Here is a blog of my first few years as a blind golfer. This will include my events, my thoughts, and many silly situations… and trust me when you get 40 blind golfers in a small area anything can happen…
So I will try to be honest without offending, though the language may be industrial from time to time as being blind is a daily frustration. My current aim is to get to the blind golf world championships in Australia in the early part of 2014 and achieve well in my ranking events in between.
Here goes…
THE ONE ABOUT THE BARMAN 6/3/2013
I knew today was not going to be good from the moment I woke up and got myself downstairs. It started in the kitchen, after dropping my medication all over the floor, I spent what felt like an eternity on all fours feeling my way around to find the four little bleeders. During this time I found a five pence piece, a piece of pizza from the night before, a hairband from daughter Gemma but not f***ing tablets. Cursing away with sore knees I finally came across 3 out of 4 of the tablets and decided that would be enough to keep me breathing. When getting up from the floor I thumped my head on the kitchen table which followed with a rather loud “FUCKKK” followed by the sound of a cup smashing that had fallen from the table that the thud from my bloody head managed to dislodge, as you can image this then induced more bad language and further searches around the floor for smashed bits of glass.
After sitting down for breakfast still enraged at having spent most of my morning on all fours searching for missing tablets and shards of glass I then proceeded to pour orange juice on my cornflakes as it was in an identical jug to the milk.
My John Cleese moment continued on the golf range, standing cold with a throbbing head from the morning’s adventures from which, I developed a bump on my head. The bump started out pea size then grew to the size of a golf ball to end as a great fecking great tennis ball on my front lobe, making me look like a part from the Elephant man. Sam my patient coach brought out us both coffee to go but after hitting a few balls I walked backward only to kick over my coffee… no not sams…mine. I thought “feck this let’s get on the course”, so off we went. After 7 holes the wind and rain made my testicles blue, my lips bluer and my language the bluest. From hole 7 I could smell the wonderful aroma coming from inside the clubhouse. All golfers love bacon from there and that was a sign and the sign was heeded.
Now before I tell you of my continued attempt to swear for an entire day I need to digress.. never go anywhere with a group of more than 4 blind people at once.. that’s all I am saying for now.
This may sound like the start of a corny joke but bear with me. So, 4 blind people at the bar the bar man said “can I help you sir?”, well much to his surprise and definite confusion, he got a reply from us all asking for a variety of orders at once, “sorry sir I am talking to you with the red jumper”. Well we all turned clockwise and anti-clockwise blind guiding canes crossing like Darth Vader on a mission with his light saber. This of course was followed by a large echoing of the words “who is wearing a red jumper?” … it must of looked like a group of sperm in a test tube looking for guidance to the promised land. Realising he was about to get nowhere fast, the barman gave us guidance with a disgruntled reply of “the one with the glasses” and apparently a clutch of an arm on the red-wearing jumperman who was wearing glasses and (what I would imagine to be) a now a startled expression.
Day two of our event would get better but not before a few cracks on my kneecap bouncing off the low coffe table in the lounge…. You get the jist…
So I will try to be honest without offending, though the language may be industrial from time to time as being blind is a daily frustration. My current aim is to get to the blind golf world championships in Australia in the early part of 2014 and achieve well in my ranking events in between.
Here goes…
THE ONE ABOUT THE BARMAN 6/3/2013
I knew today was not going to be good from the moment I woke up and got myself downstairs. It started in the kitchen, after dropping my medication all over the floor, I spent what felt like an eternity on all fours feeling my way around to find the four little bleeders. During this time I found a five pence piece, a piece of pizza from the night before, a hairband from daughter Gemma but not f***ing tablets. Cursing away with sore knees I finally came across 3 out of 4 of the tablets and decided that would be enough to keep me breathing. When getting up from the floor I thumped my head on the kitchen table which followed with a rather loud “FUCKKK” followed by the sound of a cup smashing that had fallen from the table that the thud from my bloody head managed to dislodge, as you can image this then induced more bad language and further searches around the floor for smashed bits of glass.
After sitting down for breakfast still enraged at having spent most of my morning on all fours searching for missing tablets and shards of glass I then proceeded to pour orange juice on my cornflakes as it was in an identical jug to the milk.
My John Cleese moment continued on the golf range, standing cold with a throbbing head from the morning’s adventures from which, I developed a bump on my head. The bump started out pea size then grew to the size of a golf ball to end as a great fecking great tennis ball on my front lobe, making me look like a part from the Elephant man. Sam my patient coach brought out us both coffee to go but after hitting a few balls I walked backward only to kick over my coffee… no not sams…mine. I thought “feck this let’s get on the course”, so off we went. After 7 holes the wind and rain made my testicles blue, my lips bluer and my language the bluest. From hole 7 I could smell the wonderful aroma coming from inside the clubhouse. All golfers love bacon from there and that was a sign and the sign was heeded.
Now before I tell you of my continued attempt to swear for an entire day I need to digress.. never go anywhere with a group of more than 4 blind people at once.. that’s all I am saying for now.
This may sound like the start of a corny joke but bear with me. So, 4 blind people at the bar the bar man said “can I help you sir?”, well much to his surprise and definite confusion, he got a reply from us all asking for a variety of orders at once, “sorry sir I am talking to you with the red jumper”. Well we all turned clockwise and anti-clockwise blind guiding canes crossing like Darth Vader on a mission with his light saber. This of course was followed by a large echoing of the words “who is wearing a red jumper?” … it must of looked like a group of sperm in a test tube looking for guidance to the promised land. Realising he was about to get nowhere fast, the barman gave us guidance with a disgruntled reply of “the one with the glasses” and apparently a clutch of an arm on the red-wearing jumperman who was wearing glasses and (what I would imagine to be) a now a startled expression.
Day two of our event would get better but not before a few cracks on my kneecap bouncing off the low coffe table in the lounge…. You get the jist…
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