The Matches: A Preview

As our departure approaches, thoughts inevitably turn to the matter of greatest import, our forthcoming matches.  Since the early days of our relationship, I've encouraged Theresa to use friendly matches as a means of developing her golf and match play skills, and she's taken to it frighteningly well.  The best of these matches inevitably occur on our long summer/fall trips, where the ebb and flow of daily results becomes a major component of our banter and the level of trash talk would alarm a marriage counselor.

From the start our matches have been highly competitive, with Theresa enjoying a decided advantage in the early years.  I attribute this early success to the fact that as she improved it took some time for her handicap, which is something of a lagging indicator, to catch up, but also to the fact that links golf suits her game.  She always seems to have a great sense of green speed over there, and the added roll on the rock hard turf mitigates some of my length advantage.  In recent years I've done a little better, eking out narrow wins on our two most recent long trips, though it took a birdie-birdie finish at Royal Birkdale to vanquish Attila the Hon in the former and only an ill-timed detour into a massive fairway bunker on the 18th at Pacific Dunes last year sealed the deal in the latter.

Theresa's 2011comeback stalled because of this most unfortunate detour into a massive fairway bunker on the 18th hole at Pacific Dunes.  She was understandably grateful that a photographer captured the moment for posterity.

As a slight digression, our best match ever took place last year in Bend, OR en route to Bandon Dunes.  At Brasada Ranch, a delightful resort course with great views of the Cascade Mountains, Theresa beat my best.  At one point after an early birdie spree I was 3 under par and....all square in the match.  I went two up after fifteen holes, made all pars coming in, shot even par 72 (my only even par round ever) and....LOST, as Theresa holed par (net birdie) putts on each of the last three holes.  Fortunately, Theresa will sometimes go as long as hours without bringing up this particular match.

The matches themselves are simple affairs, one unit of local currency (dollars/quid/Euro) three ways, no presses or junk, with the winner of the most matches claiming bragging rights for the trip.  However, the money is mostly incidental, as the true coin of the realm is a custom we picked up from our Scottish friends Elsie and John after a delightful day at Brora.  The bets are not paid in the traditional manner on the 18th green or over the post-round lager, but rather over that evening's dinner.  Most importantly, the loser in making good is required to shower the victor with effusive, albeit insincere, praise.  And general platitudes will not suffice, but specific shots and putts must be cited as part of the ritual abasement, which I assure the reader stings more than the loss of mere money ever could.

Ever the gracious winner, Theresa displays her ill-gotten shekels in full gloat mode as John smirks in the background.  Is more of this in my future?

And the prognosis for this year's matches? According to my Magic 8 Ball, the outlook is cloudy at best.  Theresa's handicap, which got as low as 20 this year, has magically ascended all the way back to 23 in advance of our trip.  Strangely enough, our club's handicap committee has chosen to take no action on several anonymous grievances it has recently received.  At the same time my handicap, which started the season at seven, rose to nine, with recent better play has settled back at seven.  Sixteen shots?...Cloudy indeed.  (Editor: Would you like a little cheese with that whine, Sir?) 

So, in the spirit of the recently concluded Olympics, the torch has been lit and let the games begin!