- Founders Cup at Brookdale: Hail, Ice-Putting Birdies & One Very Unlucky New Car
Our golf society rolled into Brookdale Golf Club in Failsworth for the Founders Cup, kindly sponsored by Pete Evens, and what a gloriously chaotic day it turned out to be.
Tucked away in the peaceful Medlock Valley, Brookdale is a proper little gem – an 18-hole, par-68 parkland classic that’s been dishing out character since 1896. The River Medlock snakes through six holes, the fairways are tight and quirky, and from the 12th tee you can stand there like a king and take in the whole layout. No roads, no buildings, just pure golfing escapism with a mischievous streak. It looks innocent enough… then bites you when you’re not looking. We love it.
The weather gods had been kind all week, and the forecast from 9am looked positively tropical for Manchester in April. Spirits were high – especially when Stuart turned up nice and dry. Last time he got so drenched he ended up showering at his daughter’s and borrowing her clothes. We’re still not over the photos.
Unusually, Oaker was a no-show. Turns out he’d completely overlooked that it was a rare Saturday event. Thank goodness we double-check the WhatsApp group, or he’d have rocked up the next morning wondering where everyone was. With that minor panic sorted, we rejigged the start sheet faster than a hacker trying to find his ball in the rough. My eyes were going properly cross-eyed though – there are far too many Oakes in this society. I’m only calibrated for one.
We teed off under blue skies, but by the 10th a sudden squall of hailstones turned the green into a winter wonderland. Proper white-out conditions while we took shelter under inadequate golf brollies until it subsided. Still, yours truly somehow managed to bag a birdie by putting across what felt like an ice rink… blows on fingernails and polishes them on sleeve.
Mr Butler, unfortunately, couldn’t quite repeat his heroic 47-point Stableford masterclass from last time. The pressure of defending the crown clearly got to him – or maybe the hail just froze his putter. Either way, the throne is up for grabs again.
The 18th provided the comedy gold of the day. The hole was “in progress” thanks to a landslide being shored up by a fleet of diggers. They’d stuck in a temporary tee that completely removed the dogleg, leaving a straight (in theory) uphill belter. Unfortunately, after completing the round, Alex.V discovered that someone had deposited a ball straight through the rear window of his own car. Poor lad had only had the motor a week. He’s now the proud owner of the world’s most ventilated BMW.
Slicing it off the tee is easily done, as demonstrated by our very own Mr Fore Right (Alex Baker), who almost put his tee shot through Col’s parked Mini – saved only by a diligent tree. Friend of yours, Ron?
And while we’re on the subject of Alex… he lost three balls on the road on the 5th alone. Three! The Mr Fore Right nickname is now officially tattooed on his forehead. As a small consolation, though, I believe Steve owes him a crisp £100 after casually promising to pay up if anyone hit the marker post on the 15th. Ka-ching! Mind you, Steve should have the readies – McIlroy paid out at 14/1, didn’t he? The wallet is officially getting lighter.
When the dust (and hail) settled, Dave Mac emerged victorious with a very tidy 37 points to lift the Founders Cup. Runner-up on countback was Stuart on 32, just edging Jay out of the prizes.
Nearest the Pin was claimed by Jamie, nice one buddy! The rest of us are all far too talented at being terrible hackers to compete for that. The two’s pot however rolls over to the next event and I can already hear Oaker counting his future winnings and rubbing his hands with glee. Usual Sunday game next time, Mike – see you there!
Special mention too for Michael Oakes Snr (confused yet? I still am), who has been formally (and involuntarily) welcomed to the Visor Club. I rocked it this time round and it seemed to work wonders for me. He’ll be proudly modelling the society’s finest headgear at the next outing. You’ve earned it, Sir.
I might add there were additional prizes given out on the day. One to Ron ‘The Tree’ Marshal (russle, russle) for ANGs Senior Champion 2025. And, ahem…*blush*… another prize for you’re truly, the ANGs Champion Golfer 2025. I thank you, no really… for me… oh, bless, thank you. I believe I only just edged Col out for that one and had genuinely thought he’d bagged it. Better luck this year buddy.
All in all, a smashing day out on a course that never fails to deliver quirks, character, and the occasional heart attack off the tee. Brookdale, we’ll be back.
Next up it’s Style… and by all accounts it should be a healthy turnout with fine weather tracking all the way. Coffee and Bacon roll is provided so no need to hit the Golden Archers on the way.
See you on the first tee, lads. Keep it straight(ish).
- Spring Cup 2026: A Soaking Success at Macclesfield Golf Club
Sunday saw the ANGs descend on Macclesfield Golf Club for the eagerly awaited Spring Cup, generously sponsored by the ever-elusive Alex Vietor. Perched on the edge of the Peak District National Park, Macclesfield is a proper test of golf with rolling, hilly terrain that rewards good course management and punishes anything less. The views across the Cheshire countryside are spectacular (when the clouds actually let you see them), and the greens are famously true and quick. It’s a course that looks innocent enough… until it starts kicking your backside.
A healthy turnout of new and returning members made for a cracking atmosphere, though a few familiar faces were conspicuous by their absence. Most notably, our very own sponsor, Alex. No sign of the man on arrival, which raised more than a few eyebrows. We half-expected a dramatic entrance involving sunglasses and a bucket of Irn-Bru.
Thankfully, unlike previous years – ahem, Maccapakka *cough*cough*, there were no scheduling disasters. Tee times were spot on, the staff were on hand with coffee and bacon rolls, and everything ran like a well-oiled machine. Well, almost everything…
It turns out Alex had been enjoying himself rather too enthusiastically the night before. Sporting a hangover that could slay a small horse, he’d completely forgotten the clocks had sprung forward. While the rest of us were tucking into breakfast, Alex was still horizontal. This left one lonely bacon butty sitting on the table, looking increasingly nervous as Joe circled it like a shark that hadn’t eaten in weeks. (We’re still not sure if it survived.)
Speaking of Joe, he sprang into action the moment the shirts came out. The ANGs kit was proudly donned by all… or at least those who could still stand upright. Unfortunately, buggies were banned on large parts of the course due to the soft ground. This meant a few of our more “mature” members had to sit this one out. Harsh, but at least they got to enjoy the bacon rolls in peace.
We teed off under cloudy but dry skies — a vast improvement on last year, when the round was abandoned faster than a bad Tinder date because members were literally dodging lightning… bloody pussies eh!.
Of course, the golfing gods were only teasing us. It didn’t take long for the heavens to open, and once they did, they really committed. Driving rain straight into the face is a special kind of misery that no golf swing can survive. Your correspondent spent most of the round hacking away like a drowning man trying to axe-murder a puddle. Not my finest hour to be honest.
Speaking of questionable fashion choices, spare a thought for our Mr Captain. He was ‘presented’ with his new official captain’s hat… which can only be described as “interesting”. Let’s just say if the hat was any more tragic it would have needed its own handicap. He’s been given the captaincy, yet somehow ended up with headwear that looks like it was rejected from a 1980s episode of Love Boat. Absolute scenes. We’re still not sure whether to salute him or start a whip-round for a decent hat… because that thing is an absolute crime against golf fashion.
The course fought back hard. A few members went sliding onto their backsides in the slick conditions (no names, but the bruises were impressive). Col managed the rare feat of actually breaking his driver. Some might say he’s done himself a massive favour — that club had been letting him down for years anyway.
The Podium
In conditions that would have made Noah reach for his waterproofs, Steve ‘Yozza’ Hughes emerged victorious with a superb 39 points. Outstanding effort in that weather, Yozza — one to watch, lads.
Jay Oakes took second place on countback, also with 39 points. Two very worthy winners who clearly remembered to bring their A-games (and perhaps a snorkel).
No nearest the pin prizes were awarded. Not because the committee forgot — we’re all just that crap in the rain. Similarly, no twos were scored, so the pot rolls over to the next event. Cha-ching.
Bringing up the rear in last place was your humble scribe. Fully deserved, I might add. The dubious honour of wearing “The Visor” at the next outing now falls to me. I’m still trying to work out how I got press-ganged into that particular punishment, but on the bright side… I get a shot back. Get in!
A huge thank you to Alex for sponsoring (even if you did miss the start, you legend), to Macclesfield Golf Club for looking after us, and to all the members who turned up and took the soaking like true golfers.
Next up: The Founders Cup at Brookdale on Saturday 11th April. Col’s favourite hunting ground, where he set the society record of 47 points last year. No pressure, Col… but we’ll all be watching.
See you on the first tee, lads. Bring waterproofs. And maybe a spare driver for Col.
- Mellor & Townscliffe Golf Club: A Quirky Gem in the Peaks
Nestled in the rolling hills of Derbyshire, Mellor & Townscliffe Golf Club stands out like a well-placed tee shot in a sea of mediocrity. What makes it truly unique? It’s one of the rare courses where buggies aren’t just an afterthought—they’re the stars of the show. Paved paths of lush astroturf snake all the way around the 18 holes, turning potential mud-fests into a smooth, carpet-like cruise. It’s like golfing on a giant putting green, minus the frustration of divots… unless you’re Ben Cryer, but more on that later.
Ryder Cup Rumble: USA vs. Europe at Mellor
Our intrepid golf society descended on Mellor for a Ryder Cup-style showdown, kindly sponsored by our fines master extraordinaire, Joe Wilcox—past Captain Chrystal must be beaming from the sidelines. The transatlantic battle pitted Team Europe against Team USA in a clash of clubs, egos, and questionable swing decisions.
Leading the charge for Europe was Captain Joe Wilcox, flanked by his merry band of misfits: Dave Mac (that’s me, your humble narrator), Mike Oakes, Alan Corbishly, and Bert Blower. After our Captains Weekend thrashing could Europe be the underdogs with a continental flair—think croissants and comebacks.
On the starry side, Team USA was captained by Steve, with Colin Butler, Ron Marshal, Stuart Shand, and Ben Cryer rounding out the squad. They came in hot, waving imaginary flags and probably humming “Sweet Home Alabama” under their breath.
The weather gods smiled upon us—reasonably dry, no biblical floods, and the competition rolled on without a hitch. Buggies were in full swing (pun intended), zipping along those astroturf highways like luxury golf carts on a velvet runway. Mellor’s paths are a godsend; elsewhere, you’d be bogged down in mud, but here? It’s pure, artificial bliss.
Clubhouse Shenanigans and Prankster Antics
Back in the clubhouse, the real action heated up. Steve, ever the prankster captain, couldn’t resist his signature move: sneaking up on Mike Oakes for a classic wet Willie. Mike’s reaction? Let’s just say it involved a yelp that could shatter glass and a vow of revenge involving golf balls and sensitive areas. Classic Steve—keeping the spirit alive, one soggy finger at a time.
Financial Windfall and Buggy Blunders
A massive bonus shoutout to our treasurer Len, who discovered winter rates were in play. Cha-ching! The society saved a tidy sum, proving Len’s not just good with spreadsheets—he’s a bargain-hunting ninja.
Anecdotes were slim pickings this outing (we must’ve been too focused on not losing balls), but one gem stands out: our favorite sub-mariner, Ben Cryer, proved he’s better suited to naval vessels than land-based buggies. Coming down the slick path on the 12th, Ben treated the hedge like a torpedo target—crash! The buggy nosedived into the greenery, leaving Ben looking like he’d just surfaced from a depth charge. Note to self: Stick to boats, mate.
The Results: Europe Triumphs (Barely)
In the end, Team Europe squeaked out a 3-2 victory over the Yanks. Take that, stars and stripes! No twos were claimed (slackers), but
Nearest the Pin? Who else but Mike Oakes, the man with a magnet in his ball. Reminder to the rest of us: You gotta hit the green first, lads—airmail doesn’t count!
Best round of the day went to Colin Butler with a whopping 39 points. Will his handicap budge? Doubtful; the golf gods seem to have a soft spot for him. Hot on his heels was yours truly, Dave Mac, with 35 points—modest, but I’ll take it over a bunker baptism.
The infamous Visor (our society’s badge of buggy-related shame) lands on Ben this time. Crashed the cart into a hedge? Fair play, but let’s be honest—his buggy driving was smoother than his tee shots. Practice makes perfect… or at least hedge-free.
Season Finale Tease
That’s a wrap on Mellor, folks—a day of astroturf adventures, pranks, and just enough glory. Next up: the last hurrah of the season at Alsager. Warm coffee, sizzling bacon rolls, and who knows what chaos await. See you on the fairways—bring your A-game (and a helmet for the buggies)!
- Davenport Golf Club: The Chairman’s Cup – A Wet, Wild, and Wacky Day
Ladies and gentlemen, grab your four clubs, clutch your putter, and brace yourselves for a riotous recap of our golf society’s Chairman’s Cup at Davenport Golf Club. Kindly sponsored by the ever-generous Colin Butler, this wasn’t just a day on the links—it was a comedy of errors, soggy socks, and some downright bizarre golfing moments. With a healthy dose of golfing humor and a few well-placed roasts, let’s dive right in.
Davenport Golf Club, a Cheshire gem, is a parkland beauty that tests your accuracy and your patience. Its tree-lined fairways, sneaky doglegs, and greens slicker than a politician’s promise make it a proper challenge and this time, the course was recovering from a biblical downpour the day before, turning buggies into a distant dream.
The Day: Four Clubs, One Putter, Endless Chaos
The Chairman’s Cup was a Four Clubs and a Putter event, a format that am not too keen on but let’s see. Limiting your bag to four clubs is like choosing which four foods you’d eat for life—frustrating, but it forces creativity (or despair).
The rain-soaked course complemented with stop start drizzle had us all channeling our inner Noah, but the show went on, and the society delivered a day of pure entertainment.
Brother from another mother First, let’s talk about Bert, who rolled up dressed like he was scaling Everest, not playing golf. Hiking gear, Bert? Were you expecting to trek to the 19th hole? Meanwhile, our Fines Master was unpredictably late because he forgot his fines book, grabbed two barms and headed to the tee with hair looking like he’d been electrocuted.
The first tee was an absolute circus—think less Augusta, more Big Top. Bert stole the show, sporting what can only be described as his mum’s wig while doing a Joe Wilcox impression. At least he didn’t impersonate Joe’s sand wedge obsession and smashed his drive down the fairway.
The Golf: Hooks, Shanks, and a Wig-Wearing Legend
The golf itself was a glorious mess of ambition and mishaps. PJ made a triumphant return, his first drive a snap hook that miraculously avoided his usual “four right” routine—progress, PJ, progress!
Alan Corbishly took some heat for whining about the cold, only to silence the haters with a self-proclaimed “dick out” shot. To be fair, Alan, it went exactly where you aimed—straight into the highlight reel of questionable decisions.
Then there was Stu Shand, who redefined “short game” by clattering the 1st tee sign, sending his ball a grand total of three yards. His second shot? Didn’t even clear the ladies’ tee. Stu, mate, was your driver still in the car?
The day’s low point (or high point, depending on your sense of humor) came when No Doh shanked a shot into the trees, only for it to ricochet like a pinball and smack Stuart as he strolled up the fairway. Stuart, maybe walk faster next time—or invest in a helmet.
But it wasn’t all calamity. Oaker pulled off a miraculous two on a par 4, pocketing the Two’s pot and leaving us all torn between admiration and envy. Love you, Oaker, but we’re side-eyeing you for that one.
The Nearest the Pin went to Mike Oakes—because of course it did. The man’s got a GPS in his wedge.
The Visor award was technically Joe’s, but thanks to the twice rule, it was passed to Ron. Wear it with pride, Ron, and maybe lend Joes comb for that wig-inspired chaos.
The leaderboard told its own story:
Winner: Dave Mac – 37 points – A masterclass in four-club wizardry or luck! You choose.
Runner-Up: Mike (on countback) – So close, yet so far. Better luck next time buddy.
The Wrap-Up: A Day of Soggy Socks and Side-Splitting Stories
From a waterlogged course to Bert’s hiking gear and wig-wearing antics, the Chairman’s Cup was a day to remember—or forget, depending on your score. The four-club format tested our skills and our sanity, but the society’s spirit shone brighter than the post-rain sun. Davenport delivered a tough but fair challenge, and we delivered enough banter to fill a clubhouse.
Next up, we’ll be back for more fairway follies at Mellor on Sunday. It’s a match play format with the Ryder Cup up for grabs!
Will Bert trade his hiking boots for golf shoes? Will Stu clear the ladies’ tee? Will No Doh aim away from his playing partners? Only time will tell. Until then, keep your swings smooth, your shanks rare, and your wigs securely fastened. See you on the tee!
- Pairs Trophy at Hazel Grove: A Soggy Start, a Sunny Triumph
Ladies and gentlemen, grab your clubs, polish your spikes, and prepare for a tale of triumph over adversity at Hazel Grove Golf Course, where our golf society day turned from a potential washout into a sun-soaked spectacle. This wasn’t just any day on the fairways—yours truly had the honor of sponsoring the Pairs event, ensuring the stakes were high and the banter even higher. So, let’s tee off and recount the day’s shenanigans, with a healthy dose of golf humor and a few well-aimed roasts.
The Venue: Hazel Grove Golf Course
Nestled in the heart of Cheshire, Hazel Grove Golf Club is a classic parkland course that’s as welcoming as a warm pint in a cozy pub. With its tight fairways, sneaky bunkers, and greens that demand precision (or a miracle), it’s a course that rewards the steady and punishes the overconfident. The course boasts true USPGA spec greens with the 18th being guarded by non other than Alistair McKenzie himself.
Notable this time? The course took a biblical 22-hour deluge in the days leading up to our event, leaving everyone bracing for a mud-fest. Miraculously, the golfing gods parted the clouds overnight, delivering glorious sunshine that transformed the fairways into a playable paradise. Buggies were back in action, and the course was open for business—no excuses for slicing into the rough this time, folks!
The Day: From Deluge to Delight
The lead-up to the event had us all checking weather apps like obsessive meteorologists, convinced we’d be wading through fairways or canceling altogether. But as dawn broke, the skies cleared, and Hazel Grove sparkled under a summer sun that had no business showing up in late September. It was as if the course whispered, “Play on, you hackers, I’ve got you covered.”
Now, let’s talk about our esteemed Mr. Captain, who decided punctuality is overrated. Rolling in embarrassingly late, he swore it had nothing to do with a hangover. Sure, Captain, and my slice is just a “strategic fade.”
In a plot twist for the ages, even Bert—notorious for treating start times as mere suggestions—arrived on time, a first that deserves its own trophy. The society was buzzing, though we were gutted to lose Len at the last minute to unforeseen circumstances. We missed you, mate, but the show must go on.
Enter Carsten, our brand-new old player, who brought some international flair to the day. Word on the fairway is he unleashed not one but two “dickout” shots! Carsten, you’ve earned a nickname and a few raised eyebrows. Welcome to the chaos!
The Golf: Swings, Slices, and Sand Wedges
The Pairs event was a masterclass in golfing grit, questionable decisions, and outright hilarity. Leading the charge in the “what is he thinking?” department was Joe, who decided his sand wedge was the Swiss Army knife of golf clubs. On the 5th and 18th, he abandoned his bag and used it for every shot—including, yes, putting. Joe, mate, we admire the commitment, but next time, maybe give the putter a chance to shine? The crowd went wild, or at least chuckled into their pints.
The Nearest the Pin competition was, frankly, a disaster. Not a single soul hit the green, proving that our collective aim was about as accurate as a blindfolded dart thrower. That trophy’s going back in the cupboard to be recycled for another event. The Two’s pot? Untouched. It’s rolling over to Davenport, where we’ll no doubt continue our proud tradition of missing short putts.
Despite the comedic mishaps, some serious golf was played. Colin Butler and Ron were the stars of the show, storming to victory with a sizzling 64 points. Colin’s been on a tear lately, and Ron’s steady hand sealed the deal—take a bow, gents. The rest of the order of merit looked like this:
- 64 points: Colin / Ron – The dynamic duo, untouchable on the day.
- 60 points: Dave / Stuart – Solid, but left dreaming of what could’ve been.
- 51 points: Kev / Alex V – Respectable, but no cigars.
- 51 points: Dave / Mr. Captain – Captain’s late arrival didn’t help, did it?
- 49 points: Alan / Carsten – Not bad for a newbie with “dickout” credentials.
- 43 points: Ben / Steve – Middle of the pack, but at least you beat Joe.
- 42 points: Joe / Bert – Sand wedge heroics weren’t enough, lads.
The Wrap-Up: A Day to Remember
What could’ve been a waterlogged disaster turned into a glorious day of summer golf, filled with laughs, roasts, and just enough decent shots to keep us coming back. The timekeeping was (mostly) on point—Mr. Captain, we’re watching you—and the vibe was electric. Hazel Grove delivered a course in fine nick, and the society brought its A-game (or at least its A-game banter).
Next up, we’re off to Davenport for more fairway frolics with a twist. It’s time for four clubs and a putter. Will Joe just bring his sand wedge? Will Mr. Captain set an alarm? Only time will tell. Until then, keep your swings smooth, your putts straight, and your excuses creative. See you on the tee!
- The Great Tee-Time Fiasco: The Captain Elect Cup at Macclesfield Golf Club
Welcome, dear readers, to the soggy, chaotic, and downright hilarious tale of our Golf Society’s latest misadventure—the Captain Elect Cup at Macclesfield Golf Club, generously sponsored by non other that Steve Jones of course, who probably deserves a medal for enduring our shenanigans.
Picture this: a room full of grumpy golfers sitting in the dark, twiddling their thumbs like a bunch of lost souls, all because our esteemed fixtures secretary—henceforth known as “Captain Cock-Up” when we’re feeling particularly spicy—botched the tee time by misreading the confirmation email. Macclesfield Golf Club, nestled in the rolling Cheshire countryside, was the stage for this comedy of errors, and oh boy, did we deliver a performance worthy of a sitcom. So, grab a coffee (which we almost missed that morning), settle into the virtual clubhouse, and let’s dive into the farce that was our day.
Macclesfield Golf Club is a gem of a course, perched on the edge of the Peak District with views that could make even the most wayward shot feel poetic. At just over 6,000 yards from the white tees, this par-71 layout is a test of skill, strategy, and sheer stubbornness, with undulating fairways, sneaky bunkers, and greens that can be slicker than a politician’s promise. The clubhouse is a welcoming haven, perfect for drowning your triple-bogey sorrows, but on this particular morning, it was darker than Dave’s understanding of email confirmations. The course demands precision and a good sense of humor—both of which were in short supply as we sat in the unlit clubhouse, waiting for someone, anyone, to rescue us from Captain Cock-Up’s epic blunder.
The day started with a cracking turnout, our society’s finest hackers ready to battle for the Captain Elect Cup. But there we were, huddled in the dark clubhouse like a bunch of moles, wondering why the place was deader than Dave’s timekeeping skills. Something was off, and it wasn’t just the eerie silence where the clink of coffee cups and sizzle of bacon rolls should’ve been. No staff, no pro to organize buggies, just a bunch of us staring into the void.
Our illustrious fixtures secretary rolled into the clubhouse with his usual round of hearty handshakes, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing. It didn’t take long for him to clock that something was amiss, and as he scrambled to figure out his colossal error, the tables turned. Ironically after slagging off the golf club for the lack of lights and bacon rolls, he located the confirmation email and began sweating like a priest in a brothel, wishing he could vanish into the shadows. The group’s good-natured jabs landed like a perfectly struck 7-iron—sharp, on target, and vintage society style.
Thankfully, salvation arrived in the form of Macclesfield’s Lady Captain, Hilary, who was alerted via the club’s WhatsApp group, no doubt buzzing with messages like “Why are these idiots sitting in our clubhouse at dawn?” Hilary, an absolute saint, swooped in to sort out the mess caused by Dave’s monumental balls-up. Turns out, Captain Cock-Up had misread the confirmation email, and our tee time was 11 a.m., not 10 a.m. as he’d triumphantly announced to us all. Hilary, if you’re reading this, thank you for smoothing things over and welcoming us with a smile, despite our collective incompetence (all eyes on you, Dave). You’re a legend, and we owe you a pint—or at least a bacon roll when the clubhouse lights finally flicker on.
The greens, as it happens, were in pristine condition, having been ironed not once but twice the day before for the President’s Cup. They were lightning-fast, slicker than a used car salesman’s patter, and ready to send your ball skidding into the next county if you so much as sneezed on it. Captain Cock-Up probably thought he could blame his usual three-putts on the greens, but we all know it was his email-reading skills that were the real hazard.
The weather, however, had other plans. For the first five holes, we battled bravely, dreaming of glory under a sky that started promisingly enough. But by the sixth hole, the heavens opened, unleashing a deluge so biblical it made Noah’s flood look like a light drizzle. By the ninth hole, with thunder rumbling and lightning cracking like the wrath of an angry golf god, we abandoned play faster than Dave abandoned his dignity in that dark clubhouse. Wandering around on hilltops with metal clubs and umbrellas during a thunderstorm? Yeah, that’s a hard pass, even for the most eager golfers amongst us.
Ming The Merciless contemplating his score With play abandoned, the society retreated to the clubhouse, where the lights were finally on and the beer was flowing. Over pints, the lads gave Captain Cock-Up the grilling of a lifetime, roasting Dave for his email blunder with a ferocity that would’ve made a barbecue pitmaster proud. I think it is safe to say this fiasco isn’t going to be forgotten anytime soon—Dave’s legacy is now etched in society lore, right alongside tales of shanked drives, missed putts and Joes hair do.
Before the skies turned apocalyptic, a few brave souls managed to post scores worth bragging about. Kev, Jay, and Al led the pack with a respectable 20 points after only eight holes, strutting around like they’d already won the Claret Jug. Hot on their heels were Steve, Dave, and Len with 19 points, probably cursing the rain for robbing them of a chance to overtake the leaders. Alex, Alex V, and Ben managed 14 points, which is honestly impressive given the conditions. Bringing up the rear were Mike, Ron, and Rob with 11 points, but let’s give a special shoutout to Oaker, who somehow eagled the ninth. An eagle, Oaker? In that downpour? Either you’re a wizard, or that hole was feeling extra generous. Either way, take a bow buddy.
The Captain Elect Cup at Macclesfield Golf Club was a soggy, shambolic triumph, a testament to our society’s ability to find hilarity in disaster. From Captain Cock-Up’s email fiasco to Hilary’s heroic rescue, from lightning-fast greens to lightning bolts that sent us scurrying, and from Oaker’s eagle to the epic clubhouse roast, this was a day that’ll go down in society lore. Our next outing takes us to Hazel Grove, Dave’s home course, where Captain Cock-Up himself is bravely (or foolishly) stepping up to sponsor the event. No doubt heckles are being sharpened and the magnifying glasses will be out to triple-check tee-times.
Here’s to the next outing—hopefully at the right time, with lights on, bacon rolls aplenty, and a forecast that doesn’t include Armageddon. Until then, keep swinging, you magnificent bunch of hackers, and maybe slip Dave a calendar, a clock, and a remedial reading course before he has us teeing off at midnight or bankrupts us with his next catastrophic cock-up.