Golf in London

‘Bring me the head of Sergio Garcia: My year of swinging dangerously on the pro golf tour‘ tells the story of one man’s voluntary slide into a year long mid-life crisis. The milky brew with rich-tea of mental illness, which usually involves fast cars and young women, manifests itself on this occasion as the desire to be a golf pro. To be fair, mid-life crisis may be too strong. Arsing about playing at being a pro golfer would be a more accurate, if a bit unkind.

Our hero is Tom Cox. Previous junior county golfer, owner of nice knitwear, and proud exponent of ’the Cox action’,  A wristy puffy flail of a golf swing capable of aces and tens with the same indiscrimate ease. Having ostentatiously downed tools at 18 in search of a life outside polo shirts, creased slacks and Pringle he finds himself at 30 having fallen back under golf’s spell, wondering what might have been and why his bag smells of piss.

Things are set in motion with a freak hole-in-one and a discovery that all you have to do to join the Europro Tour is fill out a form.  The book then charts his lack of progess and attempts to win a pro tournament and qualify for The Open.

Unfortunately instead of the camararderie and characters he remembered from his days on the junior amateur circuit, Cox is confronted with an endless procession of Darrens and Jameses. BMW-bland men who have dreamily sacrificed their social skills for pure ball striking. Whose favourite read is a yardage chart and whose greatest ambition is to marry Anthea Turner whilst riding a quad bike around a gated estate in Surrey…or something like that. Maybe it was marry a quad bike. I don’t know.

They are the Stepford Pros, 27 year old identikit golfers. Stony faced silent followers of fairways. Each one of them with a buckle big enough to fasten the Green Belt and hair borrowed from an electrocuted badger. Always ready with some snappy ‘what are we driving then?’ repartee.

Against these relentless nearly-men, Cox’s wristy action disintegrates under pressure until it becomes the bloody-fingered thrashing of a ’panicked squid’ trying to escape a pride-extinguishing century. Whilst the concentration on the minutiae of swing theory leads his ‘aberrant mind’ into an internal debate with something called an ‘Evil Brain Worm.’ A worm so evil and so twisted that it takes delight in turning him into a gibbering shanking hacker.

It’s not all golf though. OK, actually it is. But only in a book on the subject of such navel gazing lonely nonsense as golf could there such a pleasant digression due to the rain. Instead of mixing it up with Sergio Garcia and Angel Cabrera our Man on Tour finds himself at home, watching golf films and practising his putting by trying to get his balls to come to rest between his partner’s feet. Not half so interesting as one might imagine.   

Product placement runs high throughout, with lots of matey plugs for Urban Golf, Refugee Golf, and the Knightsbridge Golf School. But it’s easily forgiven when the author’s connections also means there are lots of meetings with the golfing great and good. Ken Brown makes a saintly appearance alongside Lee Westwood and Dave Musgrove. Even Ronan Keating makes a mercifully short appearance, must have had a nasty feeling in his fingers.

The author finally finds his peace and enjoyment isn’t on the podium of a pro tour. Nor in the knobish nomenclature of amateur competitions, rituals of private members clubs, and tiny hotel rooms. It’s playing with his friends. It’s in the alternatives to traditional golf on the streets of Shoreditch, the long drive tournaments, and the chaos of a 12-way pitch and putt play-off.

Whilst the author doesn’t attempt some hard nosed expose of the satellite tour or amateur circuit, or attack the diligence of private members clubs in looking after the game like it’s a relic, he does write about golf with affection, obsession, knowlege and humour. And you can’t ask more than that can you? Well, I guess one small attempt at allievating Garcia of his bonce wouldn’t have hurt.

For 30 something amateurs it’s a vicarious ride of wish-fulfilment. Trying to make it on the pro tour without succumbing to the allure of ‘eau de golf’. For teenagers obsessed with golf, it’s a warning shot across the checked trousers - Golf is a game best enjoyed between shots. Taking it seriously may cause breakdowns and lead to work with traffic cones.

For everyone else, yes it’s about golf, and no you probably won’t like it.

According to the Literary Review of Books less than venerated method of rating books, but excellent way of ordering food, I award this title six squid rings out of a possible Cod and Chips Twice. But must subtract at least two for using footnotes.*

Tom Cox is author of Nice Jumper, Educating Peter and The Lost Tribes of Pop, and writer of several blogs, including a rather nice one about cats.

*Which,unless they involve some cunning extraction a C minor from a big toe and an elastic band, are just plain annoying.