Twelve Days In Golf

DAY 2: PORTMARNOCK HOTEL LINKS
 

Shadow  |  Joey Harris  |  Portmarnock Hotel Links  |  Portmarnock, Co. Dublin, Ireland  |  2010

My friend and neighbor Gene McClure recently told me about a lecture he once attended by Anthony Burgess, author of A Clockwork Orange.  In the Q&A session that followed, a student asked about what kind of a commitment it took to be a writer.  Burgess’ reply was that “the only commitment required of a writer is the commitment of ass to chair”.  And so it is that I can now offer the story of Day 2, nine days after Day 1, and a full 41 days after it actually took place.  At this pace, it may take months to recount Twelve Days In Golf, but I shall work on my committment.


Day 2 promised a luxury that would not be enjoyed again, the opportunity to sleep in.  With the rest of our crew arriving this morning, our tee time was not until noon.  There was just a little concern when I woke up with a knot in my left calf that felt like a hunk of steel under my skin, but it eventually worked its way out as I limped towards the breakfast buffet for the day’s first serving of ham.

The nine new arrivals brought with them all the energy and excitement that we had felt just a day before, although it was pretty easy to tell who enjoyed the peaceful luxury of first class and who spent a sleepless night in coach and would soon hit the wall.  One of my playing partners would be a man called Tennessee, a man whose most impressive talent in golf is to talk himself out of any possibility of success before a round is ever played, the anti-Zig Ziglar.  And Tennessee was at his beautiful best before he even arrived at the practice green, among his many worries being the tight turf, the high rough and how his “problem feet” could handle ten days of walking 18 to 36 holes.  I made it a point to coach my friend up, not letting on that I myself had carded a 98 just 24 hours ago in my first Irish attempt, and I’m an optimist.

Sometimes you have to redefine success, so it was without one bit of shame that I teed up a Top Flight on that first hole.  I had lost so many balls the day before at Royal Dublin that I wasn’t sure I would finish the round, much less the trip.  So when a particularly wayward shot led me to a patch of hillside rough that no other golfer had likely ever ventured too, I found the motherload of disregarded balls.  I was like a kid at an Easter egg hunt, and I think I ended up with seven new balls, or at least they were new to me, including one lucky Top Flight that I actually played the last six holes without losing.  So it was now my lucky (brownish) ball, knocking my sparkling new (and white) Titleists and Callaways from favor.

Our round at The Portmarnock Hotel Links started with a bang as, wouldn't you know it, Tennessee birdied the very first hole.  I looked on with the pride of knowing that my pep talk was key, although I would probably not take credit for his language and club tossing that would soon follow, as entertaining as it was.  The course was visually stimulating and much more playable (easy) than Royal Dublin.  I was surprised and impressed to learn that the course was designed by Bernard Langer, never knowing he had joined the odd fraternity of player/architects, and fairing better than most.

The round ended in bizarre fashion, as the shaft of my pitching wedge broke in two at the top of my backswing on a hundred yard shot, and I swung at the ball holding only a grip as the shaft and clubhead went flying.  It wasn’t until we were sitting in the pub enjoying a round of pints and some afternoon ham that I began to wonder if I had earned a penalty.  After all, I did swing at the ball and missed.  An international call to the above-mentioned Gene McClure, who is also a USGA rules official, led to a lengthy and expensive (at 99¢ a minute) rules discussion, where he ultimately gave me a favorable ruling.

One foursome went out in the late afternoon, and I joined them with only a camera, taking advantage of the brilliant afternoon light.  I met a man and his grandson who were just walking around the course (try that in America), and he educated me on everything from Tiger Woods to American and local politics.  The grandson even brought up the division between the Protestants and Catholics, a theme I was surprised to hear a ten year old discuss, having thought this issue had been left in the past.

We spent another long night in the pub where I enjoyed a cheeseburger for dinner.  After the occasional tough bite, I removed the bun to find (you guessed it!) a layer of ham between the burger and the cheese.  What is up with all the ham?

view more photos from the Portmarnock Hotel Links