2000 - Peter McGovern

September 2000 was, as they say, a life defining moment . Too often in life there is a tendency to set yourself targets that are simply unattainable. I was no different to most. I was often guilty of falling short.

I dreamt of being a famous jockey when I was 4 . The closest I ever got was winning a horse and jockey race in Year 4 with Peter Fitzgerald at the St Brigid’s Primary sports carnival. Actually when I think of it, lugging that brute 50 metres when you are 4 stone ringing wet was quite impressive.

I dreamt of being an athlete in the Olympics when I was 5 . The closest I ever got was running to get to a scalper to buy basketball tickets moments before tip off for the Australia South Korea women’s semi final in 2000 at Homebush.

I dreamt of being a concert pianist when I was 6 and knocking them dead in concerts at Albert hall . The closest I got was the Wollongong eisteddfod for novice players under 9 when I fell down the steps onto the first row and knocked an old lady to the floor- She recovered. I didn’t . I retired from piano soon later.

The other dreams are too embarrassing so I won’t go there………. Except for one !

From the age of 10 I began to have a recurring dream where I won a famous golf tournament. Now, the tendency I know is to smurk and simply dismiss this out of hand. But this is a story where things turned out a little differently .

The Mollymook Cup is the sort of golf tournament that you don’t read about much. It’s not like Augusta or Troon or even Royal Melbourne which are all recognizable by the massive coverage they get as the big tournaments roll around annually. Of course everyone – golfers and non golfers- hear about these places and the golf played there. And you get to know of the people that win there …… Nicklaus, Miller , Ballesteros, Norman, Woods ……!

Then there’s the other stuff- sneaky, subtle , unmedia savy golf stuff – the stories that are whispered between real golfers in locker rooms around the country , the golf tournaments that catch a cold from the media ….they don’t appear in print.

The winners aren’t lauded by golfing purists and non golfers who read about them in magazines or newspapers, or see a 25 second highlight package on national television on the news. The winners of these tournaments are every day guys with every day jobs - you know accountants and steelmakers, teachers and builders .

Yet you catch whispers of their names on the breezes down the 9th at your local course , or in a conversation next to you in a bar at a golf club……… hushed voices mouthing words like Barrett or Reid or Placek. These are everyday guys with extraordinary stories…… guys who have had their moment in the sun and won what real golfers talk about in real conversations …. Winning the Cup , wearing the tri coloured jacket , having your picture adorn a wall in a little known street in a small backwater town on the south coast of NSW.

This is what the guys who play down at your local course talk about …… You don’t hear conversations about the Masters or the British Open in some wind swamped open course next to beaches without waves . Real golfers are not concerned about such things.

They talk about Mollymook and the Cup and the stories of true golfing legends , extraordinary victories of men fighting impossible odds. They talk of golfing family dynasties trying to keep out foreigners , of blue bloods attempting to control the Cup and seemingly sparing nothing to chance, crushing handicap systems that stifle opportunity. They talk about victories by common men , unused to winning but possessing great self belief and they talk about one man in particular , McGovern and his two days of glory back in 2000.

This is his story………………………

There I was Thursday afternoon , late in September and late in the day. I was due home for dinner some 60 minutes ago . But I still had 50 balls left in the bucket to hit. My hands were red raw. I had a blister on my right hand that two bandaids were barely concealing. This was my third day in a row out here . I’d hit that many balls I’d lost count . Kembla Grange Practice Golf Range … just another nondescript golf range in need of repair with a lone guy hitting 5 irons .

The owner Jack leant next to a rail not far away and called out , “Mate I’ve got to close in 5 minutes. You’re going to have to hurry.”

I nodded trying to get back my focus . I’m in my backswing and he yells out - “You need to keep your head still .”

“I might have a chance to keep my head still if I thought you weren’t going to interrupt me every time I swing, ” I muttered .

“What are you practicing for ?” he went on

“ A tournament ”

“Which one?” he continued .

“ Mollymook ” I volunteered as I put down my iron, realizing that going on was useless.

“Yeh? . No kiddin’ . I had some guys here last week talking about it You family?

“ No,” I looked up . “ Just an outsider “

“ You’re got no hope then . They say the handicapping makes it well nigh impossible for outsiders. That true?”

“ Pretty tough to win “, I volunteered . But you’ve got to give it your best shot…..

“ Still, mate. You’re one of the lucky ones. Playing in the Cup , most golfers only dream of getting an invitation , let alone winning the thing. How’d you feel when you got an invitation?

“ Did you ever see Willy Wonka?”

“Yeh”

“ Well, it’s just like finding the golden ticket in the chocolate bar.

Mate I’ve got to go. A lot to do before I pack. Tomorrow’s the big day ….”

The following evening I caught a lift down to Mollymook with Barry Formosa. Barry didn’t really fancy his chances. Then again no one else fancied his chances either.

“ Hey McGovy . I bought a new club? He volunteered as I got into the car.

“yeh ? What type of club ? RSL, Bowling Club, hotel?

“ A chipper “ Barry went on.

“ Guaranteed to improve my short game .”

“What short game ? You been holding out on us again ?”

“ McGovy, this will steer me around the greens . That 36 handicap …. I’ll be getting up and down.”

“Up and down what” stairs …. You going to use it as a walking stick..”

For the next hour we tossed backward and forward our chances . We didn’t make a lot of decisions during that trip down . The two we did make were no brainers. We agreed that we wouldn’t back Barry at 36 to 1 and we would stop at Nowra for dinner at the RSL smorgasboard . I enthused about the former, Barry about the latter.

My memories of the next two days remain sketchy.

Saturday morning … I awoke to a faultless spring morning , a blue sky that was unbroken , a briskness that comes with a light dew that would be burnt off in another hour.

As I walked around the house in Bombora , bodies were starting to stir, some were in the kitchen making breakfast, some in front of the television, a couple reading yesterday’s newspaper. No conversation to speak of . But a unmistable smell of fear lingering through each room.

Murray was hunched over his computer screen, pouring over figures as was his want.

The boys that morning after breakfast mostly went down to the local park to hit a few wedges. I stayed behind with Dave and Barry preferring to read the papers . Psychologically I was ready.

Tee times were from 12 . As we stood on the first tee for photos I sized up my opposition. Murray Reid off 16, Justin Placek off 15 and Peter Fitzgerald off 17 were , in my opinion, my greatest opposition. Each had the capacity to score low. All three played golf regularly , all three were club members, all 3 had the necessary self belief.

As events unfolded young Todd Placek proved to be the surprise packet . This was to be the first of 3 runner up years before he was to ultimately to take the Cup in 2005. But this is not his story. It was my time.

I remember the drive on the first on Saturday as if it was 5 minutes ago. I hit my drive tight down the fringe of trees off the left fairway. It was hit sweetly but about 100 metres down from the tee it started to slowly slice right coming to rest 230 metres down the middle of the fairway. A nine iron then majestically soared into the heavens coming down softly on the right hand side of the green some 25 feet from the pin. Two putts later a par . I was on my way.

As Saturday’s round unfolded , I managed to find a rhythm in my swing that I’ve rarely had since. I had discovered in previous trips to Mollymook that long swings here ended in disaster …. Slices out to the right , lost shots from deep embedded balls in the rough down the left. I had marveled at Mark Placek winning in 1997 with a broken collarbone. His shortened backswing saw him a runaway winner that year. I had been blessed with a backswing that was almost non existent. I had over the past couple of years figured that this was a way to combat Mollymook’s tight fairways and dense wooden rough .

And that’s how I played that weekend. I didn’t hit the ball that far , but it tended to go straight……….. I turned in 24 points and came home in 18 . 42 points ! It’s never happened since.

Sunday saw an 8 point lead. I shot 30 points , finished with 72 and got home by 6 points . Todd Placek came home with 66 , running out of holes.

Some say I was in the zone for those two days back in September 2000. To tell you the truth I’m pretty scratchy about the events of those two days. I do remember John Barrett over a beer that Sunday afternoon saying “ I tried everything to distract Muffy. But he was in the zone.” I have to admit that I struggle to remember who I was playing with those two days . So I guess JB was right.

Yet what I do remember was the euphoria of holding that cup. The other guys who have won will know what I’m talking about. It is an extraordinary sense of calm and contentedness that takes over your being.

Going back to Wollongong that afternoon with Barry driving, we stumbled across some 500 people huddled along the road just out of Gerroa.

It was the torch procession for the Olympics. I was in such a state of karma that I believed it was for me. All these people were waving and cheering. All I could think of was … how did they find out about my victory so fast ?

But you see it didn’t really matter why these people were all here . Winning the jacket and the cup that year was an extraordinary experience ……… Each year in September I return attempting to recapture some of that glory .

Ever since I’ve fallen well short . Yet the memories of those spring days in 2000 remain , rekindling past days and past plays where for a brief period of time the golf was pure and a victory was had.

As per the warped memory of Peter McGovern