They stressed that if I agreed, I’d need to sign a confidentially agreement. I wanted to know if it was along the lines of the one Stormy Daniels signed but they assured me her non-disclosure agreement was for quite different services even though there was a presidential connection.
It seemed Barack Obama wanted to play golf with a genuine Kiwi rural bloke. Given John Key was also playing and I knew that Jamie Mackay would cut his right arm off, which wouldn’t make his golf any worse, for the opportunity, I suggested him.
Apparently, he’d been considered but dismissed on the grounds of his metrosexual tendencies which was exactly what Obama wasn’t looking for. So, I willingly accepted.
Of course, no such call came but I was thinking the other day about how I would have gone up there in Northland on that course playing with the rich and famous.
Given my previous record, I’d say very badly.
Imagine the pressure to perform well with some credibility in front of Obama and Key not to mention all the heavy-duty security fellows and the rest of the entourage.
A couple of years ago I was asked at short notice to fill in for a tournament at the Waipukurau Golf Club. I said given I was hogget lambing I’d get there just before tee off.
I rushed up to the starter’s box and was told to quickly get over to the first tee which is never a good way to begin any sort of sport, let alone golf where a Zen-like approach is useful.
My heart sank when I saw I was playing with the top golfers from both Onga Onga and Waipukurau. They were four-handicappers and I’m a struggling 16. Then I saw how it worked as there was a young fellow I didn’t know so they had obviously put two hackers with two good players.
I introduced myself and asked Brett Allan, my new mate what he did for a crust. “I’m the pro at Hastings Golf Club,” he said.
Naturally, I slashed and chopped my way up the first fairway not only in front of my companions but the rest of the field who were waiting to tee off.
I did regain my composure and ended up playing quite well.
Another time I was playing Mackay in one of our epic Choker Challenge matches, this time on the lovely Eketahuna course.
My partner was Sir Brian Lochore and I was playing well enough to be carrying this legend of NZ sport to a well-earned beer from our opponents.
On the 16th I said to Brian that the shot into the green wasn’t my favoured distance but he told me to just keep my head down.
I shanked it and narrowly missed hitting him.
I stood over the next shot, gripping the life out of the club hoping like hell I didn’t do that again.
That is the worst thing you should be thinking about when swinging a golf club so naturally the ball flew off at right angles once more.
I could hear the laughter and conversation from the other three as I addressed the ball for a third time.
Has anyone in sporting history been under this much pressure?
Brian is one of the greatest sporting legends this country has ever produced and a leader of men who have all stood up and been counted when he’s asked them.
And Mackay is my rival and nemesis.
Naturally, I shanked it for a third consecutive shot and immediately fell into the foetal position and three times cried out in anguish that I hated myself.
I then had the ignominy of having to climb a tree to get my bloody nine iron from where it had lodged after I threw it in the air as I plunged to the ground.
I then completely went to pieces and shanked and duffed the last two holes.
Brian told me that in a whole career of playing and watching sport he’d never seen a choke and meltdown of this magnitude. And reminded me I’d cost him a beer.
Now, when I see him across a room he just smiles sadly and shakes his head and I feel unable to go and have a chat given my complete lack of any sort of credibility.
Naturally, Mackay was overjoyed at seeing this experience and has dined out on it many times.
I’m pleased I didn’t get asked to play with Obama.
