Missing Sandwich on the Golf Course
European golfers must be in better shape and must not get hungry. It is like they run on nuclear fuel or have a hidden compartment in their bag that stays hidden from my eyes. North American golfers are spoiled with access to electric carts/buggies and food is in abundance thanks to cart girl and half way houses. Not so when playing in the UK and Ireland. My stomach actually grumbles before I attempt playing links golf. But a smile still somehow escapes.
Darwin would be proud in calling links golfers case studies in the survival of the fittest. Not only do slashing rain and sideways wind wreak havoc on the body and spirit but what do you do when you get hungry? One does not think of logical things like sneaking a Mars bar and those nice, small ham and cheese sandwiches before they head off into their competition. No, they think of how they can win 2 and 1 in match play. By the time your stomach reminds you that you should fill the tank, all you can see surrounding the dunes and undulations are cows and friendly goats. No cart girl with flowing blond hair will rescue your dire situation.
And walk you must with your caddies, Seamus or O’Callaghan. Forget about requesting a buggy. Pro shop staff and locals will wonder what bizarre language you are speaking and then hand you a trolley. Or just hike the bag over your shoulder like Old Tom Morris did back in the nineteenth century. Come on you Canuck or Yank wimp get out there and do it in 3 hours like we do!
Fortunately spoiled North Americans are very adept at throwing off the thoughts of golf buggies and food when trekking to the old country. No reliance on these tools of the golf trade are available like back on the friendly confines of well manicured courses back home. Get out and master nature with punched three irons and 50 yard putts. That is also the greatness of flying in economy class in cramped conditions, wrenching your back and then stumbling punch drunk after flying all night. The reward is the pint of Guinness or five or the shot of whiskey at the end of the spectacular round. No whining allowed wondering about the hut and those finger foods.
I would have thought it would be a fine business to open up a half way home at many of these golf clubs. Don’t Europeans get famished too? Maybe this would be a good revenue generator, especially when North Americans are conditioned to having this break to replenish the spirit and gut. Then they check the scorecard to see if they are being demolished or preparing for the jibe against their competitor.
The true reward is to last the full round and play it in a 3 to 3 and a half hour pace, not 4 and half to 5 hours required by North Americans. None of the fiddling with practice swings and droning with your colleagues about senseless subjects when the focus should be the swing and pace of play. Pints poured so beautifully by the barkeep do seem to taste superior if one tackles the conditions by walking on an empty stomach and grinding out a healthy match. And oh those crisps, fries, chicken wings, tiny sandwiches and other assortment of simple foods that give ravenous golfers such simple pleasures are quickly snatched from the laughing staff.
No need for the buggies or the food. Just Mother Nature with sights of cows, humps and a sliced shot into the great abyss. Now I get it. Just do it with your comrades and you shall be rewarded. Be a Darwin survivor.