Anatomy Of A Photo: The Battle Of The 13th Bunker
Sylvester wasn’t happy with his second shot at the 13th. “I say, I’ve blimmin well hooked that one tewwibly to the left, old chap.” “Oh yes, made a right hash of it, a real dog’s breakfast” chimed in Roderick, his live-in help, part-time caddy and full-time lover. “Let me get that for you, I don’t want you to get your Plus 4s soiled. Not again!” Mirth ensued.
Peering over the edge of the deepest bunker this side of Berlin, Roddy reeled back with startled alacrity. “I’ve just seen the most wonderful sight. There’s a gaggle of strapping young men outfitted in the finest woolen attire, shorts so tight they leave very little to the imagination, carrying their pedal cycles like crucifixes… and they’re heading this way!” Soon, the other groups playing through caught wind of the commotion, and joined in the voyeuristic excitement.
As the cyclists came nearer into view, it became apparent that they were being pursued by a well-dressed mob, some riding on a giant float broadcasting swing music, wielding bracken and fronds they’d pulled from the edge of the water trap at the 11th. Roderick summoned the Faldo brothers and young Sharky Norman to the precipice. “Oi’ll get me dog Mangey” yelled Spotty Dick, the town’s number one mentally disturbed accountant, “ee’ll ave em owt in no toime.” While the argyle mob continued to peer gormlessly into the bunker at the seemingly confused runners/riders scrambling up its side, Spotty did his best to hide the fact that Mangey was, in fact, long deceased and only partially taxidermied. “Go orn Mangey” he yelled as he pushed the corpse into the path of the escaping men.
What happened next cannot be documented here with any degree of accuracy or factuality. The events that day are mired in mystery, sullied by innuendo, venerated by legend. We may never know the real story, most will choose to believe that which helps mask the horror of carrying one’s bike, and others will pass it all off as “just a sport”. The only thing which can be factually stated is that Sylvester never played at St Monotone’s again, and the 13th hole’s flag remains upside down.
Check your sources. Mangey was only mostly dead.
been hitting the tripels a little hard?
@Al__S
Wacky Backy?
I’m trying to work out what this has to do with it https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/We_Killed_Mangy_Dog_and_Other_Stories
Man wouldn’t that make golf more interesting – sudden cyclocross races popping up. Or better still, golf on cyclocross type terrain. None of yer fancy-schmancy fairways and greens as smooth as Marianne Vos’s legs, but playing in the mud and up and down hills. Get the golfers to carry their own bloody bags too.
Is Spotty Dick wearing a striped jersey and Argyll patterned plus fours? Damn, that’s brave, and superbly casually deliberate.
Best article EVER.
@brett
” Roderick summoned the Faldo brothers and young Sharky Norman to the precipice ”
Factual, to a degree good chap, however, it was widely known at the time that young Sharky Norman had a propensity to choke, therefore enabling him fearful to go anywhere near the edge, let alone to the precipice.
He did however have some backroom dealings with the aforementioned accountant, Spotty Dick, in some shady ice cream parlour investments that turned sour.
I like it.
Excellent research all the same.
@wiscot
You clearly never played golf in your previous life as a Scotsman, especially on a links course.
@wiscot
I’m not sure he pulls it off but it does beg the question; was Spotty Dick one of Vaughter’s relations or guiding figure during his early years?
I’ll never complain about a cross course ever again. Also, looks to be a white dog sitting at the edge of the cliff. Where is his head? Is he about to do a shoulder roll to rub himself in mud/carrion, like my dogs love to do, which then requires a goddamn bath?
@Ron
Proof that no-one reads the articles. That’s Mangey of course. He ain’t rollin under his own steam.
What i want to know though, is where are the riders actually going? The argyle mob seem to have blocked the course and Billy Ballthwack is either going to part the seas or cop a right beating with a pitching wedge.
@brett
I was wondering that myself. I think the riders are expecting the crowd to open up like the Red Sea parting for Mr. Moses. It had better – there looks like a nasty bunch of twigs and brush below them if thjey take a tumble. Also, is that snow on the ground and what’s the weird viewing platform thing in the background? The racing is so captivating that no-one seems to be aware of the tornado in the background too.
I I think there’s a gap between the guy wearing a 1930s hoodie and the chap on the left of the man in the light trousers.
And there seems to be another dog in among the legs. Fascinating photo.
This picture can only be the result of a bet over a pint or three. Or what you said, Brett, obviously…
That looks like the crowd at first Manassas. They’re standing there expecting a great show and those riders are about to barrel straight through them. I’d like to see the next photo, perhaps Mr. White pants got soiled.
Best Velominati Article yet.
Notice this is ‘cross with one speed. Not a 1x. 1 gear total. That’s rad.
I also like the composition of the photo because it suggests these guys just came up from a magical bicycle mine with their newfound treasures.
@brett
Ummm…I did my best, but this wasn’t the easiest article to understand. Gonna defend myself and challenge my post as “proof.” Okay…so Mangey is dead and only partially taxi’ed?
@Ron
Yeah, I right there with you, Ron.
Fuck Brett, channeling yer best inner-Hunter S Thompson??? What the fuck were you on when you wrote that piece?
Amazing photo, though.
@wiscot
Note the slight gap between Mr. White Pants and Sonny Plus-4s. Rounding the dog-knome-gate, and then a hard right to the 20 hairpin turs and 40 yard sprints. Do it again chaps!
@Buck Rogers
Just two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers . . . and also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls . . . Not that I needed all that for the article, but once you get locked into a serious AoP, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.
@brett
So the usual, eh??? I figured that you had hit a little something extra for that space-wandering rant!
@Buck Rogers
I’m cutting back…