September 4th 2019
Today I creamed the front nine and bottled the back nine of the Vale do Lobo Royal course. I birdied the second hole, sank a thirty foot putt on four and drilled a six iron onto the green on six to win three holes and halve two. I was really turning the screw. I thought for sure we were on to a winner, but then somewhere between the ninth green when I’ve putted in for par and the tenth tee where I’ve duck hooked it into the trees I’ve lost any kind of form.
It was chalk and cheese. Night and day. Black and white. Other opposite nouns. My front nine was so good, but my back nine was so bad. And we lost it on the back nine when I was nowhere to be seen.
It’s a shame, because my front nine deserved a victory. But it’s a deserved loss, because my back nine was awful. I’m not sure what happened, but I blame the beer that I bought from the beer buggy man at some point.
I have one more chance tomorrow to beat Sam, or he’s 9 and 0 from our two golf holidays. And I can’t have that.
Until tomorrow, we go again.