Taupo Amateurs IV

Day I

The divots in the front lawn had been patched, the clubs had been washed in a vinegar & soap solution, balls thoroughly polished and Tom had called shotgun in Johnny’s car - the fourth Annual Taupo Amateurs was on. As a first of many power plays that were to become a hallmark of his weekend, Johnny eased his seat right back, far further than he needed. From the back seat, with knees in my mouth, I tabled the first resolution of the trip: there shall be NO KFC in Matamata. It was passed unanimously. With formalities out of the way we merged onto the Southern motorway from Ellerslie roundabout at 6kph and Tom piqued the conversation with a classic starter – his was a biological addiction, not physical. Questions and rebuttals flowed. Unfortunately, before Johnny and I had any clue about the difference between the two, the conversation was interrupted as we pulled into the golf course hosting the inaugural night-before-nine-holes.

No-one really knows who won the event, but we did enjoy a couple of cans in the car park as hands were shook and allegiances formed. I took the opportunity to switch cars. DL drove as we polished off about half a dozen Happy Daze each, watching as the lush southern Waikato farmland drifted into thermal central plateau potato country. Outwardly we discussed Dave’s work as a travelling salesman for Microsoft, however there was a sense of unease in the car. Would one of us be making the return trip in overalls?

Taupo was pumping when we pulled in on that balmy Friday evening.

Forestry workers, geothermalists and 12 hackers all lined up for some of her finest – a Burger Fuel (NZX: BFW) and a pint. Friday night at the bach was not as imagined. Intentions of stretching, visualising, practice putting and hydrating were replaced with chugs of Happy Daze. Day 1 was won by Red team. Convincingly.

Day II

In slight, semi-alpine drizzle, 11 of us watched as Horseman lurked around in the early morning shadows avoiding, with practiced skill, any semblance of breakfast responsibility. As the frittatae were served the seagulls swooped, lashings of hot sauce were no match for the inevitable lashings some were to receive at the hands of the team captains for the handicap announcements. Everyone recognised the system was flawed, but it was a beautiful flaw. The great tourneys of this world are defined by something unique and the handicap system had everything. Nerves were palpable, and conspiracy theories were fostered as conflicts of interest were left unchecked. Handicaps handed out, it was game time.

The mist cleared as the troupe rolled in to Turangi. The club captain was on hand to greet the players. He ushered us on to the 10th for tee off and away we went. Statistically the Blue team had a numerical advantage in terms of aggregate number of “points” at the end of the first round, but in almost all other measures the Red Team were on top. At the individual level, Johnny played his cards early and really put his balls on the line with a maverick solo effort to claim first round honours. “Risky move” thought everyone else. At the other, dreggy, end of the barrel, the abaci got a right working over. The iPad started smoking as its processors were put to work trying to calculate net scores. Hamish “the Shark” Howard confidently claimed he would never play as bad again as the tally showed him leading from the rear. He had company from others who had been in this position before - experience counts for everything in golf.

Back at the bach that evening, Team Red offered to cook dinner and serve beers for Team Blue. A really nice touch which was widely appreciated. Chivalry, however, gave way to utter chaos. It soon became clear that DL had prioritised his beats over the bounty of slow-roast lamb. The 30 other charging points around the bach were inconveniently placed for him at that time, so his only option had been to unplug cooker (not his problem) in order to terrorise us with his emo-rap playlist. After a superb improv from all, supper was served and the boys got stuck in to the beers. A game of poker was played. Johnny dropped aces from his sleeves all night. He had made it clear to everyone that this was his weekend*

Day III

After an industrious 11 man clean up effort, the teams made their way to the Tauhara for the final 18. Taupo shat itself for the first 12 holes until, like a sign from Zeus, Matt Bilkey sent a thunderbolt of a shot into the sky, piercing the clouds and landing within an inch of an Albatros. Would that shot change the course of the weekend?** Not for Johnny, who was purring away in the final pack. Slapping his drives straight down the middle and sinking 5 footers without respite. Just to make it clear to everyone whose weekend this was, Johnny won closest to the hole.

With the official phone app broken, it certainly wasn’t clear to anyone what the leaderboard looked like as the teams rounded the final few holes - but just like the handicap system, that quirk made proceedings all the more special.

After probably more than 10 hours of golf over two days, Red Team and Blue Team converged in the club room. The teams were damp from the rain, but spirits were high - another successful weekend in Taupo had been navigated and now for the prize giving:

Johnny cleaned up. Blue Team didn’t squander their round 1 lead. A new Bogey-man was christened.

*the eventual Bogeyman did, however,  hand Johnny a massive L in the form of a humiliating scull-the-can competition loss

**Yes it would.

• Samuel Warner