Congratulations to Dave Switalla showing true Kiwi grit and determination, being the only completed round on Saturday, taking all the accolades available. One can only assume that his boat made the trip around the course safely, and there was no need to contact the coastguard
On other matters, it will not have escaped your notice that I have a passing interest in political affairs, especially those on the other side of the planet. It is therefore with no small amount of glee that I watched the downfall of the latest narcissistic, lying, hypocritical piece of unmentionable from the top seat, well, sort of, he's not gone yet
Rarely have I been so glued to a phone, watching as the car crash seemed to accelerate over 36 hours of resignations, obfuscation and obstruction to the inevitable took place.
I have been trying to couch it in golfing terms, and have come up with the following explanation of the past few years:
Certain (false) promises were made by the team captain about his performance prior to reaching the post and the first tee. The game is simple, and the ball would fly straight and true towards the hole and everyone would be living in utopia.
Instead, the ball, or reality, was sliced into oblivion and after a significant amount of hacking, excavation and misjudgements, the target was missed, and the ball picked up and taken to the next tee.
The crowd were left disappointed, but more promises were made for the bright future in a jolly and erudite manner before the ball was placed on the tee with confidence before being topped and scuttled a few yards from the tee.
More hacks and craters are made before the hole is left untroubled again, and the ball is picked up with more promises and placed on the third tee and sliced out of bounds. Never mind, the cry is to go forwards, always forwards and so he continues, steamrollering on
You get the idea - after 9 holes, our "champion" is 9 down, but determined to fight on and turn things round - his teammates are sent out to deny the state of reality, pointing out that he made it to the course in a blaze of glory, conveniently ignoring the deliberate misdirection and bad faith arguments it took to get him there.
Standing on the 10th tee, staring down the barrel of disaster, the ball is sliced into the lake and the first teammates start to drift away, like sharks scenting blood in the water, they see their opportunity (both have since announced their candidacy for captaincy). the captain, however, is sure that he can turn it around, heading up the fairway to drop the ball (in every sense) and slicing the recovery shot into the lake. More loyal teammates jump ship, but the captain forges on, putting to save the match, the ball heads towards the hole, but stops short, teetering on the edge refusing to drop.
The match is lost, but denying that this is the case, the captain is convinced that he can still turn it round, driving off the 11th tee into the bunker, hunkering down and refusing to budge, while his opponents have walked off the course, leaving him to realise that no-one is taking him seriously anymore.
Bizarrely, he is still out there, clinging on by the very tips of the tips of his fingers, waiting for the next leader to dig him out like some sort of grass grub while he tries to worm his way back into the game
It's been an odd week
Stay safe, stay sane, and here's to a spell of drier weather
Steve
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