The real money was exchanged, but the massive amount of betting seemed to involve putting a lot of short bets on partners who must wither under the pressure of the game. Most members spent time around the dealer swore their own positive ots in disguise as odds, which surprised me very much that made those running whiteboards. It wasn’t until later that I learned the benefits from betting helping clubs’ bar labels, which greatly alleviated my concerns about more evil betting activities. Thankfully, these bets are low enough that even the most socially sent-in, a man named Bill Shelton, had very little odds.
Australia’s Great Golf Resort, Part 1: Mornington Peninsula
Josh Sens
“Who is you? ” he said, turning a bright blue eye in my direction.
Bill, 89, has been a member of the club for sixty years, making him one of Wags’ VIPs. Bill is a giant – I mean, despite his stature, he is as tall as six feet tall and is a popular Australian ruling football player in his past life. Mr. Sheldon was bigger than life, and his spirit burst out with equal radiation warmth and pure mischief, which almost immediately became one of my favorites I’ve ever met. His voice commanded a deep baritone in the room, bounced from the wall, his eyes exhilarating with misbehavior advice.
Like when we entered the restaurant for lunch shortly before noon, Sheldon raised his eyebrows.
“Are you happy to drink?” he said with a smile, as he pulled his hat from Shiraz, the club’s own private label. “Are you happy there is red? We don’t seem to have white.”
He poured me a cup of red. Then there is another one. Then there is another one. Then suddenly, multiple bottles were opened on the table in front of us. Before the long lunch ended, I walked to the first tee on a belly full of private label liquid confidence.
The metropolitan golf is standard sand-belt style, that is, this is golf with a contrast of 11. From the T-shirt to fairway to fairway to green, the land rolls into a smooth curve, but the danger is cut off on the edge of the knife, capturing bad shots with various foul bounces. The metro is not the most visible or strategically challenging bond that is visually obvious or strategically challenging, but its weight in the vicinity is not just a club, which means how clubs can fight against any other golf community in the world.
The story of Metropolitan Golf Club tells the stories of many great clubs, a story of firm membership and close friendships, healthy debates and stop progress. The club’s captain Campbell Mackintosh made a transition to the modern era through the renovation of the club and courses. After our round, he tells the story of the most painful effort of renovation: an effort to remove three non-post pine trees from the center of the 17th fairway, what Greg Norman once called “Australia’s stupidest”. Mackintosh is that golf obsessive, filling every table in the subway: history is full of reverence and truly wishing his club the best. Despite this, his efforts to remove trees were fruitless. The club’s membership, especially its longest-standing member, is very gracious to the stylish pine trees. They rejected his motion to remove the trees.
“I’m pretty sure I’m right,” he said with a smile. “But for some of our members, those trees yes Metropolis. ”
The subtext is clear: the trees in the middle of the fairway may be a bad idea. They may still yes. But somewhere along the way, they become part of the metro is no less than club logos and swingers. Losing trees will lose a part of what each member cherishes most about the metropolis: tradition. Mackintosh realized that it was a truly unique gift for his family club. Not a world-class golf or a luxury Wednesday outing, but someone who believes you are bigger than yourself.
I said to Campbell, “There are a lot of good golf in this city.” “How come you are lucky this … here? ”
Mackintosh flashed a smile of recognition at me.
“Because Melbourne is the best city in the world.”
golf.
For the van, dinner is a special social engagement, a mere shirt and hosting event during which competitors will learn the winners and losers of the day’s competition (the latter is more attractive). This would be bad news for a bunch of Americans with only shirts, but Mackintosh was surprised. Somehow the club managed to track down four used coats, one for each member of our visiting group to attend the dinner in proper outfits.
The shower and short joyous hours followed, just like when I was going back to the main restaurant for supper, I felt the tug on my sleeve.
“James,” said Bill Shelton, a member of sixty-year-old 89. “Do you mind my wife?“
I agree, his eyes dancing again.
“Dear,” he said. “Meet my new friends.”
A round of applause added to the short speech of dinner, and then it was time to get the day’s trophy, which included a modern sculpture that seemed to be pulled from the nearby bin (for the winner), and a truly terrifying bright blue jacket that must be worn at all times within the club (for the loser). When the loser’s name was announced, he appeared from under the white tablecloth in the dining room, his eyes terrified. The room burst into loud laughter. More wines are available.
The final event of the day was a Q&A session with legendary Australian golfer and golf course architect Michael Clayton. Clayton has white hair on his shoulders and the nonsense of the middle school teacher, in this set of idol fragments. He shares opinions without fear or grace (sometimes without warning), and does not love as deeply as he loves golf.
When Clayton started his Q-and-a from the Swingman, I found myself dreaming of all the wonderful days in the Wizard of Oz. How to correctly explain the warmth depth of this room? Vibrant personality? Generosity, connection and sincerity in friendship?
