Round three Portugal Open 2010

 

After two terrific rounds of 68 and everyone’s favourite number 69 we’re off in the last group on Sunday with Stephania Croce and Sophie Sandolo. Stephania shot two great rounds of 68 and is leading by one over Sophie and Breanne. We’re off at 11am with my mate Scott who loops for Sophie. It should be a good day.

 

I was nervous the night before and wrote a few pointers to remember on the big day tomorrow;

 

Things to do;

 

1. Keep Breanne focussed and relaxed.
2. Keep yourself cool, focussed and relaxed!
3. Keep her cool and entertained throughout the day
4. Maintain her focus on her target and objective above all
5. Ensure she plays her own game at her own pace
6. Ensure she watches her own game and not those around her
7. No scoreboard watching
8. Stare at the flag and visualise shots and target on every tee
9. Don’t interact too much with Scott =’ (
10. Concentrate!
11. Enjoy it!

 

Well what a fucking load a shite that was.

 

After all the mental preparation I did writing the above and memorising a game plan she goes and shoots seven over par and ends up at the back of the field earning me fuck all once again. 

 

I couldn’t sleep last night in nervous anticipation about this morning's round and kept waking up in the middle of the night with butterflies in my stomach thinking about what the day ahead might bring and then she turns up without a clue how to play the game she calls herself a professional at. 

 

A blocked tee shot on the first resulted in a fortunate lie allowing her to go at the green but having seen her chipping from 30yards a lot in the last week I decided we ought to lay up a little further and give her a fuller shot to the back left pin. So she murders a two rescue and leaves herself 36 to the pin - triffic.

 

So a shit pitch later and she’s left with a 25 footer for birdie which she leaves surprise surprise short right.

 

I’m told this morning by Chubblar that on the second I ought to persuade her to go for the same play of three wood off the tee as it would instil a confident feeling in her for the rest of the round. Before I get a chance to mention this she’s plucked the 2-Rescue out the bag and ready to go. In reality it wasn’t a bad play but having been given good advice by a guy I respect as a caddy I thought I might try and talk her into it. Never mind – she knocks the 2-Rescue towards the drink and leaves herself tantalisingly close to a swim. 

 

It’s dry though and a further rescue wood leaves her just off the back of the green with a tricky little chip - that she duffs. Then misses the putt and then I feel like a cunt for not saying what she ought to have done off the tee. One over.

 

A good drive up the next and a pulled approach leaves a tricky chip that she also overplays but thankfully she rattles the 12-foot putt in boosting her confidence on the greens.

 

Then it all goes to shit. Standing on the high fourth tee we agree the 150yard par three with a slight headwind off the right should be a six iron. After a few words of encouragement, she pulls the shit out of the shot and we all gasp in horror as it leaps off the edge of the green and bounds on down the hill into Jurassic Park country. Great.

 

We march off after it and find it nestled nicely under a thistle with a large dandelion tree behind the ball. The hole itself is up the hill and on the back of the green. She attempts to earn a free drop - in vein - and decides she has to play it as it lies. It’s a committed lob wedge and that’s that but she miss-hits it and progresses it five yards or so. Another disappointing chip later and we’re barely on the green with at least 30 feet to the pin. It’s got double bogey written all over it. The putt reaches the hole, which is a start but misses six inches left. Double bogey.

 

Well, a par five follows so all is not lost. I remind her to swing gently and to stay with it – things we’d talked about on the range the evening prior and that morning – but she blocks the shit out of it with no commitment or conviction and it flies a mile right leaving a long way into a hole that ought to be a long par four. 

 

Now it’s playing like a five as we have over 200 yards to the pin. We decide on a 3-Rescue and thankfully she stays with it and it flies to the front edge of the green leaving a chip or a putt for eagle. I’m thinking a lag putt or decent chip with a pitching wedge might leave any decent short-game player a chance for a tap-in birdie but she figures it best to putt. With her chipping ability, it’s the better of the two evils. 

 

She launches the putt with considerable venom and I immediately start saying ‘Sit! Sit!” but it’s moving at a rate of knots and isn’t likely to even stay on the green let alone leave a tap in bird. I look up and she seems quite pleased with it and as it clunks into the flag and drops to within an inch of the hole I understand why.

 

I pray the birdie might settle the good ship Loucks…

 

So a decent knock down the next followed by a good 6-iron to the green and all of a sudden things are looking up. Then she three putts and the positive momentum disappears. We walk off the 6^th feeling a little hard done by but either way if you knock a three-foot putt like you would a ten foot putt what do you expect?

 

She cracks a decent 3-Rescue down the seventh that perks us up and leaves us a perfect easy wedge to an easy flag. Not that easy, unfortunately. Blocked straight right it doesn’t even hit the green - from 106 yards out? Missing the green with a wedge is like missing your mouth with a fork…

 

She’s lying up against a grassy bank with no backswing and a tricky chip with no green to work with. She takes an eternity to play the shot and she leaves it just on the green and about 20-feet away. Somehow she manages to make the putt! Thankfully.

 

The hardest hole on the course follows in the form of a long par three into the wind and with a drop shot looming left and everything played right likely to bounce off the bank across the green into the aforementioned hazard, it doesn’t suit the eye at all. Averaging nearer four than three for the week she stands up and knocks a toe-y five iron onto the green at least.   

 

Reaching just over half the way to the hole the first putt showed less commitment than a pre-nuptial agreement. She rolls the return in thankfully and maintains a little spirit in the camp.

 

Along with the strategy down the second, I also discussed a different strategy down the ninth with Chubblar who confirmed my thoughts. Having shot a 5-yard chip long and one short over the first two days I thought we ought to approach the short par four with a longer approach meaning a shorter club off the tee than a driver. Before I could say, “How about a three woo…” she’s plucked the driver out the bag and woe betide anyone changing her mind at this point.

 

She blocks the granny out of it and I think I see it plummet behind the only tree on the hole leaving not only a tricky chip but discarding any chance of a round-changing birdie. When we get to the ball it’s actually lying ok and made it past the tree in question. With 36 to the flag I’m thinking it’s either fifteen feet short or through the back. The latter it is…

 

She leaves the putt in the jaws as per and we stagger up the hill three over for our round thus far and as we see on the 10^th tee leaderboard some six shots off the pace of the new leaders in front of us.

 

I try in vain to encourage her with a brief pep talk on the tee but still, this seems to fall on deaf ears as her confidence is shot to bits. She blocks the tee shot that she’s nailed all week long and leaves nothing other than a chip out sideways. Finally she creams an iron but comes up a little short on the green having spun back off a downslope - a little unlucky it has to be said. She rolls a decent putt but it’s another dropped shot. 

 

She asks for a new line off the 11^th tee to which - by this time I'm a little over it, you understand – I just agree and line her up to my line anyway. She pulls the shit out of it so much so in fact it’s bordering on a snap hook. It miraculously ends up on my original line and leaves a perfect wedge into the raised green ahead. Gallery awaiting, I give her the perfect yardage and she pulls it once more leaving a tricky and lengthy chip off the bank down the hill to the back pin. Nearly duffing the chip once more (she gotta work on that aspect of her game…) the ball falls lazily onto the green and rolls to about ten feet. Recalling, thanks to me, her efforts from the day before, she rattles the par putt in and we walk away happy as you can be after a shit par. 

 

She finally nails one off the tee with the driver on the 12^th to much relief and sets up a fairly easy approach to the raised green ahead. Unfortunately nothing is happening for her today and although I’m really negged out by this stage I start to feel really sorry for Breanne. 

 

She pulls another simple 8iron leaving a pin-high but long birdie putt which, you’ve guessed, falls short and right.

 

I’m beginning to run out of patience and words of encouragement by this stage and decide that silence is the route. We’re slipping so far out of contention now I start wondering whether we’ll end up propping up the rear of the field as we did last week in Switzerland. 

 

After a reasonable tee shot followed by yet another pulled approach resulting in yet another bogey, I am proper negged out. I’m amazed how variable the mind can be in this stupid game. Last night I hardly slept a wink, as I was so excited about the day ahead. Thinking about what I’d spend the £3000 on that she’d win for me. How pleased I’ll be when she taps in for birdie on the 18^th and we embrace each other in a well-earned victory. The emotions that would come out of nowhere after a long battle out on the course. The jubilation; the stresses; the relief; the satisfaction; the happiness; the fear; the joy all rolled into one glorious moment… and here am after 14 and a half holes close to tears and wishing we could just walk off the course immediately without seeing or speaking to anyone. Get in a car to the airport without having to make eye contact with anyone I know so well out here and just grab a bag of essentials and take off into the great unknown by myself without ever having to communicate with anyone who knows me ever again. 

 

What the fuck?

 

I can tell Breanne feels the same way so whilst we have a sizeable delay ahead of us on the 17^th tee, she asks for a little time away from everyone. I consider leaving her to it but think twice and think it’s probably time we had a chat. Well, to get things off her chest anyway. Without a prompt from her faithful caddy, she starts voicing all the feelings I have addressed above. She tells me of her fears of what her coach, family, friends and fellow players all of whom would have wished her the best of luck this morning would be thinking as they scroll through the leaderboard after her name. They would inevitably, by this stage have scrolled down a few pages to find her languishing somewhere mid-table – disappointing having started one shot off the lead. 

 

Our little chat seems to perk her up no end and as we climb the hill to the 17^th tee, she thanks me for it and asks, rhetorically why she didn’t talk to me earlier. She duly cracks one straight down the middle with by far her best swing of the day. A further wait allows us to chat some more and resolve a few issues that found their way into her head. 

 

Even in my fairly understated life, I find it occasionally stressful to be me. Might sound daft I know as I don’t really have any responsibilities at all but every now and then when things aren’t going my way I slip into negative mode and the pressure of achieving the things my parents and friends might have once hoped I would resonate so much in my head that I find it quite hard to cope. 

 

On a grander scale, young Breanne has the hopes of a golfing nation on her shoulders to deal with. Wales has half a dozen or so professional women golfers but only Becky Brewerton is ahead of her on the order of merit. And with her unique style, beauty and upbeat, attractive manner, there are dozens of companies wanting a slice of the young Welsh golfer. When they see that she is one shot of the lead after days one and two they must be anxious to see what she can do in the final round and what happens. Chokes to death, the poor thing.

 

So I feel for her. I really do. I can’t imagine the pressure she’s under to perform and probably never will. 

 

She pops the approach on 17 to within 20 feet and skims the hole for eagle. That’d have sorted her out for sure. She lips out on the last for birdie too leaving us level par for the tournament and carding a closing 79. Shame. A real shame.

 

When our playing partners have finished putting out Breanne comes up to me and I’m not sure what’s going to happen. Being a caddy is a fairly dire job on days like this and when the chips are down and everything you say to encourage her to play the way she can you can’t help wondering if you’ll still have a job at the end of the day. So over she comes to give me a routine hug on the 18^th green and instead of the usual quick embrace and a thank you she hugs me far longer than ever before and apologises in my ear promising to play better the following week in Tenerife. She thanks me for talking to her and that she loves me to bits. Bless her. 

 

I walk off the green welling up a little I must be honest.

 

On to Tenerife it is…

 

Fucking job.