Just as well veteran golfer Greg Norman didn’t win the Open championship yesterday. The new sponsorship/advertising deals the 53-year-old would have accumulated would have well and truly sealed the reputation golf has among some as a game for old farts.
I mean, imagine:
Greg Norman just loves his Stannah Stairlift...
Ovaltine – Greg Norman wouldn’t go to bed without it...
Even Sharks are hooked on Saga cruises!
Golf is a great leveller; a fabulous way to keep one’s ego in check; to teach humility. But the really great thing is you can play at almost at any age and, thanks to its handicapping system, against almost any player. For non-golfers, that means you are allowed extra shots when you face better players (Tiger will be receiving my challenge any day now).
They ought to try it in other sports. For Lewis Hamilton, say, it would mean having a passenger. A nagging girlfriend perhaps. "Do you have to go this fast, Lew? Shouldn’t you have turned left there? Did we pass this just a couple of minutes ago?'’
Or we could even introduce it into life. Can’t get a girlfriend? Go along to the handicap office and ask for a course of chat-up lines, a new line in amusing anecdotes, or in extreme cases, plastic surgery.
Politicians would give their right hand for a handicap system. Gordon Brown, for instance, would be granted three mistakes, without public condemnation, to make up for his lack of charisma. David Cameron, who obviously thinks he’s God’s gift and has no faults, would be forced to live in a tower block on a hospital porter’s wage for a few months. That would bring Toryboy down to earth.
Me? I think I should be allowed to win a game of golf at least once a year. To ensure this, right-handers must play with a left-handed set of clubs, and cack-handers with sticks of rhubarbs. Take note, Terence!
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