Bondy you legend! Full marks Karori GC

Posted by Jamie on 13 December 2010 | 0 Comments | Tags: Karori, Wellington, New Zealand

An old flat mate of mine by the name of Cass, having taken up The Game last year, would expound the virtues of Karori to me whenever the subject of gowf came up in conversation.  Which admittedly was rarely.  He and his cronies chased pills around the hills over yonder in the company of mountain goats �?? and seemed very pleased to be doing so.  My only contact with the club had been a chance encounter on an erroneously planned run.  In my determination to push the limits I�??d trundled down to Makara and up a valley that took my fancy; there I found Karori GC and realised I was a long way from home.  It was a long haul back, at the end of which I was so famished that I demolished half a loaf of bread smothered in peanut butter.  Not once did I repeat my mistake.  Nor have I eaten peanut butter since.

But Karori teased the strings of my curiosity, and so when we came to plan a Wellington event of sorts �?? for The Return Tour �?? it naturally fell as a prime candidate.  Bondy was only too happy to oblige �?? although his immediate reaction warrants sharing: �??Why the hell do you want to have it here �?? will Royal Wellington not let you have it there?�?�  I didn�??t deal directly with Bondy until the day itself, but overhearing Bart�??s conversations with him in the car I could tell y�??er man was something of a character.  That may be putting it mildly too.

A dozen or so humans congregated on Monday to form a smaller turnout than we�??d hoped for.  But what we lacked in quantity we made up for in solidarity �?? every entrant was a friend of ours that we hadn�??t seen in months, so there was plenty to catch up on.  Then reinforcements arrived in the form of club members, taking our number up into the twenties.  And with Bondy at The Helm (read: pestering Rachel from TV3 News for her phone number) all of a sudden it felt like we were holding an event after all.  At that point we let go of any trace of anxiety and undertook instead to enjoy ourselves.  

I was almost more nervous teeing it up in front of Me Mates than I have been on the more conventionally daunting 1st tees around the world.  A typical northerly hurricane funneling up the valley into our faces might�??ve had something to do with it too.  Ahhhh, good to be back in Wellington...  Hooking us up with microphones seemed like a futile exercise in the conditions, but the cameraman insisted.  My concern turned to Rachel, who is a gorgeous but slight wee thing �?? would she be picked up and dropped in Island Bay by the breeze?  I gave her a few golf balls to stuff in her tights, in the hope of anchoring her to the fairway.  It worked, I think.

Goldy blocked his punch approach into the opening green, only for it to career off the only cut log lining the hazard line for 100 yards and bounce back in.  At which point I knew it would be his day �?? and it was.  As the cameras were rolling on the 2nd green �?? the hole�??s a Golf de Morfontaine-esque par 3 with a tree guarding the ideal line �?? he drained a 30 footer for birdie that ended up on the evening news.  The crowd went wild.  We found a sheltered spot and wagged our chins with Rachel rather informally.  Just like talking to an old mate, really �?? if only a few other journalists around the traps had been so low key, some better stories might�??ve come out for public consumption!  Mid-conversation one T Borren showed up looking like Man Friday, in stubbies, a cap turned backwards and bright orange socks (reflecting his Dutch heritage).  He was a picture of NZ golf: if only our friends in the US could�??ve seen his approach...  Mike uttered �??here�??s trouble�?� and he wasn�??t wrong.  Trouble personified.

El Capitano, Paul, was gracious enough to join our four, the other member being Richard Kennedy �?? friend and hockey team mate in recent years.  Paul�??s of Northumberland and Cambridge University stock, so like me he had a muddled accent.  Richy K is from Palmy North so...  Despite not playing much golf he�??s a sportsman more natural than most; the odd 280 metre tee shot came flying off the clubface �?? inevitably followed by a self-deprecating �??I�??ll probably chunk the next one and 3 putt�?�.  Which often he did!

It tickled me to glance back several holes at William �??Corky�?� Corke.  Our vertically challenged, visually impaired, largely disabled friend had teamed up with a couple of good humans who for some reason have befriended Bart.  Now, these fullas don�??t play a lot of golf, so couldn�??t be expected to go Low.  But Corky despite his extensive handicaps is no mug with a stick in hand (mind you he uses illegal ones).  The result?  Circa 5 and a half hours of slogging it out in trying conditions.  When William edged his little frame into the clubhouse he looked like he�??d just got back from 6 years at war.  How I laughed.  (In case anyone is tempted to feel sorry for Corky, don�??t.  He gives better than he gets �??most times, so is due for a bit of stick).

One of the lads from the club did a tremendous job in firing up the BBQ while we came down the stretch.  On 18 fairway I could smell burning beef.  Saliva gushed from my glands and down onto the grass below.  Cruelly we were made to wait until the more relaxed groups came in �?? the spread sitting out like Forbidden Fruit all the while.  A good old fashioned Kiwi BBQ was eventually had though, and life coursed once more through our veins.  Much as the peanut butter clad bread had done perhaps two years ago, these patties snatched me from the arms of starvation and provided assurance that I wouldn�??t perish before my 26th birthday (on account of hunger, anyway).

I�??d got chatting to an interesting ex-naval Captain but Bondy�??s booming voice stole my attention.  The ceremony had begun.  Before long he and Bart were standing side by side in the club rooms, looking like Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dee.  Two Managers In A Pod.  Michael and I were summoned to commence the Q+A session, which ended up running for a good half hour or so.  Srixon AD33s (courtesy of The Golf Warehouse) were handed out for insightful questions (we get so many bloody stupid or repetitive ones...) and hats and all sorts for prizes.  Anyway �??twas a relaxing and banterous episode and I�??ll tell you lot what I told Bondy: the pleasure was ours.  Karori �?? Bondy in particular �?? couldn�??t have been any more hospitable, and made us feel like life members.  Bondy even furnished us with club shirts on the back of a bad taste hint I dropped while answering a question about laundry!  God it was awkward...

Thanks Bondy & co, and thanks to our pals for showing their support by coming along.  A grand old day at a fantastic wee club.  Didn�??t see a mountain goat, but saw a club manager that looks like one!

JP