It's Only A Game

It’s Only a Game

Published by Tom Hayward at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Tom Hayward

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Introduction

Christopher - September 2009

The crowd surrounding the 18th green at Shallow Springs was silent as the ball curved towards the hole knowing there was half a million dollars riding on this three foot long golf shot, and then erupted as Chris picked the ball out of the cup and threw it into the crowd. Diana, his wife, ran onto the green and embraced him, making sure the press and TV cameras were able to take full advantage of what she considered her main physical assets. This now seemed the routine ritual whereas two years ago Chris would have walked off the green to accept the congratulations in a much more private manner. Nowadays however the media were the gods and called the shots. But then, Chris thought, two years ago he was never in the position of being in the top five in the world, was still on his first wife, and the name Christopher Disley was known to few in the golfing world……….

………it's only a game…….

Chapter 1

Christopher - July 2006

Christopher James Disley parked his mini in the spot reserved for the assistant pro, walked over to the shop and went through the ritual opening and alarm switching off which had become almost a habit over the past three years. The hours were long, the pay lousy and the prospects of taking over from John Taplow, the ageing club professional, were nonexistent - Chris couldn’t wait that long. There were compensations however, be had plenty of time to practice his game, and the supply of willing female pupils meant he had had plenty of time to practice his other favourite sport.

As he switched on the coffee percolator he thought about some of his contemporaries with whom he had spent three happy go lucky years training to be an officer and a gentleman and wondered what might have happened had his superiors not decided that his financial skills were not quite to the standards expected and that should he wish to reconsider his chosen vocation there would not be a problem.

Sandhurst training had been great. The physical demands were high but had not presented a problem to a young fit sports minded person. One’s position in the final order of merit was the most important thing, being made up of a character grade and an academic grade. Having a hyphenated surname or an educational background at one of the favoured public schools seemed to help the character grading, although some of those born with the proverbial silver spoon made one wonder why they became selected for the supervisory role of Under Officer (as they were called); but some grammar school guys did actually get selected too. Again, Chris’s sporting skills probably helped him in this area.

Sandhurst is divided into colleges, and each college into companies, and is really run by the squadron sergeant majors assigned within each college. These are all handpicked and establish a brilliant relationship with the young officer cadets combining a mixture of stern discipline with a well practiced sense of humour.

From mid-day Saturday to Monday morning was usually free, and unless he was involved in a sporting event Chris spent quite a lot of time playing poker with a regular school, which helped supplement his meager funds. At this stage in his life Chris became aware of the attractions of the opposite sex and regular arranged visits to the nearby Holloway Ladies College or Farnborough Town Hall for dances provided plenty of opportunities for initiative tests on sneaking in and out of various establishments after curfew time.

During the latter part of training comes the interviewing and selection of which regiment one hoped to join. Being technically minded, Chris had opted for The Royal Corps of Signals and into which he had eventually been commissioned shortly before his twentieth birthday.

Following a young officers’ course Chris was posted to his first unit, but word had got around and he soon found much of his time spent on Wentworth, Sunningdale, and several other notable courses in matches against other regiments.

Chris had always had an aptitude for ball games and with a county cricket trial behind him and a scratch golf handicap found that he was not so much a professional soldier as a professional sportsman, and his army salary was not really equitable with the demands of a rather full social calendar.

Many would have considered that, at the age of twenty-one Chris had left it a little late to break into the ranks of professional golf, but he found a natural aptitude to demonstrate to others what seemed to come very easily to himself, and when the opportunity to work as one of John Taplow’s assistants came up he jumped at it. He had not really aspired to reach the playing standard required to survive on the tour.

Recently however Chris had gone through a major reconstruction of his golf swing which had dramatically lowered his competition scores, and John Taplow, who apart from being his boss was also his mentor and guide, had suggested that it would be worth while trying to qualify at the tour school.

It is every professional golfers dream to have the perfect swing which can be repeated time and time again; in fact some take it to such extremes that their efforts dominate every other aspect of their lives to such a degree that normal relationships become almost impossible - they constantly need the reassurance that only perfection can give. Unfortunately perfection is something never achieved but its pursuit can leave a scarred trail.

Chris often assured himself that it couldn’t happen to me – I’m not the type. But then the heights of stardom had seemed so far removed from the present that maybe he had used this as an excuse in the past. Ten top three finishes in assistant’s competitions recently had suggested that the big breakthrough was not far away however, and Chris had decided to try at the forthcoming Tour School when his dreams of playing in next year’s European Tour events could be realised. John had even started to joke about having to get another assistant to replace him when he was away on the circuit.

Chris had no delusions about the very high standard required to get accepted on the main European tour and he had many friends who had failed time after time.

For example, last year 600 would be playing over a 72 hole competition, and the leading 140 or so went through to the next round, along with about 100 others who had been given exemption.

Of these, the top 90 along with another 70 with exemptions went through to the next round. This was played over 72 holes when the field was reduced to 75. These 75 then played another 36 holes – and the top 35 qualified.

Put simply- If, in the early qualifying stages you had averaged 70 shots per round you were likely to be out!

Some players tried for years, got themselves qualified, and then failed to finish high enough in the order of merit to retain their playing card and faced a return to the school or sought jobs as club professionals. Even seasoned tour players could find that a bad run of form could send them back to try and re-qualify. The icing on the cake was to gain exemption for a number of years by winning an important competition.

The other consideration was that the overheads such as entrance fees, travel expenses, accommodation, caddies fees, clothing and equipment, meant that, getting to play in the last stages of a competition was a necessity to avoid losing money. Some starting out were lucky to get sponsorship to help defray these costs, and then of course, if you became known, sports firms were always interested in sponsorship deals – but all this was way in the hopeful future for Chris.

Hullo Chris, a voice close behind him interrupted his reminiscing and almost caused him to drop the percolator bowl.

For Christ’s sake, Annie, don’t creep around like that, do you want to give me a heart attack, he said whilst nevertheless admiring the delightful curves of the club’s prettiest twenty year old lady member. Chris knew it was only a matter of time before he joined the legendary ranks that, according to club gossip, had enjoyed a morning cup of coffee with Anne in rather more private places than the pro shop, and she made it very plain that arrangement would suit her just fine.

Chapter 2

Anne

I’d like to book a lesson, Chris. Anne’s voice brought him back to reality. When are you free?

Tomorrow, late afternoon, if that’s OK, about five?

Yes, that’s lovely, see you then - Anne left, probably to walk back for breakfast at her parents magnificent house which overlooked the seventh fairway.

The day passed in much the same way as most others. The odd lesson, several sales of small items, and, joy of joys, one sale of a complete set of clubs. His commission enhanced slightly by the fact that they were made by the manufacturer whose product he used and who had promised some sponsorship if he made the tour circuit. John Taplow was on holiday this week so when lessons were required, Philip Tenby, the junior assistant would look after the shop, a duty he shared with more menial tasks around the club.

Burridge Park was a small but exclusive club which had been designed and built about twenty years previously and was privately owned by an ex international golfer and a local businessman who had made a fortune in shipping. They were frequent visitors to the club but their interests were more in the contents of the bar then in the course itself, but, by employing top quality staff managed to make membership of the club something that the punters were quite happy to part with two thousand pounds a year after the initial joining fee to enjoy. The current waiting list was estimated at two years whilst other clubs in the area were desperately short of members.

At about six o’clock Chris closed the shop and spent another hour on the practice area behind the clubhouse. This was his normal routine and when available John would supervise his practice and make suggestions when necessary, an arrangement which had worked well and enabled Chris to attain the knowledge required to instruct others.

There were several club members out practicing and some paused to have a chat and relate their current triumphs or problems to Chris. One of them, Richard Marsden, the current club captain and father of Anne called him over as he was leaving the area.Why don’t you drop in for a bite of supper with us tomorrow after Anne’s lesson, Chris, nothing formal, but there’s someone I would like you to meet - say about seven thirty?

Well, yes, that would be fine, thank you very much; it’ll just give me nice time to nip home and change. Collecting his equipment together Chris tried to think what could be important enough to Richard Marsden to merit such an invitation. Although the Marsden family were known for their high life style and generosity this was generally reserved for more important mortals than an assistant golf professional and he was intrigued to think who the person he was to meet could be. Driving back to the small flat he rented in nearby Staines the puzzle remained in his mind - possibly Anne would know what it was about; he would ask her tomorrow

The next day time seemed to drag for Chris, and although he was well occupied with working in the shop, doing some club repairs, and a couple of lessons, he found it difficult to concentrate on anything in the normal way, and, when Anne came in at five o’clock he quickly banded over to Philip and walked over to the practice area.

So, what’s the problem today then, he asked, the swing looks pretty good to me. Everything looks pretty good to me he thought; she must be the most attractive lady member of the club by a mile, and Chris found his thoughts wandering as he adjusted the way she was holding the club. Her perfume was subtle and no doubt cost more than Chris earned in a week and it was obvious she knew the effect she