the open

Spent most of saturday and sunday morning, and into the afternoons of said days, watching The Open. Good stuff.
 
Dad and I played at Troon during our trip to Ireland / Scotland many years ago, not on the Old Course, but on the Portland Course (One has to be 18 or older to play the Championship Course, and I was only 17 at the time of our trip). Check out http://www.royaltroon.co.uk/ and click courses / Portland Course. It's not a terribly long course from the Medal (back) tees at 6289 yards. I wish I had paid more attention to where I was and what I was doing at the time.
 
I can't remember what I shot, but I do remember a few things about the round:

1. We came to a shortish par three, number eight I think, where there were some workers down in the left pot bunker. They climbed out to watch us hit. I had the honour, hit it solid, but into the pot bunker on the right. Dad hit it stiff to about four feet. From the bottom of the bunker I could only see the top of the flag. I whailed on a wedge, popping it out to a foot or so from the pin. Par. Dad drained his putt for birdie. A round of applause from the knowledgeable greenskeeping staff ensued. Well done.
   
   
2. On 18, a long par five, we were down to one ball between us. The gorse had devoured the half dozen or so we had between us to start the round. We played alternate shot to finish.
   
   
3. Over dinner / pints that night, a few of the locals, when commenting on my proclaimed love of the fade, dubbed me a "gay blade". Whatever that means ;). Odd that now my standard ball flight is now a draw.