Everything but fun in the sun

The sight of young Marcel Siem frantically packing bags just minutes after pulling off his first victory in the Dunhill championship at Houghton provided a telling insight into the realities of life as a professional golfer.

Inspired by regular reminders of the earnings and glamorous lifestyles of the like of Ernie Els and Tiger Woods one gets the impression that all pros lead the life of Riley but in truth it is everything but.

Young Siem, having just pocketed a cool million Rand as well as the even more lucrative prize of an effective three years exemption to play anywhere he likes on the European Tour, had no time to bask in his glory.

He and his caddie had to get their bags packed before, without even pausing to shower, rushing off to catch the flight to take them to the Johnnie Walker Classic in Thailand.

Siem at least would have been buoyed by his maiden victory. Raphael Jacquelin and Gregory Havret, the pair of Frenchmen eliminated in the sudden-death play-off, had to go through the same process while coming to terms with the disappointment of defeat – especially the former who has never won on the tour.

A three-day, three-rounds-of-golf trip to Fancourt followed immediately by seven weeks on the road at the Rugby World Cup brought home to me just how unattractive is the life of a touring pro.

I had always wondered, for instance, why professionals always seem to wear the same pair of golf shoes when they, especially the top men, literally have sponsors’ products thrust upon them.

Now I know. Having never before been away on an extended golfing trip I thought I might take along two pairs of shoes to Fancourt; you know, black pair for navy blue trousers and two-tone for the khakis. One, after all, has to look the part.

But then I started packing. Clean shirt and trousers for each of the rounds, socks and scants, clothing to wear in the evening; oh yes and perhaps a warm item or two. A set of clothes to wear on the trip home. What if it rains? You may need more spare clothing and remember to pack the waterproofs. Don’t forget your caps. Shaving kit and whatever medication you might have to take regularly or think you might need – pros, for instance, live in constant fear of picking up a bout diarrhea.

Very quickly I upgraded from a tog bag to a proper suitcase and when that too became overfull there was only one way to get the lid closed. Discard one of the pairs of golf shoes. Golf shoes are bulky and heavy and suddenly I understood the one-pair-of-shoes-will-do rule – a well broken-in pair to guard against blisters.

Golfing for three days in a row at Fancourt, including a rare chance to do battle with the challenging Links, is a wonderful experience but with a seven-week tour to the RWC looming a suitcase full of soiled clothing presented something of a crisis because some items would be needed in Australia.

To get on an earlier flight was the solution, but which set in motion a fevered search for the coverall for my clubs – an absolutely essential item to protect clubs and guard against theft – hasty throw-in packing, followed by the inevitable worry that I’d left something in my room, scrumming it all through the airport terminal only to have to gear back to a long wait because the flight had been delayed.

I had toyed with the idea of taking my clubs along to sample some of Australia’s many excellent courses but ended up being grateful I hadn’t. On an extended trip, of necessity, you travel “heavy” and to have been additionally encumbered by a bulky and heavy golf bag would have made every transit a nightmare.

Of course the superrich such as Ernie Els and Tiger Woods and the rest of royalty represented by major winners and the top 50 on the ranking list are met by personal chauffeurs, armies of porters, stay in the best hotels and have their every whim attended to, but for most caught up in the roaming golf caravan moving from one oasis to the next is a slog.

Hotels are often far from courses, you have to cope with new people, often a different language, strange customs and currency, come to terms with foreign food and, as anyone who has traveled knows, having laundry done in hotels is extremely expensive.

So you try find the guest laundry, usually in a dungeon in the parking garage, and then there is the problem of ironing because even the finest of modern fabrics are not entirely crinkle resistant when subjected to the rigours of super-heated industrial spin driers. If you’ve ever wondered why some journeymen pros look a little crumpled, now you know!

And believe me, from someone who has traveled a lot, hotel-hopping can be an extremely lonely existence; hence the tendency of the more successful to take along their families or companions because the one inarguable rule is that the better you do, the better it gets.

Apart from just keeping house and hearth together one of the marvels of the good players, to me at least, is how well they cope with different on-course conditions. Faster, slower, bumpier or grainier greens, vastly divergent weather conditions, different textures of sand in the bunkers and, if you’re new to it all, not knowing yardages or the lines off tees.

For novices each new week recreates the stress and strain of making the cut – think of what your job would be like if you stood to be fired every working week of the year! – and making meager funds last.

Then it is pack and go again. Cape Town, Johannesburg, Bangkok, Melbourne, Kuala Lumpur, Carlsbad, Dubai… sounds glamorous but you can have it!