Andrew has “invited” me to play golf with him as soon as we get a good spell of weather. I think “challenged” is more appropriate than “invited”.
I hardly know the man. We met for coffee in Edinburgh and, no doubt, having assessed my physical condition he believes that I am ripe for the taking – in golfing parlance, at least. In no other respect could I be considered ripe or even over-ripe: putrid, rotting may be.
He is already talking about being afraid that I might beat him.
A regular golfer, Andrew, versus me, fat Calum. No more than 10 rounds of golf in the last 20 years and none at all in the last 10. In fact, my clubs haven’t been out of the wardrobe for 10 years; my caddy-car I was given when I was 14.
He’s winding me up! Playing psychological games.
Won’t work, Andrew. For such games to work the target must have a brain of 2 grey cells, at least. I miss this target and so I am immune.
Not only am I older, fatter, less fit and played much less golf than Andrew my clubs are themselves of the veteran stage. I bought them from a colleague in 1977 for £35! They’re old and stiff just like me!
Andrew, you’re onto a winner. You can’t lose!
Not only the list above but, almost 10 years ago, after a series of mishaps I had major shoulder surgery. I’m a wreck! And he thinks, or he says he thinks, that he may lose.
I’m not going to get rushed. I’ll take my time and prepare as best I can without letting him see me in action (or is it, “inaction”).
I’ll not win. It won’t even be close but I’ll give myself every chance to perform to the best of my abilities. We’ll play when I am ready or as ready as I’ll ever be.
Do I need more excuses?
What do you think, Andrew?
What I have done though is to remove any chance Andrew has of glorying in certain victory over me.
Ha! Don’t care if you beat me now! :)