliate myself for the next six months?

Here then is the idea: Single figures or bust. From 16 to nine with the ultimate goal of playing four rounds and finishing with a score totaling no more than 320.

The Gosling’s Invitational in late November provides the perfect motivation and challenge for the golf. The public humiliation comes from documenting my journey with pictures, videos, and the occasional outburst of frustration that I’m sure will be heard from Mid Ocean to Port Royal.

So, goodbye happy hacker, hello single-figures and a summer of good walks that will no longer be spoiled by shanks, hooks, slices and duffs.

At least, that’s the theory, what will actually happen during the course of the next six months is anyone’s guess.

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