A nice little tale from Jonathon Milroy this time, recalling just how competitive his dad -Alan - can be!

This little story is set in the East coast of Scotland 10 years or so ago, where Big Al, Al Jnr, Keith Waine and myself were taking a weeks 'relaxing' golfing holiday.

On one particular very wet day on the course of ‘Ely’, Big Al had one of those days where "EVERYTHING IS AGAINST ME" (to quote him). It had all gone wrong on the first tee.

The first hole at Ely is a blind shot over a steep hill. In order to ensure the fairway is clear to ‘fire’ for the next group, there is a large telescope mounted on a significant scaffold structure around the starter’s box. This is located adjacent to the tee and whether it was the 5 layers of waterproofs that Big Al was clad in for the inclement weather, or a slippery grip on his trusty 3 iron that caused him to shank it into the scaffold, we’ll never know.

The ball careered at 45 degrees into the starters hut, ricocheted violently around the scaffolding and startled the old boy in the starters hut so much he though the Germans were invading. Accuracy on the rest of the round didn’t get any better and more time was spent looking for lost balls in knee high wet rough than on the fairway, till, on the back nine, Al creamed his first good drive of the day.

Unfortunately for Al, he struck the ball with so much precision it rebounded off the marker post in the middle of the fairway, backwards into the rough, taking his lost ball total into double figures. “I TOLD YOU IT WAS ALL AGAINST ME!” Says the disgruntled old boy!

Later that day we had all been washed, changed and fed and were looking forward to spending the night in the usual way – Old boys (Keith and Big Al) v Young bucks (Al Jnr and me) at whatever bar game was going.

Tonight’s challenge was darts and the odds were stacked heavily in favour of Big Al’s seasoned ‘torpedoes’.

Normally these are kept well guarded and close to his chest but due the house darts being something like Jack Darnell’s ‘Zulu specials’ he agreed to share them with his youngest, i.e. yours truly.

The first set went as expected with the old boys quickly into their stride and torpedoes hitting home. We then paused for the next round of 80 Bob and Tenants, provided by Keith, and supplemented with Golden Wonder Cheese and Onion crisps; What an own goal it proved to be!

The second set started well for Big Al but quickly deteriorated as the torpedoes failed to land. The young bucks started to find their range and restored parity at 1-1 after a hard fought set. Keith, ever the sportsman (and often Big Als diplomat) congratulated us, but for Big Al it was getting too close.

“RIGHT THAT’S IT!” he said, “your not using my darts anymore, you’ve put crisp grease all over them” and stormed off to the toilet.

He returned soon after, having scrubbed his torpedoes in the sink with soap and then covering them in chalk for extra chucking grip.

So, the 3rd and final set had an EVEN MORE edge of competitiveness.

Big Al was playing with all the purpose and determination of a German Panza division (to quote Sid Waddell) but unfortunately he was wearing Ara-miss aftershave (to quote one of Al Jnrs jokes).

The set turned out to be one of the biggest public executions this side of Arabia, (Waddellism's being as popular as Tupperisems) with the Old boys being whitewashed 3-0. When the final Zulu dart had plucked its double, I pivoted round in Tupper style to offer father my hand, but the darts were already away and so was Pa, garbling something Scottish that distinctively ended in off.

So, the next time he's playing darts in the village - offer him a crisp!!