Have You Had Bigger Nightmares on The Golf Course Than This

Halloween is perceived by many to be the season of ghouls and monsters, and terror and dread, but for us golfers, that can almost describe every round we play as the ghostly presence of impending doom hangs over each shot.

Well, that's at least how I feel about it, as the unrelenting anxiety rattles around my brain. Somehow, I actually enjoy this game, but then I have always felt that golfers must have a masochistic gene somewhere inside them.

I thought it would be fitting to reflect on some notable horror stories that I have experienced on the golf course, some of which you could find relatable, while others you may see yourself feeling pity towards me for.

Shambolic Starts

Like many of us, I am a slow starter, and will usually only begin playing to a level somewhere close to competence on the back-nine. However, when you're standing on the first tee of the Old Course at St Andrews, which I have fortunately done many a time, you want to get off to a comfortable beginning with the weight of history on your back.

But no, I am confident in declaring that no one has consistently played this opening hole worse than I have. I've done it all. I have missed the widest fairway in golf left and right, I have whiffed my tee shot, I have topped the ball multiple times, I have found the Swilcan Burn repeatedly, I have hit multiple approach shots onto the adjacent Himalayas putting course and have even hit the 17th green instead of the 1st. 

Most recently, I actually lost a ball on a hole that you would think doesn't have any rough. I have nightmares about this iconic piece of land.

Disastrous Finishes

We've all been there - you're on a positive score and just need a solid finish to bring it home. But you know what comes next, usually after someone has reminded you of where you stand.

But I have to return to St Andrews and its 18th hole, named after the legendary Old Tom Morris. Fortunately, my mishaps here have been rarer than on the 1st, but hoping to complete my round with a rousing birdie in front of the assembled gallery, I did once top my tee shot into the burn. My drive didn't even manage to cross the famous bridge.

Injuries

On a more serious note, injuries and ailments can certainly spoil your round. My own quality of golf has been affected by arthritis that has impacted the fingers on my left hand since my early 20s. 

Before more effective treatment reduced the pain, I had the good fortune of playing former Scottish Open venue, Castle Stuart in the Highlands, a bucket list day of sorts, but hitting a few shots on the range beforehand, I caught a ball thin, and the damage was done to my fingers. 

I more or less couldn't play - but fought on regardless, shooting a score of 136, the worst of my life.

Inclement Weather

Playing golf in Scotland, I have seen it all, from blistering hot afternoons to gale-force winds and snowfall, but one particular round on the Old Course stands out. 

It was a balmy day, but the later forecast was ominous. However, we didn't anticipate that it would be quite this bad. Facing back towards the auld grey toun of St Andrews in the distance, it was more the auld invisible town, as you couldn't see it. Standing on the 16th tee, visibility was down to no more than 100 feet as a huge thunderstorm hit with the heaviest rain to match.

The lightning was blinding and the sound of the rumbles defeaning, and both my father and I retreated to the safety of the clubhouse, leaving two Argentine visitors who had joined us on the first tee from Buenos Aires, who incredibly decided to continue playing into the abyss and may still be out there somewhere.

Wardrobe Malfunctions

Somehow, this has been the most recurring and ridiculous of situations. Quite often a pair of trousers won't survive a round fully intact. It's happened far too often, but two examples stand out above the rest.

Playing at King James VI Golf Club in Perth, where I grew up and spent my formative years, I bent over a putt on the 10th green and ripped the inside of my trousers between the legs. It didn't feel too draughty at the time, but having come home, after walking through the city centre and getting a bus up the road, it became apparent that most of my underwear was visible on the backside.

A few years before that, I was visiting Bute Golf Club on the island where I am originally from, and this was a wardrobe crisis of several levels. I ripped apart my trousers - naturally - when climbing from a ditch, but I was also wearing golf shoes that may have fitted me when I was 12. 

Soon, the shoes had to come off, and seeing as these were my somewhat raffish days, I was wearing odd socks, with the colour being completely from one foot to the next. Not a great look when you're wandering the fairways without shoes and your underpants partially on display.

Mysterious Gunshot

Talk about spooky, I was playing late in the evening at the aforementioned Bute GC, and the rural layout was seemingly desolate apart from myself as dusk approached. Only then I heard the unmistakable sound of a gunshot reverberating through the silence.

Unsure what was happening, a figure appeared in the distance, who paid me no attention whatsoever. Clearly, the situation wasn't unique for him, and I can only assume that he was searching for the rabbits that had darted in the opposite direction into the approaching darkness that the man followed.

Naturally, I still completed my round, but that was a shaky last couple of holes to play.

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