Portugal 2017
El Gourdo. Il Grande. The Big One;
Call it what you will, all roads were leading to this MADJIC since the Romans started building roads.
With an almost hourly update of the enormous balance we had been saving and a weekly travelogue of potential golfing destinations to choose from, the self-nominated Acting Chairman was metaphorically moistening our gussets for what would be the culmination of 10 years of saving and dreaming — dreaming of Pebble Beach with a possible road trip from San Francisco. Contemplating Turkey in an 8-room villa with personal chef. We even imagined South Carolina with its manicured courses and eat-all-you-can diners.
So how we ended up in the Algarve in a 600-room run-of-the-mill hotel I’ll never know?!
Perhaps it had something to do with the mathematics of only stashing away 20 quid a month?
Nevertheless, it allowed us to choose from some of the finest courses in Europe, all within a small circumference of our base, Vilamoura, and to play in guaranteed sun, enjoying the convenience of a pool and a chef, albeit shared with 1000 other guests.
All that was left was to deal with the small matter of Baz withdrawing due to personal matters, meaning his space on the plane was up for grabs. Little did we know how much this would shape the trip.
The call went out and Huntley, who had joined MADJIC the previous year but had been unable to get a bridging loan for this trip, stepped in and chivalrously accepted a free holiday. He would get a late flight in on Thursday and meet us in Vilamoura for last orders.
And so it was that the magnificent 7 headed off to Gatwick Airport to catch the BA235 to Faro, full of the excitement of kids on Christmas Eve, to live out yet another MADJIC that would take an opus to truly do justice to.
So I won’t do it justice.
In fact, as much as we all claim to want justice, sometimes we like to hide things in the dark recesses of our minds, convincing ourselves they never really happened. And with Portugal 2017 there were a lot of things I wished hadn’t happened. But more of that later..
Vilamoura is a dystopian hell, catering to 50-something golf bores bedecked mostly in Ashworth, Ping and Under Armour, mixed in with sun-drenched yacht owners with more money than taste.
This in turn attracts hordes of glamorous grannies, out on the tiles in gangs of up to 20 looking to land some money. It was a real eye-opener but semi-hilarious and great for people watching and sniping.
The Hotel Tivoli was as expected; a rather large 5-star concrete behemoth, backing onto the beach and fronting the Marina. Decent pool, decent enough rooms but nothing super special.
One of the most enjoyable times was day 1 however, hanging around the hotel, relaxing by the pool in the sun, eating club sandwiches, drinking beer and generally enjoying the late summer sun.
To relive this MADJIC fully would open a Pandora’ Box of negativity, and what’s more, it would be targeted primarily at one person. A personal and unrelenting attack, which isn’t in the spirit of togetherness that has been fostered over the last decade. To expose would feel like self-sabotage, dragging a prestigious event that I am proud of through the gutter.
But isn’t it my job as a modern-day Adrian Mole or a more culturally relevant Samuel Pepys to chronicle the events of the day? The good and the bad… and let others make up their own minds?
I think it is….but then I also know that our wives have an insatiable appetite for MADJIC website updates whilst our children are getting to the age where they’re going to want to know more about what we get up to and what we stand for. It simply won’t look good.
But the truth always wins out. He’s got to be outed. It’s for the good of us all.
So with a slightly heavy heart, let me take you through the series of misadventures, faux pas and errors of judgement, starting with incident one which happened before a ball had even been hit.
Noticing his Golf GPS watch was not full charged and knowing full well he hadn’t brought his own charger, and with scant regard for the percentage charge showing on the watch that was being charged, by the guy that had brought his charger, Justin simply unplugged Anthony’s watch and plugged his in.
From the 8th hole onwards, Chenners was left floundering for distances as Justin peppered 7 and 8 irons inches from the flagstick.
If this wasn’t enough, on the same course he picked an OOB fight with MADJIC’s resident combustion engine, Christopher J Stokes. By the time Justin had badgered Stokesy unremittingly about hitting another shot as his was clearly out of bounds (it turns out it wasn’t even close), the lad was so flustered he could hardly hit a ball. 2 players out of the tournament already and quite a reputation building. The MADJIC apple cart had been truly upset.
A few holes later this reputation as a self-obsessed and myopic golfer was cemented. As Big J strode on to the green to putt out for points, he kicked Huntley’s ball back to him. He needed total concentration and zen. He didn’t want people who were out of the hole taking up his time.
But Huntley wasn’t out of the hole and was himself putting for points, only now he was a further 30 yards back down the fairway!
As a fuming Huntley pulled back his driver to make amends at the next, he had to stop, Tiger-esque mid-swing as a ball came trickling across the tee block. Some less-than-contrite buffoon had been playing keepy-uppy with the ball in the background and had been unable to control it.
The group was heading for a Lord of the Flies scenario, further exacerbated a few holes later as a golf buggy was left brake-less and driverless, pootling down the fairway as the group was desperately trying to reboot and regather their calm. The apple cart was on its side, smashed and burning, Braeburn, Cox’s and Granny Smiths flying in all directions.
If this wasn’t enough…. from one person….. in one single round, there was the ultimate MADJIC no-no still to come.
Awarded a gimme, Sythesy couldn’t just pick up his ball and blend into the background. He made everyone wait whilst he tried to nonchalantly putt out, missed and walked off to mark as a gimme. Truly remarkable scenes in Portugal…
As it turns out, Justin wasn’t the only MADGIC-er who was out of control on Vilamoura.
Huntley turned up at 11pm on the first night and was drunk from 11.10pm until he touched down back in the UK. Seems he had come on a stag do by mistake. Only he didn’t have anyone to party all night with. He was expecting Motley Crue but ended up with Boyzone, so he did what all alcoholics would do – he went solo!
We would wake to texts sent at 4am asking us where the f*** we were and that he was next on the karaoke machine! Dave, his unfortunate roommate, would wake to 4 Grannies at the end of his bed staring at him. He burped and farted his way around 4 rounds, head pounding, sweat and alcohol pouring out of him but somehow still managed to retain a semblance of decent golf. Remarkable.
If this is a window into how other golf trips operate, I’m glad I haven’t been invited on any!
All in all it was a good trip but possibly not as exciting as we had been dreaming it might be. Yes we had a coach to ourselves with our name on it, but that coach was also moving us along at such a pace that after one round we didn’t even get to enjoy a beer in the clubhouse!
Monte Rei, the final course we played, was the stand-out and to a man we loved it. The quality of service from the moment we arrived, the quality of the course condition, the interesting water and bunkering. It really was superb. All the other courses had some level of quality, San Lorenzo and Palmares especially, though we were left a little disappointed by Vale do Lobo.
Next time I think we bite the bullet and live up to our golfing dreams!
Oh and after seeing Justin drop out of teh running on the 15th the game came down to whether Chilvers could get up and down on the 18th from about 220 yards. He hit a worldy fairway wood but came up fractionally short and his ball dunked into the wet, leaving Pro to pick up the star.