Tournament History old
Cast your mind back if you will to the late winter of 2002 and think about where you were for a minute…
Perhaps you were into your second month of post-Christmas gym membership, cranking up Daniel Bedingfield’s recent number 1 smash ‘Gotta Get Thru This’ as you powered through your final set of curls? Or curled up yourself in front of the TV in your lycra onesy awaiting the opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City? Or maybe like Stokes you were sat alone with your copy of New Scientist, contemplating your existence following the near hazardous asteroid ‘2005 YU55’ which had passed 0.85 lunar distances from Earth (about 324,600 kilometres or 201,700 miles), the closest known approach by an asteroid of its brightness since 2010 XC15 in 1976?
What you probably weren’t doing was hitting an 85 within the magnificent wooded countryside of the High Weald at Tilgate Forest to go 1-up* in the inaugural MAJIC (The Michael and Justin Invitational Challenge)
*For all golf-spotters out there, the season finished 4-4 and 89 was the worst winning score that year.
These were truly pioneering days, taking in such illustrious and acclaimed venues as Wycombe Heights, Gatton Manor, Hoebridge International Golf Centre, Silvermere, Austin Lodge and Coulsdon Court, instilling in these two young golfers a desire to challenge, compete and ultimately prevail that has laid the groundwork for the International golfing jamboree that we celebrate today, 9 men competing to raise the prestigious Claret Jug.
All it took was the addition of two like-minded souls with the initials A and D to turn the M and J International Challenge into the MAJD International Challenge and in 2005 MADJIC was born.
The Michael Anthony Dave Justin International Challenge.
The Founders in Ireland and with the Original Trophy
Ireland, 2005/6 and 2008/9
Ireland was decided as the opening venue as much for its deep golfing history as for the fact that Dave’s mum and dad owned a wonderful little cottage in the sleepy costal inlet of Union Hall in West Cork – one of many hamlets in Ireland that appears to have more pubs than people.
Breantra, to give it its Gaelic name, ended up being the base for the first 4 MADJIC battles and I must say that the golf, the craic and the hospitality of the Irish has left a lasting impression on all those that were lucky enough to have been part of the tour back in the day.
The bridge into Union Hall
The highlights are just too many to mention but whether drinking copious amounts of Bulmers at the Glandore Inn, enjoying a sumptuous fish supper at Mary Anne’s in Castletownshend or necking pints of Guinness and whisky chasers whilst playing pool in Maloney’s, the laughs were loud and long.
The view over Adam Island from the Glandore Inn
It was our first introduction to the Chenery ‘double shave’.
We all got to enjoy an 80 yard direct chip in from Dave as we waited on the green for him to hit his 6th shot.
We all bonded strongly with Dobbo, our neighbour in Nell’s Cottage.
None of us bonded with Dinty, the least smiley purveyor of exceptional pies in West Cork.
We all took part in a late night ‘4 pints of Guinness and 4 packets of Taytos’ in your most Oirish of accents competition (Probert won)
Justin managed to alienate every local fisherman by dropping ‘In Da Club’ on the jukebox and Dave and Michael managed to stay out of hospital after devouring an out of date chicken sandwich that had been picked up en route to play golf at Kinsale – ironically the gourmet capital of Ireland.
“Dave, does your chicken sandwich have avocado in it?” Mike inquired, believing he had lucked out with some additional deli filling. On inspection, the luxuriously soft-textured green substance had also been bestowed upon Dave but unfortunately, it was not supplementary to the chicken. It was the chicken.
Further investigation showed that every single item we had been sold was out of date; Crisps, chocolate bars, savoury snacks, everything. Not quite a revenge worthy of avenging the atrocities of Bloody Sunday, but a small yet significant ‘Ups Yours’ to the out-of-towners.
Ireland offered up a fabulous array of courses and our time in West Cork presented us an opportunity to visit Bantry Bay, a personal favourite of some MADJIC members – a wonderfully lush track that opens with a downhill par 3 with a water hazard and proceeds to hug the bay overlooking Whiddy Island for 14 of the remaining 17 holes.
Pro – The wonderful 2nd at Bantry
Highlights were the astounding 10th hole, snaking all 423 yards around the corner of the bay and Justin’s attempt to dismount his buggy between the 9th green and 10th tee during a 360 spin that saw his life flash before his eyes. The sheer panic was priceless and he was lucky to escape with no serious injury. The same can’t be said for his deserted passenger, Chenners, who cracked a rib as the out-of-control contraption hurtled down the hill.
Chenners – 9th Hole at Bantry Bay
The fairy tale course of Lisselan dubbed “perhaps the most unique course in the world” by Christy O’Connor will live long in the memory. Replete with trains up to the 2nd and 4th tees and a raft to ferry golfers across the lake to the 8th, it was always fun to play; something we were especially thankful for during the great wash-out of 2009, the only time the weather really conspired against us. We ended up playing Lisselan 2 or 3 times, but there was always something to savour.
If the holes weren’t incredulous enough, one time Lisselan also played host to ‘the worst golf swing ever bar none’™. Never have 4 men sniggered, pointed and then laughed out loud so much on a golf course. The swing has since been dubbed the ‘drunk Octopus chopping wood’ but I’m not even sure if that does it justice.
The train up to the 2nd tee – Lisselan
Picking a favourite course during this period would be like picking a favourite amongst your children, but it’s fair to say that Skibbereen and West Carbery was and undoubtedly remains the friendliest course in West Cork. Architect of Probert’s post-child golfing decline, theatre of Chenery’s sumptuous ‘extra point’ hybrid to the 17th green on a re-re-re-load and scene of comedy gold as barman Barry, on his first day on trial front-of -house looked behind whilst ‘reversing’ the buggy forwards straight into a wall.
This hotchpotch of reclaimed farmers’ fields and lush mature parkland holes both frustrated and delighted in equal measure but the welcome was heartfelt, the chips were hot and Barry was hilarious. It’s the mark of a great course when you can still remember every single hole 5 years after you’ve played it and that’s what Skib has done.
Tricky Opening Drive at Skibbereeen
(scene of a ‘white or yellow tee’ discussion between the men and the woman)
Ring of Kerry felt like a more professional set-up but it came at the price of a whopping 50 mile, 2 hour seemingly never ending cross-country, cross-mountain drive punctuated with screams of ‘Jaysus’ from Justin as he rounded each hairpin bend to be confronted with another and another. But as you finally passed through pretty Kenmare and up the hill to the club, RoK offered stunning views across Kenmare Bay with the beautiful backdrop of the Kerry Mountains in the distance. Not dissimilar to Bantry in terms of its lofty location around a bay, the clubhouse was sumptuous, the welcome warm and the golf delivered some outstanding holes in top condition. Whilst an excellent course that we wouldn’t hesitate to return to it possibly just lacks the MADJIC heritage of Bantry or the wide-eyed glee gained from Lisselan.
Ring of Kerry Golf Club
The 4 years of competition and 4 lines on the obscenely cheap but lasciviously coveted winner’s ‘Jug’ were shared equally between Michael and Justin who looked like they were going to dominate the competition in a Scottish Premier League type of way.
These were the days when a shake of the hand at the end of the tournament and a quick raise of the trophy back at the cottage was deemed enough celebration; though if memory doesn’t fail me, the winner of 2009 went into the final day at Bantry in a very strong position and it just so happened that when we toasted his victory in the bar at the end, the trophy popped out of his golf bag, ready to be presented to him as his speech had already prepared.
MADJIC had just gone up a notch.
Le Touquet, Nord-Pas de Calais, France 2010
2010 was the year that The Founders became the Benefactors, bestowing the gift of MADJIC upon two competition virgins; Stokesy, a newcomer to the game who we knew would offer endless enthusiasm and Baz, on a respite from his bombing holidays with the Bareback Ryders, who would bring a poker table, chips and an electronic gadgets for every occasion.
Changing the dynamic of a competition that was running so smoothly and effectively was a very bold decision to take but evolution and progression is what MADJIC is all about – within reason.
Nell’s Cottage by this time was on the market, abandoned by the Chilvers’ at the very time the Irish needed them the most. In the grip of recession, the Celtic Tiger was struggling to roar but as Dinty reduced his main meals to only €18 we callously ditched West Cork and headed to France.
Spurred on by Baz and his tales of bonhomie, we booked a 4 bedder on a newly-built estate and headed off Outre-Mache in the blazing heat of July.
The excitement was palpable and the drive along the beautiful Opal Coast really was as easy as Baz had said. Until that is we rounded the bend at Etaples to cross the little bridge into Le Touquet, when Chilvers Golf, bought from a ‘mate’ in Bomo gave out on him. Not exactly known for his boy-scout levels of preparation it came as a huge and welcome surprise to know he had booked International Breakdown only the night before. The mountain became a molehill and set the scene for a well-oiled and almost incident free trip.
Baz may claim that his lack of the bed was a hindrance. Christopher may chirp that waking up to find a fox on his chest was troublesome, but these were minor irritations that were soon forgotten.
The only long-lasting and lingering concern, which in these days of positive office speak could be called a ‘challenge’, was Justin’s mental state.
With our property, like many in Le Touquet being situated around a small pitch and putt area, the ‘challenge’ was constant. Not only that, for our neighbours it was also quite frightening and I noticed doors and windows being surreptitiously closed tight on more than one occasion.
Hosel-rockets were flying every which way but straight and the more time he spent trying to fix his ‘Armitage’ , the worse they got. If it wasn’t so funny we might have felt sorry for him, but the truth is, it was hilarious. Schadenfreude – one of the most beautiful things you can imagine in golf when someone is going for their third straight tournament win against you.
But the enjoyment was not solely derived from the decimation of his game. The majority was due to the obvious mental dismay Justin was suffering. He was in a ‘head funk’ but as time has taught him there are 3 sporting rules that cannot ever be broken. Nobody retains the Champions League, Sergio Garcia will never win a Masters and nobody can play well the year after the birth of their first child.
So as Justin made up the numbers it was left to the magnificent 4 to contend the trophy, with Stokesy playing the part of Theo Walcott in the 2006 World Cup and gaining some excellent experience of international top-level matchplay competition.
As it turned out, there were only ever 2 players in real contention, with Chilvers eventually outgunning Tony on the final days play at the prestigious Golf d’Hardelot le Pins.
Chilvers receives the Trophy – Hardelot
Delightfully set amongst the dunes and pine forest , the course was in spectacular condition, offering deep and sandy bunkers, plush fairways and fast and true greens.
It really was the pick of the bunch of a trip that also took in both courses at Le Touquet, La Mer and La Foret. These are courses that we don’t remember with huge fondness partly due to high prices that belied a lack of care and attention around the course. Whilst it’s a shame that the tee boxes were beaten and divoted, that the ball cleaners were towel and water-less and that Stokesy’s garish ensemble left us feeling like we were playing at Hoebridge, I would love to think that we will return one day as the natural beauty and landscaping of the courses was really rather special.
The Globetrotter – Le Touquet Town Centre
All in, France offered a different golfing experience that was a great alternative to Ireland and it paved the way for MADJIC to grow but in terms of numbers and experience. Sitting with a cold pint of beer outside the Globetrotter on the Rue de Metz watching the marching parade go by, offering momentary solace form the whirring noise coming from Justin’s brain and sharing in the celebration of a new name to adorn the most coveted trophy in amateur sport. What more could you ask for.
Callington, Cornwall, England 2011, 2012
And then there were 7.
As word of this fabled tournament began to spread around South London and beyond, it was determined by secret ballot that another lucky person would be the recipient of a ‘Golden Ticket’, desperate to have the doors of the MADJIC factory opened to them.
David Frost became the real-life Charlie Bucket and like the literary grandpa Joe, it was his 80 year old clubs he dusted down, ready to make a name for himself.
On a sad note, we headed down the M4 without the MX5 in convoy as the death of Baz’s father meant he was driving north to make arrangements for the funeral. His terrible swing followed by the ball flying down the middle would be missed.
At least Baz had left us with the memory of 2010, which he had organized impeccably, so 2011 was the year for Stokesy to step up to the plate and prove to us that he wasn’t just a gaudy dresser with a loud voice. And that he most certainly did with meticulously planned sojourn to Cornwall.
Just a stone’s throw from the Tamar Bridge, between Dartmoor to the east and Bodmin Moor to the west, Big Nev’s Hawthorn Cottage offered 4 bedrooms, a lake view, a beautiful deck overlooking open fields, a donkey of its own and a table tennis table that would stage some extraordinary matches away from the cauldron of the golf course.
Hawthorn Cottage, Callington
The first year’s tournament took in the recently re-opened Kernow and the signature Nicklaus courses at St Mellion as well as China Fleet and the big question on everyone’s lips was whether or not Chilvers, like his fellow MADJIC winners before him could retain his trophy.
Kernow is set up like an American course with fairways and greens of generous proportions, and, consequently, the golf course doesn’t do intimidation but sweeps gently around the hills, softly through the trees and quietly along the valley.
The Nicklaus is Jack’s very first European design and had the one time master declaring it “..potentially the finest golf course in Europe” that has hosted the Benson & Hedges Masters with Olazabal, Langer and Ballesteros amongst the winners – three players who would have been welcomed into MADJIC.
It’s a frightening proposition using all the contours of the Tamar Valley to twist and turn around lake, river and stream to give the middle handicap golfer the ultimate test. Maybe too much of a test, especially if you are not unerringly straight but both courses rewarded thoughtful golf, meaning half the field were immediately discounted.
Opened in 1991, China Fleet is little England compared to St Mellion’s brash Americana up the road. Hugging the river Tamar it is tight and challenging, some might say windswept and bleak and it requires the player to hit many a blind tee shot. It has a health centre attached for the nouveau riche of Plymouth rather than the landed rich who are members up the road.
It was rather overshadowed on our trips to the south west but it had some wonderful holes, including a monster par 5 that I seem to remember Probert eagling with some mighty hits. Not the first or last time he has been known to enter the green whilst the group ahead are holing out!
Frost was a perfect addition to MADJIC. He brought a sartorial style and was a relaxed presence to play with, hitting enough good shots to warrant his inclusion but not enough to worry the titans of the tour – and the titans of 2011 were Chilivaro and Chenners.
With Justin struggling to regain the form of 2 years previously, Probert unable to put 2 great holes together in a row, Stokesy still learning and Frosty rusty from so few rounds in the previous 10 years, it turned into a bit of a head to head. The experience of the previous year carried Chilvers through as Chenners succumbed, left to rue what might have been his best ever chance to pay some engravement fees and decorate his mantelpiece.
The following year the trip was repeated; in small part due to the success of the previous year but in large part due to the general laziness of the group. Same cottage, same courses, same players but with a few twists.
Baz was back and we added Bovey Castle to the list of venues. One of those changes turned out to be a masterstroke as Bovey Castle was a genuine thrill, magically nestled as it was in the heart of the beauty and wildness of Dartmoor. The house was a folly, built for Lord Hambledon in 1906 and the course was designed by the same architect who planned Addington and Worplesdon. An enticing downhill par 4 over a stream sets the scene for a lush and mature parkland course which meanders through the hotel grounds offering plenty of twists and turns.
We knew it was going to be a great day as soon as we drove the carts through a forest of rhododendrons to reach the well prepared and secluded practice ground. We enjoyed an entirely undisturbed warm up for what was a great round and memorable experience.
Life on the range – Bovey Castle
We welcomed back the much-missed Baz. Whilst great in terms of golfing prowess and gadgetry, it also brought with it a more microscopic adherence to the rule of the R&A and as anyone who did chemistry GCSE (that’s equivalent to ‘O’ Level for the older members) will tell you;
Baz + Stokes + Rules + Battle Heat = Bickering
So we had to endure the odd bout of tantrums and tiaras, mostly driven by Stokes’ choice of relief point but it wasn’t enough to take the shine off another good MADJIC.
An unprecedented 3rd Claret Jug for Probes, this time on the last hole over a more battle-hardy Baz was not the outcome the neutrals were after and the ensuing acceptance speech was seen in some quarters as more sardonic than sincere.
Possibly a fitting end to a MADJIC that whilst fun was a bit of a slog at times. The golf was not the best quality and we have vowed not to repeat the mistake of returning to a venue the following year.
Still, we will never forget the look on the members faces as an electronic trolley sped across the practice green prior to tee off, with a gangly Burberry-capped Anglo-Kenyan lolloping after it, the epitome of un-zen.
Or the howls of laughter and derision that greeted a boomed 1 wood on the 5th that couldn’t make the 160 yard carry despite a full-English and an hour in the gym prior to the game. Sensational stuff.
The beast that couldn’t be tamed – 5th at St Mellion
Ognore by Sea, Wales, 2013
From the first couple of pioneering years followed by a bit of repetition in Ireland, via France and double Kernow, there was concern that this proud and progressive showdown was on the verge of stagnation.
All that changed at 8.16pm, February 3rd 2013, upstairs at Ye Olde Cock Tavern in The Strand, London when Messieurs Probert and Chenery cut through the din and delivered their presentation – South Wales.
Never in a million years did people expect this to be such a stand-out venue but in part due to Chenery’s unimpeachable planning, with a roadside M4 pitstop addition from Baz, it delivered on every level.
Inheriting the benefits of 8 years of tradition, convention, wisdom and planning expertise was Andrew Moodie, the newest, and to many the unseen final component of the octet. Elevated to almost mythical ‘good bloke’ status by his work colleague, he had to charm his way past a natural scepticism built up over almost a thousand badgering emails, expounding his virtues and asking for a quick decision.
This he did with charisma to spare and in the blink of an eye, 4 had become 8 and MADJIC had suddenly become a lot harder to win.
What made it even harder was that whilst Wales offered the finest selection of naturally beautiful courses since Ireland, they were also some of the toughest.
To kick off a bit of debate, this particular writer would say that over the years the best courses would rank thus;
- Royal Porthcawl
- St Mellion Nicklaus
- Bantry Bay
- Hardelot
- Southerndown
After setting in to a wonderful but tired stone cottage in the remote Ogmore-by-Sea, the reigning champion got us underway at the unique hillside heathland links course, Southerndown.
Playing amongst the heather, bracken, gorse and free-roaming sheep in the shadow of Ogmore Castle and with far-reaching views of the Bristol Channel, this championship course was an incredible introduction to golf in Cymru and despite the torrential conditions of the last few holes an exciting golfing experience . Awooooga!
Neath and Pyle & Kenfig, the venues for the next two days were also more than worthy courses, offering breathtaking views and holes of exceptional quality. P&K possibly didn’t get the ‘props’ it deserved, being slightly on the pricey side and destroying most of the field with its challenge. Not dissimilar to Royal St George’s, often voted one of the UK’s finest courses, it had a slew of memorable holes built into the dunes, something you wouldn’t have expected from the opening of the bland and long uphill 1st. It also had a few too many forgettable holes for the price, so whilst the course wouldn’t make the top 5, I think some of the individual holes certainly would.
The winner at P&K
As for Neath, the day started with the Lions rugby and some free hotdogs and coffee being forced upon us by the owners of the Green Dragon pub on Main Road. Despite a last minute loss to the Aussies, this James Braid designed undulating heathland course had us smiling from the moment we walked off the first green to the par 3 2nd hole that took you up to a plateau overlooking the Neath and Dulais Valleys. It was a welcome respite from the wind of the links courses and the signature 391yard 15th with the green 80 feet below was one of many for the scrapbook.
Tee box on the signature hole at Neath
Ditto the 183yard 17th; a long and tricky yet unremarkable hole that had the group of Justin, Moodie, Stokes and Chilvers shrieking with delight. History has been kind to this cluster of pinpoint shots and the current narration has them all hitting the pin. Legend is all part of the MADJIC experience but it’s clear the story has been embellished to excuse what was simply loud and boorish behaviour – poor etiquette of a high order. Perhaps they felt they were due an indiscretion after suffering one of the worst breaches of golfing deportment seen since the time Justin lay down behind a fellow competitor’s putt to get a better read.
After receiving a read from The Gadget King’s top-of-the-range yardage-ometer, Pro took out the hybrid to smash one down towards the green of the par 5, 12th.
Mentally ready to let fly, Baz interrupted the eager competitor to question the efficiency of his contraption but with the memory of the ball trickling onto the green for eagle at China Fleet the previous year still fresh in his mind, he launched a 110% missile, hoping that if he caught it plum he might be able to relive that glory. Over-clubbing by at least 7 clubs, his 18 degree Ping i-20 rocket fizzled just to the left of Moodie’s head and caused a full scale riot of accusation and recrimination. Poor etiquette of the highest order. Welcome to MADJIC Andrew.
The Jester from Leicester didn’t let it shake his confidence though but there was a noticeable speeding up in his 4-ball’s subsequent holes.
If anything, the howitzer seemed to galvanize him and he went into the final day with a great chance of winning at the first attempt a feat only achieved once before. Alongside him were Baz, Justin and Frosty, whose massive handicap and efficient swing was simply not letting anyone get away from him. One of his playing partners was quick to elucidate on where it finally went wrong, claiming “ he could have won it on the back 9 but he simply has no course management skills whatsoever”
On his own meltdown, The Earl of Enfield had rather less to say, his shaky swing always just one hole away from being exposed and anyway, history doesn’t remember the losers…unless they are on video that is. Step forward Baz; right in the mix on the final day only to suffer cataclysmic bunker trouble coming down the home stretch. A combination of a steep trap face and dare I say it poor technique combined with the heat of intense competition saw a meltdown of Van De Velde proportions that only video can do justice to.
With Stokes playing superbly in the ‘just for laughs’ group behind and none of Probert, Chilvers or Chenery mounting anything close to a challenge, it was left to the newbie to walk off with the Jug and a worthy winner he was.
Royal Porthcawl was also a winner, garnering unanimous ‘likes’ from every player: A beautifully crafted yet naturally rugged golf course in outstanding condition that one would never tire of playing.
Fun at Porthcawl
Whilst MADJIC 2013 will always be remembered for an ‘off-the-chart’ amount of emails and pre-tournament ‘banter’ combined with an overtly showy and unnecessarily exhaustive prize-giving ceremony, the addition of Pointless, the hedonism of Ogfest, the beauty of Wales and the wonder of the golf amongst friends will make this truly a week to remember.
The next chapter awaits in Scotland.
North Berwick, Scotland, 2014
Whilst in many ways MADJIC inherits its own dimension (a dimension in which 40-something golf bores pore over the minutiae of their own game and re-enact the shots they played that day as if their friends give two shits) certain parallels with 21st century life on earth are unmistakable. Economists advise that boom will at some point lead to bust. Physicists declare that what goes up must eventually come down. Scientists are adamant that night will be followed by day and Realists are all too aware that a MADJIC of epic proportions must give way to a more formulaic and mediocre event.
The glorious years in verdant and welcoming Ireland gave way to the lull of France, with its shanks, put-me-ups, foxes on heads and ragged ball cleaners.
Excellent accommodation, the imposing Jack Nicklaus course at St Mellion and the rise of perennial ‘Div Group Captain’ Chenners to fight to the nail-biting end were enough to convince us to return to Cornwall the year after an incredible 2011 event; a mistake that won’t be repeated: Augusta may just be about good enough for the Masters to return year after year but the blind tee shots of a gusty China Fleet don’t quite elicit the same anticipation.
So, with South Wales delivering what is widely acknowledged to have been ‘The Best MADJIC Ever’™, history has taught us that what was to follow was going to be a sure fire disappointment. ‘Kaizen’, the concept of continuous improvement, might sound good on someone’s Linkedin profile but ultimately we all know its pretentious bollocks and that the people who put it are utter knobs.
Don’t we?
Well, they are, that’s just a fact, but just occasionally good can get better and great can become phenomenal.
I’m sure Genesis fans were in mourning when Peter Gabriel walked out only for the drummer to be handed the mic as he had the least offensive voice of the remaining group. And how must Liverpool fans have felt when Bill Shankley announced his retirement after the most glorious chapter in Liverpool’s history?
Step up Phil Collins to deliver Invisible Touch, In the Air Tonight and Su Su Sudio and step up Bob Paisley with his 6 Manager of the Year awards, 6 League Titles, 3 European Cup wins, 3 League Cups and a Super Cup on top and step up, once again our own Kaizen Six Sigma black belt, Anthony Chenery with a bid to take us to the Golf Coast of East Lothian, Scotland.
It’s coming home, it’s coming home, it’s coming, golf is coming home
The inevitable #bantz started from the day it was decided we were going and as ever proved to be the most tedious part of the whole experience, but after what seemed like 25’000 emails (of the 40’000 in total) discussing golfshake / handicaps / people’s form, Friday June 13th arrived with much anticipation, excitement and the hope that it wouldn’t prove to be an inauspicious date.
If you are wondering as to the contents of the remaining 15’000 electronic ‘work interferences’, they mostly concerned the big dilemma that all those with nothing else to organize had to ponder – train versus plane?
When you have eight guys arguing over travel routes, the stakes are always going to be high. Strong arguments were put for both sides but ultimately the thought of a hop, skip and a jump in a jet propelled carriage versus 6 hours plodding through the British countryside were too compelling for most; only Frosty and Justin let the train take the strain and the race to win bragging rights and vindication for relentless and banal emails about travel meant everyone was pumped.
The day started early in south London as Frosty’s alarm clock chimed into action at about 5.30am. Only a number 63 bus to Peckham Rye to catch the 6.24am Bexlyheath to London Bridge train, followed by 6 stops on the Northern Line train to Kings Cross before he could be safely ensconced in his corridor seat outside the toilets for the half a day journey to Edinburgh, in time to catch his train out of Waverley station to North Berwick from where he could carry his clubs and luggage to the house. All accompanied by his fellow tight arse railway enthusiast Sythesy.
‘Team Steam’ with time to kill
Meanwhile, the plane posse were giving their clubs a final clean and saying a relaxed farewell to their loved ones at the school gates before their respective taxis arrived to whisk them off to Heathrow. 1-0 to the ‘Tin-Bird Bandits’.
By the time the calls were made to arrange the airport meeting spot, the ‘Loco Lads’ were half a day into their journey but seated, relaxed and pulling into their first stop at Milton Keynes.
“Me, Pro, Chenners and Chilvers are at Check in Zone K Moodie. Baz is already through and having his 3rd pint in the Wetherspoons”
“There isn’t a Zone K. It only goes up to E”
“There is a K. I’m in it Moodie”
“There isn’t. Are you at the South or North Terminal?”
“I’m in Terminal 2. There is no North or South. What airport are you at?”
“Gatwick”
“Idiot. It’s Heathrow. You’ve got an hour until the gate closes. See you in Edinburgh”
It was 8am. Rush Hour. Moodie had an hour to find a cab, get around the M25, check in his case and clubs (Zone K) and get to the gate.
2 Stellas to the good and a lovely view of Kettering outside the right hand window. 1-1.
The fact that he made it was a miracle and to this day I’m not sure how he did, but as he came puffing up to the gate it was obvious to all that he would become the first man never to retain the MADJIC crown. Not for the last time that holiday we surveyed a fellow competitor and chalked off their chances of winning. His head simply wasn’t right.
To be fair to the Leicester Jester, he put a brave face on things and almost convinced himself that his shredded nerves would not play a part in the defense of his title. When he arrived in Edinburgh however, only to find that his clubs hadn’t, the game was up. It would take a solo return trip the next day before he could even contemplate relaxing but by then his chances had been well and truly scuppered.
Regular radio contact was kept between the two vying teams and like a pre-scripted and utterly staged edition of Top Gear, it was neck and neck the whole way until Baz, the ‘Jet Set’s’ very own James May, decided to throw a spanner in the works and upgrade the cars at the very last minute. All sorts of filthy looks were being passed back and forth as we waited an eternity for the paperwork to be completed, by which time the ‘Choo-Choo Crew’ were disembarking at Waverley and preparing for their final leg along the Firth of Forth. 2-1
Despite following Baz and his sat nav at quite a pace, it was too big a gap to make up and we finally rounded the bend into North Berwick to be greeted by the grinning, jubilant faces of the victors. Game, set and match to the Iron Horse.
After the relative isolation of Ogmore, the choice to stay in town proved to be inspired and the Victorian villa, whilst dated, was ample size and situated right across from the beach and pretty harbor and within a 5 minute walk of the town.
A Room with a View and Outside the House
North Berwick is also incredibly well positioned to make the most of some of Scotland’s finest links courses and so it was that after a slightly stressful bedroom allocation process, 8 guys and 7 sets of golf clubs set off for a pleasant but slightly overcast Dunbar Golf Club.
This Open qualifying venue is one of the best links courses in the country and at 3.30pm, a frazzled looking Moodie got us underway with the Founders in the 4-ball behind. Whilst holes 1 and 2 were an up and back with no scenery to speak of, the long par 3 downhill 3rd takes the players through a wall down towards the coast. Here we start fourteen consecutive holes running along a narrow strip of land by the Firth of Forth meaning a lengthy, testing exposure to the vagaries of seaside golf.
And We’re Off at Dunbar
Probert, fresh from his humiliation in Wales, kept a 6 off his card until blobbing the 17th and 18th holes and took a deserved lead after day 1, though mention must be made of Moodie who birdied 3 of the last 4 holes with his hired clubs to keep him in the chasing pack. In benign weather conditions, the course wasn’t at its toughest and there were respectable scores from all, with the exception of the tour organizer who spent the majority of holes walking from rough to rough muttering that he had come on holiday by mistake. A dark cloud had descended so we gave him a wide berth. At one point, I’m not ashamed to say, he was left to putt out alone as we tee’d up at the following hole. He may have arranged a trip to Scotland but he was momentarily sent to Coventry.
Fore…. Moodie Ripping One
Whilst not a course to have one instantly reach for the superlatives, it was in top condition and offered a bit of everything. Redesigned over the years by the likes of Old Tom Morris, Ben Sayers and James Braid, it is a classic example of links golf set in beautiful surroundings and was well worthy of opening such a prestigious tournament.
Next up was the joker in the pack, Whitekirk, and what a joker it turned out to be. Probert’s only contribution to the organization of the event turned out to be one blind shot after another, up and down mountain and glen and as karma would have it, it saw him slip well down the leaderboard.
Set on Whitekirk Hill the course enjoys commanding views of East Lothian, Fife and the many famous landmarks, including the Bass Rock, North Berwick and Tantallon Castle. Commanding views don’t come without commanding hills though and there weren’t many flat lies to be found anywhere.
Some took the high road, some took the low road and some occasionally managed to make the green afore a blob. It was with some astonishment that Baz (82), Stokes (97), Moodie (86) and Justin (91) managed to score over 30 points, whilst Anthony swapped his sombre mood as well as his position at the bottom of the pile with Dave. It was his trousers that he needed to be swapping though as his misjudgment carried over from the golf to the wind direction during a routine toilet break. A sheepish look, a strategically placed jumper and weak protestations that it was an Evian spillage had his group struggling to keep their concentration. As for Chilvers, It wasn’t so much his score that irked him, more the cost of the 2 boxes of balls he went through whilst trying to battle a horrific slice that never left him all week.
Nothing to See Here
A change from links golf I suppose and there were some memorable holes, but not a course I would travel far to play again though Stokes, who was now sitting atop the scoreboard would surely disagree.
June 14th was about much more than the golf thankfully. The gods had been kind and much like a golfing version of the celestial mechanics that gives rise to a solar eclipse, MADJIC had fallen on the same date as the World Cup and that Saturday night was England v Italy in the first group game live from Manaus, Brazil. Epic.
Now admittedly we could have been somewhere a little more Anglo-embracing, but this is a group that had been out of their comfort zone on many an occasion and always come through: Being the centre of attention in a traditional Irish fishing village as Barack Obama lookalike Justin breaks the occasional chatter about the forthcoming weather with 50 Cent’s ‘In Da Club’, or surviving a South Wales rugby boyo backwater mini-rock festival or when we spent 4 days in France. With the French!
Surely we could handle a few rowdy Jocks?
Football Night
We started with a fish supper and a couple of liveners back at the mansion and then headed to The Ship Inn on Quality Street for the game. Prime seats were afforded us around a table centre-screen and we filled up as the bar filled up with the young of North Berwick intent on getting lagered and watching the footy. Loyalties appeared mixed and the hostility towards the visitor from south of the border seemed friendly enough. At one stage we even had to fend off the advances of the friendliest of the group of lads behind who was fawning over the England team and seemed more desperate for them to win than any of us. His drunken pro-England rantings were getting louder, he was in multiple full-blown rows with his pro-Italian buddies and then the chants and dancing started and before long the animosity towards him, England and us and was more forthcoming. The Raheem Sterling ‘ghost-goal’ that we all jumped up and raucously celebrated was greeted with howls of derision when it was shown to have hit the side netting and as matey-boy became more frantic, the place turned into a ticking time bomb. I don’t know what provincial Scots put in their Irn Bru on a Saturday night but they all seemed to be on it and I think we were lucky that England didn’t win that game so we could escape with our lives.
Quite an evening and not the best preparation for the toughest golfing challenge to await us, Gullane no. 1, though we did have the foresight to book our first tee-off at 4.10pm.
This gave us just enough time to enjoy the delights of the Lobster Shack where the quality of 7 lobsters and one crab, chips and a glass of chilled white wine were well worth the wait.
Lobster from the Shack
It was moments like this as well as the quality golf that made North Berwick such a memorable venue. There are not many places where you walk 5 minutes to the quayside and sit out and eat fresh fish before taking on an Open qualifying venue. The course snakes across Gullane Hill from where views of East Lothian, Edinburgh and Fife are spectacular. Greens, fairways and bunkers are all superb and the course presents one of the best challenges in Scotland. With punishing rough flanking long and narrow fairways, the abiding memory is of a long, windy monster of a course that took its toll, but the scores suggested that in the main, we coped admirably with it.
Stokes did struggle and just like Pro had dropped from first place on the leaderboard, now it was his turn to capitulate. There are some courses where a 4 iron simply isn’t going to give you a chance to make points and Gullane was one such course. On the other hand, Frosty make a mockery of his pre-tournament odds and shot a sublime 94 gross for an unassailable 37 points.
Baz and Moodie scored well for the 3rd round in a row, though Justin lost touch slightly after five 6’s and three 7’s blighted his card. By this point, Anthony and Dave were embroiled in their own competition to see who could avoid the wooden spoon.
And so it was that we went into the last day with Mark Bailey leading the pack on 100 points, 3 ahead of Moodie, 6 ahead of Probert and 9 ahead of 6th placed Syvaldo, who maybe had an outside chance if the wind was up. But surely the day was going to belong to Baz Dogg, desperate to discard the tag of perennial choker and keen to secure a victory for low handicappers everywhere; so often forced to congratulate through gritted teeth the duffers as they pick up another net eagle on a 137 yard par 3.
“That wee felly’s heeds nae right..”
Perhaps it was the loss of his beloved GPS at Gullane that was affecting him? Maybe it was the effects of a momentous booze session in the Auld Hoose the previous evening when Probes asked a local whereabouts in England his accent was from (Scotland it turned out) or was it his inability to stop laughing at the utterly bemused expression that Dalston Dave received when asking for a ‘Flat White’ at the putting green tea shed in town? Whatever it was, the absolutely pristine surroundings of the bar overlooking the 18th at North Berwick Golf Club didn’t seem to shake it. Nor evidently the full Scottish breakfast that preceded the round, as the jovial and loquacious starter who had given us a full and entertaining history of the course turned to us after a shaky 5 iron off the first and proclaimed that “Seems the wee man’s heed is not right”
Sensing a weakness, Mike and Justin went for the jugular, delivering a two pronged attack on Baz – sublime shot making backed up by just enough chat to start messing with his karma. The Ying and Yang of competitive golf.
5 pars in the front 9 were a solid start but when you are sandwiched between the Birdie Boys, it’s easy to get flustered with Justin out in a sensational 38, followed closely by Mike in 39.
An 8 on the 11th followed by a double on the 12th and Baz had become a Karma Comedian, but the joke was on him. Justin kept up his scoring for a sensational 82, which could have been even better had he not failed 3 times to chip over what must have seemed to him a 12 foot wall that ran alongside the 13th.
The insurmountable wall
And let’s not forget the 4 ball behind, where Moodie was compiling a not too shabby round of 84. As he came down the 18th, a wonderfully wide hole that shares fairway with the 1st, he still felt he was in with a chance of what would have been a remarkable retention of his crown. With OOB on the right and a green just about in reach for the longer hitters (I think Justin may have laid up) he smashed a remarkable 1 wood to the heart of the green for a putt at eagle. A great finish but too little too late as Pro had done enough, scoring on 17 of the 18 holes, to finish top of the pile and reverse his debacle in Wales.
2014 will be remembered as a year of record scoring, with the top 5 players generating more points than 2014’s winner, superb weather conditions, beach front location and more than anything, the sense of quality and history of 75% of the golf courses.
The surmountable wall
The bar is at a level that I am sure is unattainable but Belgium 2015 promises to be a memorable and enjoyable event in its own way. Bring it on!
Belgium/France, 2015
Well its coming up to the end of 2016 and I am sat at my desk, recalling 2015’s September sojourn to France and Belgium and thinking how to immortalize the trip in the pages of MADJIC’s ‘Tournament History’.
It’s 30 days away from 2017 I hear you cry! You haven’t even completed 2015? How has it taken you so long you wonder?
Well the truth is, I just didn’t know what to write.
Usually I would recount tales of adventure and evening tomfoolery peppered with some delightful golfing anecdotes and sign off, safe in the knowledge we all had a great time and that the year’s ranking in the annals of MADJIC past would be broadly agreed by all who were present. The best! One of the best! Up there with the best!
But this time I’m torn. Did we all have a good time? Was it just average for some and great for others? Maybe I’m over thinking it? Maybe I just don’t want to admit it?
Whisper it – was last year’s event an unmitigated disaster? Should 2015 just be written off as a phantom year, left forever unchronicled? The War Years.
Was this really, as I sometimes think I hear on the wind after a hard day, The Worst MADJIC Ever™?
If it was, we need to spend some time pondering the whys, the hows, the wherefores.
We need answers.
What do we blame?
More importantly, WHO do we blame?
Someone must be to blame.
Somebody simply must be responsible for this scheissenfesten..!!!
So many questions. So few answers.
So this is what you’re going to get. No deep contemplations. No deductions. I think it makes sense to sit back, light a Hamlet and retell the parts that haven’t been locked away in a vault, hidden under a bed, behind a false wall, in the garage next to the house of my mind. Just the facts. Then you can make your own mind up.
October is the latest in the year the tournament has ever been and there had been much pontificating as to the merits of Flanders as a destination in the lead up, so it was great to see a huge ball of orange rise from the horizon as we passed Sevenoaks on the M23 at 6.37am.
Last time we would see the sun!
As is customary and with no prior planning, a couple of the cars were running to exactly the same clock, managing to exchange the one-finger salut on the motorway as they sped towards the Eurotunnel at Folkestone: What a source of national pride that Departure Terminal is! Overpriced slop and Burger King flying the flag for British cuisine, being hoovered up by gangs of middle-aged Superdry-clad clientele, taking a break from the Food Halls of the Harlequin Centre, the Galleria and the Oracle.
Anyway, it was still a welcome break for a clearly pale and shaken Frosty, whose generosity to drive half the MADJIC crew around mainland Europe all week had been repaid by having his musical leanings eviscerated before the Battle Bus had even touched down on foreign soil. Feted for their some-time verbose and flowery language, Scousers can also just get straight to the point and ‘Your music is shit Frosty’ certainly didn’t over elaborate.
This set the scene for a tetchy drive down to Dunkirk where the opening game was set to be played.
Opting for a new pairs format to help deliver some more fun back into what was on the verge of become an extremely keenly but possibly over-contested sporting event, we teed off in glorious sunshine, safe in the knowledge we could rely on our Partner to help us out if we had any first day jitters.
So unmemorable was the course that I struggle to remember much about it. A couple of decent holes, some extremely shoddy tee boxes, some undulating scruffy fairways part covered in cud and some ok greens is as descriptive as I feel like being, but as much as I would like to be negative, I remember it being a decent start to the holiday.
The golf was poor but the weather was glorious and it was worth the entrance fee to watch Dave Chilvers smash his driver into the par 4 8th hole from the tee whilst the group ahead were putting out.The look on Sythesy’s face as it trickled between his legs whilst he lined up his double bogey putt was HD from 350 yards away. And yes Pro knocked it in for the eagle it so richly deserved.
‘‘Take that’ div group! Get off the green and tell us who we’ve got in the final..’
As it happened, it was Baz and Chenners, but not until The Par 3 Fiasco where half the field hit woods at the 134yard par 3, having no idea where they were actually aiming.
I’m not sure at the time what made it so funny, and reminiscing now I don’t know why it was funny, but it was funny. Possibly the funniest thing that happened all day.
Maybe that says more about the day than how funny it actually was?
Anyhow, the pairs were finally won on countback which along with the funny / unfunny incident about summed up the day.
OK, but a tad lame.
But the annals of history will show a first win on MADJIC for Chenners, almost expelling the demons of ‘the year that nearly was, but wasn’t and never will be again’. Let’s not forget a first win for Baz as well, but being the tour pro and winning a pairs comp, on countback, after his partner had played all the golf, makes it less celebratory. Sorry Baz but I know there’s a happy ending.
So on we went to our lodgings at De Swaenhoek on the outskirts of Damme and after driving down endless country lanes in the Polder, we came across the most wonderful Flemish farmhouse. Slap bang opposite Damme golf course, with more rooms than we needed and beautifully set in mature gardens, the accommodation was possibly the best we have ever had. If only it was near a pub. Or a shop. Or a restaurant. Or anything really. Cabs had to be called from just outside Paris, making the cab fare to Damme, about 10kms away upwards of 50Euros and requiring an hour to arrive.
When we finally made it into Damme: A beautifully quaint, cobblestoned picture-postcode, canal side town which was so damn boring it wasn’t long before we were wondering what to do with ourselves.
The answer came in the form of beer, with the local brew, which I can’t for the life of me remember the name of, tasting like liquid gold but packing a hefty 7 per cent punch.
Talking of punch, we did well to avoid any the following evening after our first days proper golfing.
The course was Damme, bang opposite the house and the facilities were second to none. Great range, great putting green and an immaculate course to boot. Almost 7000yards from the tips, which we don’t play of course due to having a player who cannot use a driver and a player who uses a driver to get to the ladies tee, this parkland course navigates some natural as well as man made water hazards.
Pro got us started off the first as is customary for the previous year’s winner, 2-fiddy down the centre. Hat in the ring. Back to back MADJICs in his sight. But then up strode Tony Maxx, resplendent in light blue and fresh from his victory the day before, hushing the questioning ‘could it be his year?’ murmurings and pulling out his 1987 frill-less, no-name 7 wood that he’d found down the back of his grandad’s sofa.
Still blindly following the advice of Surrey’s top golf instructor* (*based in Chessington, on a Wednesday evening, between bays 16 and 18) and therefore sporting the ‘no line up’ line up, he spaffed a shot of such prodigious angles it would have taken the ballistics expert from the assassination of JFK to verify its authenticity. To this day there are members of Damme Golf Club that insist it must have been hit from the grassy knoll behind the 14th tee.
2 shots into MADJIC and the field was down to 7.
View from the book repository
Overall it was a beautiful course in majestic condition and will be remembered fondly by all, especially Baz who played well after an average start and pulled out some big shots when it mattered. His awfully pushed drive on the long par 4 that he did well to find in the rough ended up being caressed 220yards to 15 feet and will live long in the memory.
Frosty ended closest to Baz’s 39 points, with an almost as remarkable 37. For a guy who was invited for some bantz and to cook, it’s becoming a regular occurrence seeing his name at the top of the leaderboard. The whole field bar Moodie ended up with 30 points or more as well, which was impressive seeing as the course wasn’t short and there was a fair amount of water to navigate and seeing as one player’s nerves had been shredded on the first shot.
As the vibe had been so good and the clubhouse and facilities so welcoming, we decided to stay the evening at Damme, so after showers we headed back over the road to eat and drink and meet one of the key initiators of Belgium 2015, Stefaan De Clercq who said he would pop down with his wife. Randomly befriended during a mini-MADJIC to Wimereux, he had nurtured the seed of golf in Belgium and throughout the preceding 6 months had been exceedingly generous with his time and knowledge and helped flesh out the agenda.
It was the least we could do to buy this charming gentleman a few beers and so it was we found ourselves meeting him in Le Spike Bar for 7pm.
‘Wheres your wife Stefaan?’ inquired Chenners, exaggeratingly surveying the scene on tip-toe, almost moving the trendy young beauty who was stood in his way to one side. When the reality dawned, it was swiftly glossed over and we soon spent a good few hours exchanging cultural pleasantries.
The pleasantries soon ran out though as the local fortified beer took hold and Damme golf club became the setting for a Tarantino-esque verbal bloodbath, MADJIC style.
Baz continued to delight Frosty, threatening to glass him for getting in his way as he was trying to watch Liverpool on the TV.
Baz then threatened to glass Stefaan (that’s not a turn of phrase, that’s what he actually said!) for having the temerity to offer to pay for his food and drinks.
Frosty ordered an extra sharing platter which an apoplectic Stokes nearly glassed him for.
Baz ordered another 48 beers to take home – which we all wanted to glass him for.
By the end of the night, nobody had been glassed, Liverpool had won, Stefaan quite rightly didn’t pay, his wife looked ever so slightly less like his daughter as the make-up wore off, we all ate and immensely enjoyed the sharing platter and we got back and demolished the 48 pack of Jupiler larger.
Day 2 over. A great course, the magic shot, some great food, lots of great beer and just a smattering of tension.
The morning came in a Belgian Beer Fug, breakfast was probably cooked by Frosty once again and the rain that had been threatening ever since we crossed the border into Belgium had been hard at work all evening, reminding why this part of the world is so green.
The drizzle continued as we grabbed our garb and made for the most highly acclaimed of the 4 courses, situated up on the Knocke on the North Sea coast. Labelled as hidden gem by none other than Nick Faldo, but unhidden enough that it is voted the top course in Belgium, expectations were high for Royal Zoute. The drive in was splendid, reminding us of a slightly more upmarket Le Touquet, with some wonderful houses of varying styles in the lead up to a beautifully designed clubhouse where, unfortunately, guests were only really welcome to see the bedraggled changing rooms and the tiny pro shop.
€105 is expensive to play any course but with so many accolades having been bestowed upon the quality of the grasses and the attention to maintaining local flora and fauna, we arrived in high spirits. What a disappointment! The fairways were blackened from tee to green and the greens, though flat, patchy and occasionally bare. To make matters worse, by hole 4 the heavens had opened and it was full wets, umbrellas and sporadic sheltering under the pines that lined the fairway.
The course was becoming more and more saturated, the water from the previous couple of days having failed to drain, leaving puddles on the greens. By the time the two 4 ball got to the 9th tee, greens were unplayable and it wasn’t even possible to move the ball to a puttable lie.
We sat and waited 30 minutes outside the closed halfway hut, water dripping down the pitched roof right onto us and we all agreed it was time to ask for a refund. Even wet weather expert Pro, who was gross level par for 8 holes and accumulating points at quite some rate agreed that there was no point in sitting it out. Stokes had also acquitted himself well in the torrential weather, winning 16 points for only 8 holes, whilst at the other end of the table, summer-loving Sythes and Chenners struggled. Having propped up the table in Dame, Moodie, suffering from first child syndrome, played some great holes but in all didn’t do enough to get back on the trail of his second star . And as for the former 2-time champion Chilvers, after a decent 3rd place finish on day 1, he fell back amongst the field, which remained headed by Baz. Without winning the second day, he did more than enough to keep his nose out in front and ensure he went into the final day with the pack chasing him.
Over the months I have tried to remain objective about the course and consider how it might have been had we played all 18 and it had been in better condition. The fact is, we didn’t and it wasn’t and even with the 9 holes that we did see (trudging down the sodden 9th to the half-way house rather than playing it), I simply didn’t see enough to make me want to go back. It wasn’t until the 4th where any thinking was required, but then there were some beautifully shaped holes with bumps and hollows on some tree-lined though linksy style holes.
Full respect to the course for refunding our money after initially offering a free round should we want to return, though it was sad that we were happy to take the money and run when this was supposed to the golfing highlight of the trip.
The drive back was wet and long and once we had dumped our sodden equipment in the outhouse we wondered what to do with ourselves.
The answer came in the form of more competition! Tennis, and at the very convenient and respectable tennis club Vijverhof: http://www.tcvijverhof.be/
Obviously the boys didn’t have enough room in their suitcases to dress for 2 sports so off they trotted, looking like the world’s worst boy band.
The Ukranian Decorators
They were admitted entry, with the receptionist pointing them in the direction of the newly rendered back room, but they snuck onto the indoor courts and once again the flame of competition was burning bright.
This need for competition was taken straight from the courts to the Trivial Pursuit, with Baz finally being able to unwrap the cellophane from the box he’d bought for MADJIC 3 years earlier.
Again, the fact it was a highlight speaks volumes trapped as we were in this desolate farmhouse, though maybe Moodie, Baz, Justin, Chenners, Chilvers and Frosty had slightly less fun than the overall champions, who beasted all-comers and earned more cheese than Neal’s Yard.
Still, forget the tennis. Forget the triv. Forget the fact that Stokes had spent most of the previous 3 days texting on his phone. MADJIC is about golf and come rain or shine there was a gold star and a lifetime of pride to be won.
The decision to play a team game on the first day was designed to make MADJIC more ‘inclusive’ and to help it keep up with the mood of the day. Competition was getting almost too intense, some of the fun was draining from the event and the organizing committee were exceedingly quick to deliver progressive change; and all respect to them for such a bold move .
But in light of the rained off second day of competitive play, it couldn’t help but feel that 2017’s competition was the Masters equivalent of the Par 3 event the day before.
The first, though sadly not the only MADJIC* to require an asterisk. A footnote if you will.
And so it was that we set off for Royal Latem, after an extremely lengthy discussion about whether it was worthwhile making the longest journey of the lot, resplendent in our wet weather gear once again as the mizzle continued to give this part of northern Belgium a slightly depressing air. Again surrounded by attractive villas, the welcome to this lush (probably impossible not to be in this part of Belgium) 18 hole parkland course was a warm as the temperature outside. No tea, no coffee, no bacon sandwich, just a demand for handicap certificates from a slightly snotty young lad in the miniscule pro shop.
The wonder of MADJIC is that when you need a lift, there is usually something around to give you one and from the disappointment of the less-than-inspiring Latem welcome, spirits picked up immeasurably when the gang noticed that the Circus was in town. Some people find them creepy, some folk don’t find them funny, but we all, bar-none, fell over laughing when Bozo turned up on the first tee with everything bar the red nose and comedy car. By the time we’d had a few practice swings and it was time for action, there was a queue of 50 families, straining every sinew to get a look at what had washed up on their royally approved, 107 year old golf course. The afore-mentioned miserable git it in the clubhouse was selling tickets and everyone was happy again.
Anyone seen my red nose?
Once we had regained our composure, we teed off, not quite knowing what to expect but what a treat we had in store. If we overlook the fact that the first couple of greens hadn’t been prepared that morning and were dew-heavy, from the easy dogleg right of the opening hole, Hope, to the longer uphill easy dogleg right of the last, Home, Royal Latem was a mature parkland course in impeccable condition. What’s more it was peppered with some exquisite holes. The up and over 17th with a pond fronting the green was a sheer delight and despite the sporadic rain and some fairly dire golf, it was a truth universally acknowledged that the course was the jewel in the Belgian golfing experience.
Nobody was entirely out of the race (Baz had a 13 point stableford lead on Chenners at the bottom of the leaderboard with Pro 2 shots back, Frosty 3, Stokes 7 ,Chilvers 9, Sythes 11 and Moodie 12) but it was a well-known fact that Bailey could crumble when put under pressure or when in a bunker. How was his heed this morning?
The answer came with an emphatic 79 gross for 37 points and a closing 7 iron to 2 feet that the group in front could only applaud. Yes an asterisk, but I think next to it it might have to signal that if we had played the full complement of games, Baz would have probably won by a lot more than the 8 points he ended up winning by.
A new name on the trophy, a new country to have enjoyed all the razzmatazz and hoopla that goes with staging such an illustrious event and some wonderful golf, beer and texting.
Was this really, as I sometimes think I hear on the wind after a hard day, The Worst MADJIC Ever™?
Dorset 2016
The denouement of any given story is often the most important part of the experience – the point at which a story chooses to end, plotlines are wrapped up, characters are left to deal with the circumstances in which they have either gotten themselves into or have subsequently evaded, and you’re left to make up your lasting impression of whatever it is you’ve just spent your time reading, watching or in this case, being a part of.
Endings come in all shapes and sizes of course and MADJIC has had its share. The happiness of Moodies inaugural competition triumph; the shock and incredulity of Chenners Cornish meltdown; the (extremely) damp squib of Baz’s win in the Polder with a round to spare and the ecstasy of Dave’s first star, when it was starting to feel like his major contribution to MADJIC was his parents’ farmhouse in Ireland.
Sure, Mark’s triumph had a hint of ambiguity, a pencilled in asterisk if you like, but one thing MADJIC has never had is ALL-OUT CONTROVERSY. Wouldn’t it be interesting to end a MADJIC like that, just to give us the full house!?
Anyway, one thing about endings is that they should be left for the end. Nobody likes a spoiler and this certainly isn’t Memento (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0209144/)
And so, this given story’s roadshow rumbled on to Dorset, one of the finest counties in the UK and long overdue the mantle of ‘MADJIC Host’. As well as fine beaches, a Jurassic coastline and crumbling castles, many MADJIC members have strong links to the county, giving this year’s event the feel of a homecoming; which made the honour of becoming ‘homecoming queen’ even more special, if such a thing is even possible.
After the relative trials of Belgium, pre-trip MADJC took on a more subdued air and was all the better for it. With Moodie opting to stand down, unable to cope with the demands of a professional tour event on top of the ‘fake competitions’ he occasionally plays with hacker mates at sub-average courses around the M25, we were looking to fill the large void he had left. Never one to shirk change and always ready to spring a surprise, the committee eschewed the all-too-easy ‘one in, one out’ option and went for 2 new players instead. Wild-card.
Harding: (Anglia Uni alumni. Chilvers university buddy. Competition for Chenners. Awful communicator)
So long overlooked he finally got his chance and did he have a BBQ to attend this time? He did not. Back to 8.
Huntley (Brother of Anglia Uni alumni. Room-mate to out-snore Baz. Drinker. Welsh)
Double down. Up to 9.
The ghost of Moodie had been vanquished. Thanks for coming. It was fun. NEXT.
With a stress free build up, the June event crept up on us with only a modicum of handicap-related nonsense to kill the vibes though not a single member felt the need to flounce out of the Wassap chat, the barometer of pre-MADJIC stress.
The journey was an absolute wonder. There’s nothing like getting on the M3 heading south, entering the sandbelt and seeing the heather edging the motorway as you make your way towards the coast, especially as it’s only a couple of hours to your destination.
For those of us that chose the fabulous chain ferry across Poole Harbour, we got to land in Studland amongst the dunes and arrive from the east towards the imposing and magical Corfe Castle, from where our final destination of Kingston was no more than a 10-minute amble up the hill.
The Chain Gang
The house was only a few doors from the very inviting Percy Arms, with its range of local ales, a rather incongruous but highly appreciated Jerk Chicken Shack and its wonderful garden views all the way to the Dorset coast and to the courses we had come to play. With an outhouse comprising 2 rooms and a house that accommodated the rest of us comfortably, a farmhouse kitchen that seated 10 and comparable views to the Percy Arms, it was most probably the easiest and most enjoyable start to a MADJIC ever.
Off to the pub for lunch and then a twilight round at the outrageously great-value Isle of Purbeck Golf Club, 10 minutes back the way we had come.
Situated on raised ground and with most holes having far-reaching views over The English Channel, Poole Harbour, Brownsea Island, and Harry Redknapp’s Range Rover parked up in Sandbanks, it was a glorious starter for 10.
‘I of P’, as I’m sure the locals don’t call it, should have had us pinching ourselves and asking how this day could have continued on its impossibly bitcoin-esque trajectory, but we soon had a stark reminder of the cruelties of modern golf as we witnessed the shenanigans of the gypsies in the 8-ball teeing off in front of us. After numerous duffs, several airshots, a few tops, copious f-bombs and 30 minutes had taken the second fourball only half way along hole 1, there was only one thing for this indignant bunch of middle Englanders (and one Welshman) to do. We wrote a letter to the Daily Mail complained to the man in charge and had the oiks removed from the course and sent off to the duffers one over the road. And don’t come back! I hope to god they didn’t as they would have witnessed Stokes, resplendent in checked trousers and garish striped top, billowing vape smoke out onto the tee box as he shinned one along the floor.
From then on, it was plain sailing time-wise but the course threw up is fair share of challenges. It’s never easy to play a new course that has landing spots and carries that you aren’t familiar with and Isle of Purbeck was littered with them. Who can forget the XXth hole, with the massively elevated tee and the dogleg right? From the green looking back it was an easy 6 iron to a wide and welcoming fairway, but the second 3 ball waited a good 15 minutes for Justin, Chilvers and God Knows Who Else tto give up on the balls they had all spaffed into the funk on the right. What seemed like an eternity later with the first shot finally clear the following 3 ball did exactly the same and spent just as long and to as much avail..
I won’t go into too much detail about peoples play as to be honest, I don’ have a lot of recollection, though I do remember one highlight that I’m sure Justin would like us all to play over in our minds.
It came at the 16th where there was a long par 4 with a stream in front of the green over 220 yards down the fairway. He took his 4 iron in order to lay up but hit it with such uncommon venom that it trickled into the water. Points dropped for sure but such a boost to a very fragile mind, riven with anxiety after so many years of powerless ‘lady-golf’.
So, the game finished it was with a sense of some shame that we sat down and totalled up the shots. This took longer for some than it did for others, though nobody came out of it with any glory. Baz’s 88 and Tom Boys 89 topped the leaderboard, bookended by that quartet of ‘social golfers’, Chris, Chilvers, Frosty and Tone, inseparable on 114 or 115. Big Ouch!
Hang on, just as all seemed lost; what’s this coming over the hill, is it a monster, is it a monster? Not quite, but not far off.
It is in fact Baz’s goofy scoring spreadsheet and before we know it, the 4 of them are adding staggering combined 21 shots to their handicaps and are dropping that horror-show of a round from their totals. Controversial? Sure, but not an ending and certainly no more than the kind of invention we are used to in such a progressive organisation. Extra points, reloads, team day, we’ve tried it all, but shoehorning a 4 round handicap levelling tool into 3 rounds was possibly not the MADJIC committee’s finest moment. Let’s just hope there would be no further scoring controversies!
So, back we went to the Percy Arms to eat Jerk and drink beer and generally bore each other about how we played. It doesn’t matter that nobody cares. Just take turns, nod when its not your turn and then bring it back to your game any time there is a pause for breath.
Jerks eating Jerk
With a couple of UK top 100, top price courses still to come, Saturday was the turn of the cheap wild-card, The Martin Hawtree designed Dorset Country Club, to host the championship.
20 minutes away by car, a plaque at the door welcoming MADJIC, coffee and bacon rolls to kick off the day and a very pleasant 18 holes on two of their 3 relatively easy nines to get the scores ticking over. The course was very lush (we started off in a downpour) and not un-pretty. Just not worth writing too much on. Which is lucky as I can’t for the life of me remember a single hole apart form the 18th. Which I blobbed.
MADJIC is in town
I’m guessing the two Dave’s didn’t however and their respective 45 and 44 points (both picking up a bonus point out on the course) were more than enough to take top honours. Huntley, Pro and Baz may have hit low 80s but the Gods of Baz’s Spreadsheet were against them.
Anyhow, a much more respectable group score (I’ll save Chris Harding’s blushes and not mention his 115), a fantastic burger thrown in at the finish and a great way to get prepared for the big England Euro Championship massacre of Iceland that very evening!
Harding’s Blushes
What should have been a straightforward trip to the pub to drink beer and watch England win and enjoy each others company turned into quite the shenanigan however. The nuances of the story are too many to mention but who will forget the tantrums and tiaras of Huntley, Baz and Justin, sulking in the garden due to the old last-minute pub switcheroo. Keeping one’s word and doing what is right by it? Ignored, in favour of having a great seat in front of the TV in a busier, more atmospheric pub across the road. Simples, surely? Anyhow, we all sat silent and let Stokes take the rap (well, he was actually the only person there who knew the other pub had been pre-booked) as he traipsed out to the sullen three to make amends.
It worked and the gang were once again back together to witness one of English football’s many low points.
A trip up the road to a random pub decked out in fairy lights, several beers later and we were all back to watch Coldplay storm Glasto and consume more red wine. The fact we were enthralled by Coldplay I think is testament to how euphoric the day had been. Could it possibly get any better?
The pub of (de)lights
Of course it could as the next day took us to one of the prettiest courses we have played at MADJIC, Parkstone. This wonderful slip of a course, Parkstone is a beautiful and mature heathland course with lakes, standings of mature pines and a fairytale of bends and hills and interesting holes that snaked around in a circular fashion, finishing below a sumptuous 19th perched high on the hill.
Despite a rather tepid welcome and unwanted demands of handicap certificates, once the admin was complete we started with a tremendous full breakfast on the terrace before making our way down to the welcoming 1st.
Credit to Sythesy for posting his first sub-90 round of the holiday, joining Baz and Huntley on this occasion; two players who to date hadn’t shot above 90! Stokes shot a very respectable 92, earning him a whopping 43 points and his second round sub-100.
The rest of the gang struggled, despite the relatively short length, but the mark of the course was the fact that all players were raving about it despite some mixed results.
More beer, more jerk chicken, more frivolity and more consternation regarding the terrible spreadsheet got us in the mood for Dorset’s number 1 rated course, Broadstone and the ending of this year’s event.
Set in the glorious Dorset countryside (though you would never know it from the less than salubrious entrance through a new build estate), Broadstone is one of the finest examples of an unspoilt heathland golf course in the South of England, and deservedly sits in the Top 100 golf courses in the UK, as judged by Golf World and Golf Monthly. Within 250 acres of rolling terrain, the fairways run freely and separately through superb natural heathland with its swathes of heather, pine, gorse and rhododendrons, several holes offer magnificent views for miles around.
At the time I remember thinking that it was just that bit more special in this one player’s humble opinion than Parkstone in the sense that it was longer, wider and more epic than Parkstone. I don’t necessarily think that a more ‘epic’ course makes a better course but it also had a lot of wonderful snaking holes, large drops and water features. The course wasn’t in the best condition as there had been an issue with the grass but it only really affected 5 holes and the staff were magnanimous enough to give us a discount for our next visit should we wish to come back and enjoy it in its full splendour. I for one would love to, despite an average round
The more I think about it, it’s really difficult to decide which of the two was the best but the honour of playing two great courses in succession has probably only ever been matched by North Berwick and Gullane on consecutive days.
As for the white heat of competition, let’s get straight to the eventual champion, Christopher Stokes. After the asterisk of 2015, it would be amiss of me not to mention the scoring debacle that had the members of MADJIC literally choking on their lager tops on Broadstone’s tight, but adequate side verandah. No more than 12 minutes after the competition had ended and the galleries had squeezed their way out onto the B317 towards Poole Harbour, the immortal words ‘hang on Stokes, I’ve got you down for a 9 there’ were uttered. Well, didn’t we have a field day.
The Earl of Etiquette, the Regent of Recall, The Prince of Propriety, The Doyen of Decorum. Call him what you will, he could sense the Leicester City-like romance crashing down around him. ‘It was a 4 Dave. Definitely a 4. I remember it.’ And with that, not another word has been said on the matter. And not another word will be.
As much as we would love to give this story the controversial ending I have been building up to, it would be churlish to. He deserved his star, was one of few players not to abuse the appalling administrative cock-up and played some super golf when all around were losing their heads. We didn’t think it would be the courses for a 6-iron specialist but if the Big Dogs can’t keep it on the fairway then what’s the point in putting them in the bag.
The Clown with his Crown
After applauding a new name on the trophy and a stratospheric rise from golfing muppet to champion, let’s wrap this up instead in schoolboy fashion – pointing at someone and laughing.
Nobody can know about the pressure of a final round at MADJIC to win the trophy until they get there and not many know what it’s like to get there and then lose your head. Huntley can add his name to those of Bailey and Chenners and Dorset can add its name to the exalted company of East Lothian, South Wales and West Ireland.
There’s always next time!