Golf is a strange game. There is no other major sport in which an amateur can play to exactly the same level of a professional, walking the same fairways and greens as the game’s greatest players and – every now and again – coming up with pretty much the same result.
Such was my opportunity on a trip to play at Huntingdale in Melbourne’s sand belt, where the Australian Masters returns to its spiritual home from 19-22 November after a seven-year absence.
Standing on the first tee, you can still just about see the clubhouse gallery of past winners such as Greg Norman, who did so much to popularise the game in Australia with a string of victories in the tournament in the early 80s. Other greats who played the course include Tiger Woods, Nick Faldo, Severiano Ballesteros and Rory McIlroy.
No pressure then, I thought. Just keep your head down and swing through the ball. Off we go. The ball takes its familiar arc, starting off well but then veering off to the right. Not too bad. Could have been worse, I think. It’s only my second round in about four years so I could have duffed it completely. It’s virtually a miracle shot.
I find my ball. The elevated green looks a long way off. But a morning downpour in Melbourne has not only ignited the beautiful scent of the gum trees, it has also softened the ground and I manage to float the ball 160 yards or so on to the green. I take two putts and mark down a par four. Easy game.
This is brilliant. I’ve just played that hole to the same standard as those great players. OK, Norman might have got the odd birdie three, but I bet he probably also had the odd four. When I just miss a putt for a birdie two at the short third hole, I’m wondering why I never turned pro.
The answer is not long in coming. At the dog-leg fourth my drive clatters into the trees. Several hacks and too many putts later I’ve got myself a four-over par eight.
Not for the first time I’m reminded that professional golfers make a living from the game because they’re really, really good at it, and have a lot more threes and fours on their cards than eights.
By the time I’ve finished following in their footsteps – who was I trying to kid? – I’m crushed by the inevitability of my score, which is a lot nearer to 100 than it is to the par of 72.
But at least it’s an enjoyable walk. The course is wonderfully set up and in great condition to welcome back the Masters and the crowds that will come with it. The clubhouse has been rebuilt in the interregnum and boasts a huge bar and dining area where you can enjoy a good meal and talk about where it all went right – or wrong.
Melbourne’s famous run of great sporting events is well and truly under way. After the baton passed from the AFL grand final to the Melbourne Cup, it’s the turn of some of the world’s best golfers to take up the running at Huntingdale – one of seven championship-grade courses in the eastern suburbs. Players vying for the yellow jacket will be two who could once call themselves the best in the world – Ernie Els and the Australian Adam Scott – so the organisers are hoping for good crowds.
There are, of course, many other reasons to enjoy a whistlestop weekend in Melbourne, not least its rightly renowned dining scene and nightlife.
You’re spoiled for choice on a Friday night. The streets of the inner-city suburbs throng with likeminded souls, which is complemented on Cup weekend with a good number of people dressed to show everyone who cares that this is their biggest weekend of the year.
Fitzroy, while more understated, has its narrow old streets bursting with bars and restaurants, to the point where you wonder how they all survive. We settle on the upstairs bar of the immaculately restored Everleigh on Gertrude Street. It’s known for its cocktails but I make the mistake of having a craft beer which has a daft name and is both over-strong and overpriced.
No matter – the choice of restaurant is spot on. Hell of the North, a nearby French-style bistro, is named after a bike race in northern France. Of course it is, you might think. What could be trendier than to reference a fairly obscure sporting event staged 10,000 miles away?
But the restaurant is housed in a beautiful old building with suitably rustic bare brick walls and plain wooden tables and it promises a chic but uncomplicated dining experience. We go for the “let us feed you” menu, a kind of degustation that takes you straight to the point with the minimum of fuss. Stage one, to borrow the cycling theme, is a savoury doughnut: deep-fried pork and cheese – what could possibly go wrong? Stage two is charcuterie and stage three is smoked trout and mussels. Four is pork belly and kingfish to complete a great feast, which for $65 a head is also excellent value. If only the (very fine) wine was such a bargain.
After all that it’s time for a lie down amid the ginger flower-scented luxury of the Langham hotel on the Southbank.
On Saturday morning it is alive with the buzz of Cup weekend. Taking the lift to breakfast, many people are already in their finery ready to head off to the races. It’s lashing down with rain outside so I’m glad we’ve got time to enjoy the superb spread and look out over the city – so much to do there, so little time.
The golf was provided by the Australian Masters, and flights and accommodation by Tourism Victoria.
