Results matching “golf”

Today is my last day as a so-called free man. If being unemployed for the last few months can really qualify as real freedom. Bumming around and trying to find goals day by day is not my favorite activity.

Tomorrow I get to join the ranks again of those fine upstanding working folks out there. Get up bright and early, learn more stuff and meet new colleagues, and have some purpose in life again. Renewed and invigorated, you're never too old for that.

Having so much time leftover has certainly improved my golf game immensely at least. Looking through my records for this year, not counting all the match plays, I've managed to play more than ninety rounds, with an average score of 81.4. My highest score was a lousy 92 and my lowest score was an inspiring 71, which I had twice.

However, playing good golf isn't everything, and it certainly doesn't pay the bills. Back to the real world for me. I wonder how much my golfing skills will suffer, I hope not much.

With more money in the bank, I can buy new clubs and other golfing paraphernalia, which in theory might help improve my game. I will drive to work and my golf clubs will travel with me everywhere. Who knows when an unexpected golfing opportunity might arise while I'm on the road.

I try to make it a point everyday to have my daily run. The total length is 7.7 kilometers, and depending on my mood and how fit I feel, the route takes me about forty minutes to cover.

Now that I have so much free time left over, I fill my days with golf in the morning and running in the afternoon. As of today, I have run eleven days in a row, which means that I've covered 84.7 kilometers. Supposing that I had done that in one stretch, it would have taken me all the way to Amsterdam and almost back again.

The route takes me through the wonderful flat countryside, in the middle of nowhere, along lots of water and past farmland. The last leg does take me along the highway, but the amazing view on the right makes it much nicer. If the sky is clear blue, I see the giant orange ball of the sun setting in the distance.

Each day closer to winter brings the sun lower and lower as the orange sliver gets thinner and thinner. When the new year returns, the orange sliver widens in glimmering beauty, welcoming my return and the return of the approaching warmer weather. But that will take some time, and now I will have to bear with it getting colder and the waterways freezing over first.

Google maps

Starting next month I'll be working again, in Amsterdam coincidentally. That means that there will be much less time for running, let alone for golf. I will have to figure something out if I want to keep my youthful figure and my single digit handicap.

Playing golf on a foggy day makes the sport very challenging if not outright impossible. At least starting from the tee box you can estimate the hole direction fairly accurately. Just orient your stance perpendicular to the tee markers and fire away.

Once you get out on the fairway however, things get much more difficult. There's a hidden six sense of golf that tells you about where to hit the next shot, being it either an approach shot to the green or a longish fairway shot. The fog messes things up by creating a thick whitish curtain through which you must hit the ball, thereby introducing significant error.

Can you see where the flag is?

Not only is the exact direction to the hole hard to figure out, but the distance as well. The fog creates this weird kind of optical illusion where it's very difficult to measure how far the shot should go. Perhaps the visual senses create havoc in your mind, a kind of panic situation, where your thinking gets much more muddled up than it should.

The best strategy is just not to think too much about the less than ideal situation and just stand up to the ball and give it your best. Also, you need to accept the fact that if you miss the target, it was not just caused by mishitting but by that irksome fog as well.

I guess you have to be pretty addicted to the sport of golf in order to want to play in such an annoying climate, but it's still great fun. That once in a lifetime shot that lands right next to the flag becomes even more miraculous.

I was born and raised in sunny California where at an early age I was blessed with the opportunity and the ability to hone my golfing skills.

So it is not hard to understand that the approaching winter and inherent lower temperature is something I find very difficult to appreciate let alone accept.

The air is colder and the ball becomes hard and untrustworthy. The normally massive drives will stutter and fail in midair, diving downwards prematurely and hitting the fairway tenfold meters shorter than usual.

The swing of the club is frigid and cramped, the muscles in your arms and legs stretching uncomfortably at best. You reminisce about that snap-of-the-whip crack of the club striking the ball but feel an awful muffled thud instead.

I guess the part I dislike the most is that my hands are frozen and stiff, despite the fancy new winter gloves I bought. Just grab onto the club and hold on tightly, hoping for the best.

The good thing though is that mother nature hardens you and helps you mature into the better golfer you were always meant to be. Challenged by the difficult winter conditions, like cold gusts of wind and icy-hard fairways, you are hardened into a truly hero-like golfer.

Good-bye nice golfing season, see you next year. In the meantime, I will try and remain an avid golfer by bearing with mother nature and its inclement conditions.

Later on I will really appreciate the nice warm weather again.

My father passed away exactly eleven years ago to this day. Eleven has always been my lucky number and was also the number in green on the back of my baseball jersey when I played shortstop for Ghent Motors. Today also marks the fifth birthday of our dog Luca who is a brown Labrador Retriever, making her thirty-five years old in human years. The last time I left the hospital where my father lay dying, the sunlight reflected so brightly from the cement sidewalk that it hurt my eyes; I had to turn my despondent head sideways and look the other way. In the meantime, it is slowly but surely getting colder outside as winter approaches with bursts of icy winds. Eleven is also the day of the month and the minutes past the hour on which I was born. The golfing season will return again next year as always meaning that this is a time of smooth patience and spiritual awakening.

Had my father still been living today, he would have been ninety-four years old, believe it or not. Happy birthday dear Dad!

He hasn't been around now for more than ten years, and to think of all those things in life that he has missed out on. I have also missed him very much, as he was a big influence in my life and helped make me the person I am today.

Dad and me (1964).

I was looking through some old pictures of mine and noticed that at my age my father and I looked very much alike. While our personalities might not be a perfect match, we do share many interesting traits and have other idiosyncrasies in common, for better and for worse.

Well, see you around some day Old Champ. We can have a fun round again at the golf course in the sky just like old times. I get to drive the cart this time and you can call me Sweet Swatter as always.

For the last couple of weeks my putting has been truly atrocious. On average I have at least 5-6 three putts per round, and once a round I have a longish fifteen footer and the ball barely makes it half way to the hole.

So I dug around in the darkest corner of the garage where I keep my old golf stuff and found a classic mallet putter which I once used in my youth during a streak of amazingly good golf scores.

Golfcraft Brass Combo Frank Johnston El-Rio Model

I brushed off all of the cobwebs and cleaned it. Since the golf course was closed today due to very wet weather, I could only hit balls on the driving range and then putt around on the practice green. I brought this ancient putter with me and gave it a go. Who knows, maybe there's still some magic in it after all these years.

Here's what happened. I sunk the first two balls on the very first hole. I then proceeded to sink the next ball on the second hole, followed by a lip out and a third ball which lipped to the back of the hole and hovered half way over the hole but didn't drop in. The first loop around the practice green resulted in seven aces and not a single three putt. None of these putts were easy and most of them had a significant break in them.

Could this be just a fluke? Or is the classical design really much better than the more modern variations? To be honest, the club head is ugly and when you stroke the ball you feel amazed that you can even hit the ball solidly. But you can, and the ball rolls true. I even tried jabbing the ball, and even then it goes right in the hole as if a magnet is pulling it down under. I also tried whacking longish putts from one side of the practice putting green to the other, and the ball still rolled great.

I should start using it and blow away my opponents. They seem to think that they are more professional golfers and better putters with those fancy and very expensive brands of today. When in the end I could use my clunker ancient-looking putter and one putt half of the holes on the course. I wonder if I have the nerve to use it in the important tournament this weekend. I think I do.

There is nothing in the world more invigorating than an early morning round of golf, teeing off as the very first flight and having the golf course all to yourself.

Your body might at first feel a little stiff, but after a few deep breaths of the crisp morning air and the smell of the moist grass filling your mind with pleasant thoughts of the many birdies to come, you are ready to go.

The sun is just beginning to rise on the distant horizon, the orange shimmering ball of fire welcoming you to the early morning adventure, rays of light bringing warmth and good will to your game.

The first drive is always a bit of a gamble as you are not feeling real confident swinging the club. Just take back the club slowly, make an easy swing and more often than not the ball will fly pretty straight, if not right down the middle of the fairway.

View from the first tee at sunrise (6:40).

This has to be the craziest most unusual roller-coaster ride nine holes I've ever had in my life. It started out pretty bad, looked good for awhile, and then at the end it blew up completely in my face.

Getting a double-bogie on the first hole was a bummer, especially when it was followed by a bogie, meaning that I was already three over par after only two holes.

A par on the third hole was more like it, and at that point I felt like things had settled down. If I got lucky I could shave off a couple of those strokes with a birdie or two later on.

Then the magic came. Birdie, birdie and then an eagle (finally, it was my first eagle at my home course since I joined three years ago). Four under in just three holes, equalizing that lousy start and putting me one under. Feeling pretty darn good, indestructible now.

A par four on the seventh, so far so good. At that point I was feeling pretty strong, like I could still pull off a birdie or two before I made the turn.

That was when disaster struck...

The drive on number eight faded ever so slightly, cleared the bunker on the right, but ended under a tree on the other side. I meant to play it safe by just punching a seven iron into the fairway, but I hit it a tad too purely, ending up right on the edge of the lateral hazard, balanced on a pillow of grass hanging over the water with nowhere for me to stand. I balanced precariously on my tip toes, but then I whiffed the ball, yes you heard me right, I missed the ball completely (hadn't done that in many years). Then I managed to connect to the ball, but pulled it way left into the woods and high brush, no way I'd ever find that ball again. Dropped and made a nervous swing, punching my seven iron to the front of the green. Finally, I three putted from there for a very painful nine, which is a quintuple bogie. From one under par to four over in the span of one lousy hole.

I should have used my brain and taken a drop from the hazard and accepted a double-bogie. If the ball had only rolled half a millimeter further, it would have fallen into the water and I would have had to drop anyway. But you know how it goes when you're hot, you get cocky and think that you have supernatural powers. I'm a jerk and I know it.

A par on the ninth would have been nice, but I was pretty shaken up after the previous hole, hit my drive real fat, had to be satisfied with chip and two putt for a bogie.

To recap the roller coaster golfing adventure fiasco: double-bogie, bogie, par, birdie, birdie, eagle, par, quintuple-bogie, bogie. Which all adds up to a ho hum forty-one.

Oh well, better luck next time.

Once in a lifetime you have the greatest round of golf you could have ever imagined. That is exactly what happened to me today. Believe it or not, I managed to shoot an even par round of golf, and I feel great.

With a string of four back-to-back birdies on the front nine, I made the turn at two under par with a thirty-four. Keeping up this tempo was at the back of my mind, and as the last couple of holes approached, I started to get pretty nervous. I was even par with only three more holes to go.

In the last couple of years, I've made it a few times to these very same last three holes with the possibility of scoring great rounds, and each and every time in the end I choked magnificently with a triple or quadruple bogie. I was jinxed, feeling like I was destined to failure no matter how hard I tried. Concentrate, think of nothing, just hit the ball.

There I was again with only three holes standing in my way of a perfect day. However, this time around I knew that today would be different. I was in "the zone" and it felt like no matter what, I could hit that little white ball effortlessly, my drives went right down the middle of the fairways, and my approach shots were flush and ended up close to the flag.

Two pars and only one hole to go. Great five wood down the middle with a hundred yard approach to the flag, and I miss hit the shot slightly, pushing my wedge to the right side just below the green. A short uphill blind chip rolled just past the hole. Then a one putt for par straight into the cup, what a sweet sound the ball makes as it falls into the hole.

I closed my eyes before I bent down to pick up the ball out of the hole. I felt like crying I was so emotional. With a thirty-seven on the back nine, I had bagged an astounding seventy-one. Who ever could have expected this to happen?

I figure that it took me a little more than thirty-five years to shoot even par again, the last time being in my golfing heyday as a seventeen year old golfing dreamer. The enormous hiatus of years had been overcome, and then finally having picked up golf seriously again, the last few years of practice and mental training had proven that I could still do it.

The young buck golfing hero inside of me has finally been liberated.

Yesterday, I challenged the elements by playing my first round of golf of the year. My dear friend nature was unable to stop me with her stormy winds and mighty bursts of intense drizzle. At one point, the wind was blowing so hard that the flags were bent over sideways at nearly ninety degree angles to the ground. With the wind at my back those drives really flew, but then the wind blew straight into my teeth and I became quite humble again.

Considering that I hadn't touched a golf club in almost two months, I managed quite well in hitting the ball, even smashing a couple of impressive drives. One cannot expect miracles on the first day back, but the wonderful feeling of contacting the ball smoothly and forcedly makes me want to come back for more.

I wonder of it'd be worth the hassle of lugging my set of clubs with me to Frankfurt this week. In the evenings, I could swing them around in my apartment and putt a few shots in search of that unattainable perfect feeling.

This year I will have less free time, so I will have to resist the urge to practice golf too much. Instead, I will pursue a healthy and strong attitude on a daily basis, focusing on intense, high-quality 18 hole moments of truth when those days arrive to inspire me on.

During the Nieuwjaarstoespraak 2011 at the golf club, the following announcement was made:

"Eerste en winnaar van de Hans Kruis bokaal met een verlaging met van 12.0 naar 8.2 is Kiffin Gish. Zo zie je wat er kan gebeuren als je meer tijd hebt om te golfen zoals Kiffin."

I feel honored and excited to have won this prize. My goal last year was to get my handicap below ten, but I did better than that.

Now that winter time has started, it's much lighter in the morning, but the early darkness is killing for the fun-loving afternoon golfers like me.

The low lying sun makes it impossible to follow the ball, and with so many leaves everywhere, even the most perfect drive down the middle of the fairway can disappear forever underneath the right-sized leaf which engulfs the unknowing little white sphere at the last moment.

So you hit a mighty drive and your first reaction is, "Felt pretty good, maybe a slight draw, did anyone see where it went?" Slight pause and shaking heads from my two fellow players, "Nopes, didn't see it, could've gone anywhere..."

That's when you are thankful upon reaching the eighteenth hole that you still have one ball left to make the final putt of the day, right at the moment when the skies darken even more quickly than you can finish the hole.

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My swing has become steadily worse in the last three weeks. Although it feels as if my swing is perfectly fine, I'm either pulling the ball to the left or the ball starts out straight but curls off badly to the left due to an out of control draw.

The solution was simple. The pro took one look at how I was addressing the ball and perceived the slight flaw immediately: my club head was closed. All I had to do was open the club face slightly more so that the front edge of the club lies perpendicular to my stance, e.g. the line connecting the front of my two feet.

As it turns out, the pro molded my stance with some slight tweaks which also helped me hit the ball more consistently straight, namely the following:

• don't bend the knees so much and stand up straighter
• push the buttocks back slightly
• hold the hips in position and rotate shoulders slightly so that they are aligned with the stance, and thusly aiming at the target

What a great pleasure it is being able to hit the ball straight and pure again. I guess I won't give up golf after all.

I have a favorite Benross three wood which when I hit it flush can strike the ball so perfectly that I can attain distances nearly as far as with my driver. The five wood I have is also really nice.

There I was at the driving range happily slamming one ball after the other with that famous three wood. Each ball I hit better and it went farther. I felt like my body and mind were energized with some hidden force. I was completely without thought in a state of mind that couldn't be stopped no matter what.

I was snapped abruptly out of this euphoric mood when the club shaft broke just below the grip. In slow motion, the head of the club stopped in mid air, its weight magically balanced with the remaining shaft, rotating in mid-air along the axis defining the new center of mass.

The rotating length wobbled frantically in the air as it fell back to earth sliding just past my left ear, the jagged end of the shaft nearly penetrating my neck.

It all happened so quickly. As I held my follow through up high where it belong, I was frozen longer than usual at the finish, in shock and thinking whew that was a close one.

After I realized that I had barely survived near death on the driving range, I felt intense sadness that my dear, poor three wood had broken and was no more.

Turns out that in order to repair the shaft it'll cost me almost as much as buying a new wood. This one is no longer available, meaning that if I'd have to buy a later version which would no longer match my five wood.

For the time being I purchased a second-hand three wood as a temporary substitute until I find a better one. Who knows, if it works out I may just keep using it forever.

If you aren't quite sure how much a given putt is going to break, then you should try and aim slightly more above the hole, and then stroke the putter an iota less hard.

Will the ball drop in the hole?

The idea is that if you misjudge the break, then the law of averages will place the ball (hanging) on the high-side of the hole, increasing the chances that gravity will end up toppling the ball over into the hole.

I not so sure I have the courage to try this out, definitely not yet in an important tournament where every stroke counts.

Besides, when it comes to golf I believe that my skills come more from gut-feeling and instinct rather than from logical thought and scientific calculations.

Like taking forever to pace off the exact distance to the hole, examine the grain of the grass, feeling how moist the surface of the green is. Even if you could pinpoint these measurements to a 0.1% margin of error, what are the odds that your body can exactly achieve the right motions to keep within the accuracy.

I guess it's a personal thing, and if going through the actions makes you feel more confident and thereby results improve, might as well do it.

This had to be one of the strangest rounds of golf I've ever played in my life. With so many ups and so many downs, it was truly a bizarre roller coaster ride. What made it even more stressful was that it took place during the qualifying round of an important tournament I've been hoping for months now to be able to play in.

Here's how it went. I start out with a birdie on the first hole and coast on through to the seventh hole at even par. The first disaster of the day strikes with a quadruple bogie eight on number eight (sand, water, drop, over the green, flubbed chip, another flubbed chip, two putt), followed with a birdie on the ninth, resulting in a forty for the front nine.

Just as fantastic as the front nine started, did the back nine begin with a disastrous triple bogie (shanked my second shot into the woods), then a birdie on the eleventh where I coasted at two over par until the par three fifteenth which I nearly four putted but got a five instead. On the seventeenth, I hit my fellow player's provisional ball by accident, making my otherwise great par four null and void, with an added two stroke penalty making it another double bogie. Forty-two on the back giving me an alright score of eighty-two.

Keeping my head in place after those terrible quadruple, triple bogie and two double bogies and recovering like a gold old boy really made my day. Sure, messing up holes during a big qualifying round is no fun, but not letting it get to you and hanging on is an even greater ego-builder. I even surprised my usual choker self, which reminded me that yes even after disaster strikes there's always room to recover, if you shake things off and remain focused.

The greatest news of all is that in the end I qualified for the Rijnmond Open and get to play in this cherished tournament for this weekend.

Summary:
birdie-par-bogie-par-par-par-par-quadruple-birdie = 40
triple-birdie-par-par-par-double-bogie-double-par = 42

My birdie putt on hole 12 just lipped out.

With much pleasure, I played the Gramacho course in Algarve, Portugal three times with half-decent scores of 81, 82 and 84 in the afternoon tropical heat. You would have thought that playing the course more often would have made it easier, but for me it was exactly the opposite.

The greens are often sloped at sharp angles, super fast, with the flag tucked tightly right behind a foreboding bunker, so prepare yourself for difficult chips and many more three-putts than you are used to.

The higher temperature makes the ball fly further, but there's always some unexpected danger around every corner. Bring a couple liters of water with you and rent a golf buggy.

This course offers a challenging variety of holes which do not play too long. However, the smallish greens are treacherous surrounded by huge, deep sand traps which often extend back a hundred yards into the fairway, waiting to engulf even the slightest misjudged shot, of which I found too many.

So there I am ready to tee off on the par four sixteenth hole, trying not to think too hard that I'm playing even par for the day. Since I started playing golf again three years ago, I've never made it this far playing all even for the day.

It's been quite a round until now, and I want so badly to keep up the momentum. Not by forcing it, but by simply letting it just happen. Do my best by concentrating just hard enough without messing things up by doing something stupid. Follow the groove, young man.

I punch a low three iron into the wind down the right side of the fairway, and the ball goes a bit farther right than I would have liked. It's still safe, but the approach shot has to be kept low to avoid the overhanging branches. I choose to execute the classic chip and run. The ball is heading straight for the pin, but it takes a bad bounce to the left, ending up in the bunker. With a nice clean sweep of my trusty sand wedge, the ball skits out of the trap nicely, rolls just past the hole, leaving me a four footer. The balls lips out on the right giving me a bogey five. Darn it, I go one up for the day.

Hole 17, where it all happened.

Alright, just shake it off young man. Two easy holes to go. I've had more than my share of amazing putts and saved pars, the laws of probability are speaking, so just let this bogie go by. Still, I want to play it safe on the seventeenth and pull out my three iron again. It's a short par four, and even if I miss the three iron, I'll still have at least an eight iron to the green.

Then I make a crucial mistake, a bad judgment call, why I do not know, but it here goes ...

I turn to my playing partner and tell him, "You know, I'm not out here to play some mickey mouse game of golf. I'm here to play like a man, be a true hero on these last two holes." He looks impressed, and I do not want to disappoint my biggest fan of the day.

I pull out my driver and I'm feeling strong. I crush the ball, but pull it badly to the left. The ball takes one bounce before disappearing into the high grass. My provisional does the same, maybe ten yards further and bounces twice as far into the high grass. The second provisional flies down the middle of the fairway, way down there. Gasp.

Thank the fairway gods that I'm somehow able to find my first ball. However, it's buried under a thick bush, meaning I must take an unplayable and take a drop. From that position, I can do no more than hit an easy wedge to the right side of the fairway, leaving what I hope will be an easy chip and run to the hole. I duff the ball badly and it barely rolls to the front of the green. I'm left with a very, very long putt to the hole which is way back, uphill and breaks significantly to the right. I smack the ball and it looks right, has enough speed, but rolls too far past the hole. I miss and it's a three putt giving me a triple bogie seven.

Am I falling apart or what? Why does this always happen to me? Thank God that this nightmare hole is over with, let me get on with my life. Miraculously, I pick up my ball out of the hole and feel like I've been recharged, a needed catharsis from pent up energy has made me stronger somehow.

The eighteenth hole is waiting for me. I pull out the three iron again and blast the ball just right of the fairway trap on the left. I'm thinking that if I now put it close to the hole, I can make up for the disastrous previous hole by sinking a birdie. The wedge goes high and bounces just left of the flag, leaving me a five footer for a birdie. The ball fails to break an iota and lips out, meaning that I have to be happy with an honorable par.

The day ends. I can now turn in my scorecard: 37+38=75. Not bad for an almost perfect round. Isn't golf an amazing sport?

Over here they call them brandnetels and this ornery plant is all over the place, mostly along the edges of the fairway where you do not want to be.

You can't help but touching them. If you need to bend down and identify your ball, when taking your practice swing, simply addressing the ball in the midst of the high grass. If you happen to be wearing shorts and inadvertently allow your baby-skinned legs to rub the leaves of this evil green contraption of nature, you'll be sorry.

The stinging sensation is subtle at first and then by the time you reach the green it's burning your skin beyond repair. If you happen to be sweating as well then you might as well forget trying to concentrate for the important putt to save par.

Sitting home enjoying a healthy dinner and reminiscing about a round of golf well done feels good, except for that extreme itchiness and burning sensation on your legs, hands and arms.

Urtica dioica (Latin for I'm burning)

How is it possible that one day you are in the zone playing a stellar round of golf, and then the very next day you are hacking around losing golf balls and end up with a score twelve strokes worse?

Well it doesn't make much sense, but I guess that's why I like to play golf so much. Could this be some form of an acute addiction or an inner need for self abuse?

The task of hitting the ball out of the thick rough should be taken seriously and not be underestimated. The odds of making a disastrous missed swing are significant, and just one hit on what seemed like a relatively easy hole can end up killing your otherwise great score for the day.

The most important thing to realize is that you will most likely lose twenty to thirty yards distance and the accuracy of your shot will widen to a cone of error spanning a large chunk of property where you would prefer not to be.

Also realize that if the grass is growing in the direction of the hole and you just happen to hit the ball perfectly clean, it could even fly out of the tall grass like a rocket ship targeting that body of water way over the green.

I try to minimize error by hitting down onto the ball and thereby avoiding chopping through too much grass. Swing like you need to punch it low through the trees. By mentally preparing yourself for the thick greenness obstructing your swing, make a more powerful follow through without forcing your normal swing too much.

Do it right and you can get a respectable bogie, maybe even getting lucky with a following chip and one putt.

Do it wrong, and accept the resulting punishment of a triple bogie because you topped the ball to the right even deeper into the tall grass or hacked it left into the water.

I guess the really hardest part is to keep calm. Realize your limitations even when you are having a stellar round and start thinking you have acquired supernatural golfing powers and can do anything.

In order to illustrate these concepts better, here follows a true story. These are my actual thoughts:

"Alright, so if I hit it just right and chop through with an open club face the ball will fly through that small opening between the trees, fade just enough to the right and possibly even roll up to the front of the green for a possible birdie putt..."

Then it all happens before I have time to realize it. The next three shots occur in rapid sequence, no thinking involved. Oops, topped the ball. Next shot hits the tree on the right and drops straight down. Third rescue attempt and I shank it into the other fairway. And so on and so on.

On the eighteenth hole, a stellar round is blasted into nothingness by my extreme foolishness and utter disregard of reality. Better luck next time.

When I opened the latest issue of the Golf Weekly magazine, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that our team picture had been printed there.

"Hooge Bergsche Men 3 were the champions in pool H148 (reserve fifth class) and have been promoted. The team is one of the most international in all the competition: composed of 'an Englishman, an American, a Montenegrian, two Dutchmen, a Haguenar and an old colonel'. The names: Guy Skern, Teun Büchner, Bernhard Kordic, Danny Fiere, Boyd de Groot, Kiffin Gish and Lex Haak."

See it for yourself

Many if not most of my fellow golfers spend much of their time overly concerned about the technical details of their swing and how they might improve their game by focusing better on certain mechanical aspects.

Enough of this madness about grips, knees bending, hips twisting, follow-throughs extending. This is a thinking man's sport.

My tactic on the other hand is based more on not so much understanding why this or that works as much as how it feels just right or wrong.

I experience the groove when my swing is right, and the clean strike and straight flight of the ball provide me with the necessary positive feedback. My holistic bodily memory is reinforced so that I just know what to strive for the next time.

The moment I start trying to figure things out and concentrate on some defective mechanical motion of mine, that's when my game falls apart. Just get into the zone and stay there by concentrating on the groove.

If I hit a great chip that ends up close to the hole or a drive that duck hooks into the water, I experience the groove or defect in my body rhythm, thereby knowing what to repeat or what to avoid the next time around.

You should be very alert at all times not to play the wrong ball. In my many years of playing golf, this has never happened to me before. That is, not until that fateful moment yesterday while I was on an unbeatable winning streak. Just like that.

This is so easily overlooked, but it can sneak up behind you at the moment you least expect it and bite you real bad. That's what happened to me yesterday and probably caused me to lose my match. Going all square into the last hole, I went one down when my opponent sank a four foot par putt, after I lipped out mine. Damn.

In match play, if you accidentally hit the wrong ball, you lose the hole. In my case, it was not my direct opponent's ball, but the ball of an opponent of another pair two flights ahead of us. He had sliced his ball badly off of the tee and into my fairway, near enough to where I thought my drive had landed going the other way.

I wasn't a complete idiot though. I did bend down and check the ball. Indeed, I saw the Titleist logo, and right next to the number was the red dot I had dabbed carefully on one of the dimples. Only after I had reached the green, marked my ball and then started to clean it, did I notice my grave mistake.

I have no one else to blame but myself. I did check it though, but not 'carefully' enough. It was a Titleist indeed, not my number '2' but a number '3'. Also, the red spot on the dimple was not alone, right next to it (but unfortunately at the time of inspection out of view lying on the lower half of the ball hidden in the grass), were two more similar red spots, forming in total a simple crescent of three spots. Upon realizing my mistake, a felt an awful emptiness in my stomach, but had to confess right away.

Simply said, "Oops, wrong ball. You win." I scraped his marker from the green with the back of my Ping putter and flipped it in the air so that he could catch it. I ran back down the fairway and replaced the ball as best as I could where I had hit it, notifying the person down the other adjacent hole of my stupid mistake.

It was so easily overlooked that I do not feel so much ashamed as more screwed over. Oh well, bad luck. Where was my real ball? Had someone else picked it up by accident? Whatever, I learned my lesson. Fortunately despite my loss, the team as a whole had won. Otherwise I would have felt pretty bad.

I learned my lesson the hard way, so hopefully I'll remember to be extra careful the next time. Make sure that you never make a similar mistake.

The future famous HB3 golf team
De Hoge Bergsche

Danny, Boyd, Lex, Kiffin, Bernard, Teun

Playing golf while it's pouring down rain isn't that fun unless like me you get an extra kick from the increased difficulty of a wet grip, chips that die in puddles, and divots which splash in your face.

Just when you're about ready to give up, the skies clear and you are given a message from one of the golfing gods.

It is a beautiful rainbow off in the distance showing you where the next hole is. You whisper to yourself how much fun it would be to make a birdie under that multi-colored arch of light, and you're off to make it happen.

Everyone has their favorite type of golf shot, and when you successfully execute this difficult shot, it gives you the most satisfying feeling imaginable. It's a rare shot and happens only once a month or a year.

Depending on your personality, you might jump up and down and shout with glee, take off your cap and fling it into the air. Or you might hold in the excitement and feel energized by walking tall as you follow the shot before the ball comes to rest, just knowing.

My favorite shot is a long four or three iron approach to the green, flying low and strong directly into the wind. The ball will rise ever so slightly but remain low enough that the head winds are ineffectual in holding back the powerful white flying arrow. It's a battle of wits, but you know that the ball is going to win hands down.

I have my own way of expressing the excitement that follows. Release the energy ever so slightly by spewing out a muffled yes, make a fist and pump back my arm, watching the descending arch in perfect line with the flag stick. Right down the smoke stack, and it is the movement of my eyes that have complete control over the ball, forcing it to follow the pre-defined path.

The first bounce hits the front of the green, skips about ten feet, and the back spin grabs the surface just right, so that the ball stops dead in its tracks for an easy birdie putt.

Damn. I bashed in the left side of my car against that stupid light-pole while backing out of the parking spot. There was this huge bang and then sounds like a tin can getting crinkled flat. A huge dent, lots of scrapes and scratches, and the door won't open anymore from the outside.

Why didn't I see it? I mean it was right next to my back door when I got in the car, and I even remember thinking I should be careful while leaving such a precarious spot. Before getting distracted by the BBC news on the radio and then throwing the gear shift into reverse without thinking.

The guy said it's going to cost me at least a couple thousand euros to get fixed. Oh well, there goes my golfing trip to Scotland. Damn.