Today’s World Championship Golf Tournament
Forget Augusta. Forget St Andrews. Forget even the Ryder Cup. Today’s real golf drama unfolded at the only venue that truly matters: our local club. It was billed as the “World Championship Golf Tournament,” which in reality meant three middle-aged men pretending they’re professionals while wearing suspiciously shiny online sports gear that promised distance, forgiveness, and a better swing — none of which actually materialised.
The fuel for this historic contest? Bacon, sausage, and egg butties wolfed down in the car park before tee-off. A breakfast of champions, or at least a breakfast of three blokes pretending to be champions. The grease was still warm on the napkins when we shook hands, muttered something about “good luck, lads,” and teed it up for the most prestigious event of the golfing calendar: three men, one course, zero chance of television coverage.
The line-up?
- Andy with his pristine set of Titleist clubs, convinced the equipment would carry him to glory.
- Alex wielding his Cobra sticks like he was Bryson DeChambeau’s stunt double.
- Tommy (that’s me), turning up with my trusty old Ping clubs, each one carrying more battle scars than a Scottish castle.
Hole 1: The Flying Start
Alex clearly had his Weetabix. He smashed his drive down the first with such confidence that, for a moment, we thought Sky Sports might start broadcasting live. He swaggered off with a 5.
Andy and I followed up with 6s, the kind of bogeys you could file under “respectable if no one was watching.” Already, Alex had that smirk that says, “you two are here for second place.”
But it’s a long game, and smugness is dangerous fuel.
Hole 2: Titleist Doesn’t Guarantee Accuracy
Andy stepped up on the par-4 second, his Titleist driver glistening like Excalibur. The result? A heroic slice that almost killed a duck on the pond. Alex and I tried to keep straight faces, but the duck’s disapproving quack did most of the work for us.
I found the fairway (by accident), Alex followed with another rocket, and Andy somehow scrambled a 7. The duck survived, but Andy’s dignity didn’t.
Hole 3: Ping Loyalty Pays Off (Sort Of)
I’ve always said loyalty matters in golf. My Ping irons are older than half the kids working in the clubhouse, but they’ve never let me down completely. On the third, I striped a 7-iron onto the green and two-putted for par. Yes, par. Alex and Andy could only manage bogeys.
For a brief, glorious moment, I was the leader. I puffed my chest out like a pro walking up the 18th at The Open. It lasted about ten minutes.
Hole 4: Bunker Business
Alex found the greenside bunker and immediately channelled Seve Ballesteros. One swish of the Cobra wedge and the ball popped out beautifully, rolling close enough for a tap-in. Andy tried the same thing and nearly dug his way to Australia. My Ping sand wedge? Well, it got me out… eventually.
Scorecard reality: Alex back in front, Andy muttering about “club selection,” and me realising my moment of glory was gone.
Hole 5: The Great Putter Debate
Golfers love to argue about which putter is best. Blade or mallet? Heavy or light? Doesn’t matter when all three of us missed putts inside four feet.
Andy’s Titleist putter betrayed him completely. Alex over-read the break by about six feet. And me? I just closed my eyes and hoped, which worked better than I expected.
The crowd (a pensioner walking his dog) was not impressed.
Hole 6: Andy Strikes Back
Finally, Andy’s Titleist driver delivered. He launched one straight down the middle, strutted after it, and looked like he was about to write an instruction manual. A crisp iron later and he rolled in a par putt. His arms went in the air like he’d just won The Masters.
Alex and I clapped politely, which is golf-speak for “we’re furious but can’t admit it.”
Hole 7: Cobra Bite
Alex’s Cobra clubs woke up in a big way. His drive carried so far we thought he’d need a passport to find it. Andy topped his into the rough, I scuffed mine about 150 yards, and suddenly Alex was strutting like he owned the course.
He walked off with a birdie. Andy and I staggered off with bogeys, wondering why we even bothered buying golf balls in the first place.
Hole 8: The Rough Justice
They call it rough for a reason. Andy found it, I found it, Alex found it. Only Alex managed to get out in one shot. Andy hacked his way out in three attempts, and I may still be in there somewhere.
Alex extended his lead, Andy swore his Titleist clubs were “too advanced,” and I blamed the Ping for being “too honest.”
Hole 9: Halfway Heroes
At the turn, Alex was striding ahead, Andy was threatening to list his clubs on eBay, and I was just happy my back hadn’t seized up yet.
We grabbed drinks at the halfway house. Andy ordered an isotonic sports drink, Alex had an energy bar, and I had a sausage roll. Nutrition is a matter of perspective.
Hole 10: Second-Wind Syndrome
Fueled by pork and pastry, I found form again. My Ping driver sent one down the middle, irons on target, and a smooth two-putt for par. Alex looked rattled. Andy looked lost. For a hole, at least, Tommy was back in business.
Hole 11: The Titleist Tantrum
Andy had a meltdown. He chunked his approach into a ditch, then skulled the recovery shot over the green. His putter betrayed him again, and he stormed off with a 9.
Alex whispered, “he’s going to bin those clubs tonight.” I just nodded and marked down the score with as much sympathy as a man can muster while laughing internally.
Hole 12: Cobra Consistency
Alex was robotic. Fairway, green, two putts. Easy par. I three-putted from 15 feet, Andy muttered something about the “wrong shaft flex,” and the gap widened.
Hole 13: Ping Pride
On the par-3, my Ping 7-iron finally earned its keep. Sweet strike, straight at the flag, landed pin-high. Andy went long, Alex went short, and for once I had the bragging rights. Walking off with a par felt like winning Wimbledon.
Hole 14: The Lost Ball Lottery
Alex pulled one left, Andy pushed one right, and I dribbled one straight down the middle. For a moment, chaos reigned. We found Alex’s ball under a hedge, Andy’s in a bunker, and mine sitting proudly on the fairway.
It didn’t matter. Alex somehow scrambled another par, proving once again that golf is 80% luck and 20% Cobra.
Hole 15: Fitness Test
By this point, the legs were going. Andy’s shirt was sticking to him, I was inventing new back stretches, and Alex looked irritatingly fresh. He even did a little jog up the fairway, which we both agreed was unnecessary and offensive.
Hole 16: The Collapse
I’d love to say I fought bravely until the end, but the truth is I collapsed. My swing shortened, my grip loosened, and the Ping clubs started to feel like medieval weapons. A triple bogey ended my faint hopes.
Andy wasn’t faring much better. His face said “pro,” his scorecard said “hack.”
Hole 17: Alex Secures It
Alex birdied the 17th to put the result beyond doubt. He actually fist-pumped, which we agreed should carry a two-shot penalty in friendly golf.
Andy tried to remind us that “it’s about enjoying the game,” but he was already Googling “how to sell Titleist clubs” on his phone.
Hole 18: The Prestigious Finish
The final hole was played with as much ceremony as we could muster. Alex marched up the fairway like a champion. I trudged along, Ping in hand, muttering about bad luck. Andy made one last attempt at a miracle drive, but it went sideways faster than a shopping trolley with a dodgy wheel.
We tapped in our putts, shook hands like true professionals, and announced Alex as the winner of the World Championship Golf Tournament.
Post-Match Reflections
- Andy: Learned that Titleist doesn’t come with a guarantee against double digits.
- Tommy (me): Proved that loyalty to Ping is worth at least a couple of pars.
- Alex: Walked away with glory, smugness, and a new nickname: “Local Cobra.”
Beyond the Banter: Why This Matters
Here’s the thing: yes, we’re three ordinary blokes hacking our way around a golf course, pretending it’s the World Championship. Yes, the banter is merciless and the golf is rarely pretty. But days like this are about more than scorecards.
Being out with friends, laughing at each other’s disasters, celebrating the rare good shots, and just spending time together outdoors — it does more for your mental health than any app or self-help book. Golf gives us structure, a reason to connect, and a way to shake off stress.
The World Championship was never about who won (although Alex will be insufferable for weeks). It was about friendship, fresh air, and the reminder that life after fifty is better when you’ve got mates to share it with.
So here’s to more bacon butties, more terrible shots, and more days that prove golf really is about more than golf.
