It is a universal truth, applicable across the globe, that when a group of men get together to do a job, more time will be spent standing around watching one, or, on the odd occasion when tools/equipment allows, two (but never more than two) of the group who are actually getting on with the job. It appears to be the role of the watchers to judge the efforts of said one or two workers, providing encouragement, occasionally taking the mickey when something goes a little pear shaped, or nodding with sage-like approval at a job well done. And so it proved again earlier this week, when I had the opportunity to go out to the club in response to the request for helpers to brush the greens. I arrived on Monday afternoon, and made my way over to the group on the 12th tee (thanks for the lift, Crusher), where one of our plucky member volunteers was manfully struggling with a hand-held plastic grass seed distributer, whilst another was scattering chicken s**t out of a bucket (looking remarkably sanguine about it, despite the pungent aroma - I would like to stress that this is in no way an insult or euphemism, it it was an accurate fact). The rest of us (about 8-10, the number varied as one or two would wander off to get a vital piece of equipment) were standing around watching for the slightest sign of an unforced/unknowing error, ready to leap in with a "helpful" word of advice, or a particularly unhelpful comment (e.g. " That's not how I would have done it. He's got that completely wrong"/"Why did/didn't he do that?"). To be fair, on this particular occasion, we were waiting for the weather to play ball, and actually deliver the sun that the forecast had promised. We needed half an hour of sunlight to dry out the sand in order to make it easier to sweep. The grey clouds, however, were proving to be stubborn and it was an hour before we were able to approach the 9th green with determined intent, and the rest of us actually had to put a bit of effort in. Following a short instruction from the Grounds Team on how to use a broom (a novelty to some, it would seem), we set about our task with a certain amount of gusto, pushing sand around in the hope that the material would comply with our expectations and fall down the cored holes in the green. Holes that the sand had hitherto successfully avoided, and appeared not to want to go anywhere near. It was indeed a rare site, rarely seen in the lifetime of any human through the ages - a group of men, all of whom were working No-one standing to the side in judgement. No-one. That was until a certain member of the club, a stalwart of the Grounds Team, who has the initials "A" and "J" (not necessarily in that order), possibly feeling the after-effects of a notably high score on a certain hole recently - came over to your Club Secretary requesting that the size of one of the volunteers brooms should be noted in this weekly newsletter. Mentioning no names, it was noted that a toothbrush might have been, as, if not more, effective. That is not the point, however, the owner of the world's smallest broom had actually turned up and was there on their own time, with the best of intentions for our beloved club. Ok, it might have taken them twice as long as anyone else (or maybe 12 times as long as anyone else), but they did put the effort in and as such we will all reap the rewards. So, I am going to take this opportunity to offer my thanks, along with the thanks of all of those members who, like me (a self confessed, but intrigued, 'townie') have little clue about the amount of work that goes into maintaining the club - we are all the beneficiaries of the work that all of the volunteers all put in (even when they are just there to offer a bit of advice). Our club would not be what it is without you, and I know that I am not alone in appreciating it Stay safe, and play well Steve |