There’s a Sucker Born on the Gold Course Every Day – But There’s Only One John Dyer – Archie Pulls the Sting of the Century Over 18 Holes at Atherton


I played golf out at Atherton yesterday with some of the best blokes you would ever meet.

Three time Townsville premiership winning jockey Ian Toward was one of them. He goes alright on the stick, and went around in two over par.

Prominent bookie Hadyn Flynn was another. He goes alright too, and went around in about 6 over, which was 7 better than his 13 handicap.

I can’t play for crap, and would have carded about 120 if we were keeping one, but thankfully it was Ambrose, and because none of my shots in the whole 18 rounds were our best we will never really know how bad I really went.

It didn’t matter.

See that old club that I’m holding in my hand in the picture above?

We didn’t use it of course, but my partner gifted it to me after the round, and it is one of the most thoughtful gifts that I have ever received, and has immediately become one of my taonga, which is a Maori word for treasures.

Look at the name on it.


John Dyer.

He was my partner.

The bloke who sunk a 34 foot putt on the last hole to win me the chocolates from bookmaker Flynn, who we’d hustled for 17 holes, increasing the bet gradually after each loss, with a few throwaways that he mistakenly thought were gimmes along the way.

They were gimmes too, deliberate ones.

What I was setting up was the last hole sting, the one that would pay the punting bill for the week, and buy me a couple of bottles of Johnnie Walker blue to wet my whistle.

It was an all or nothing gamble.

One hole, one putt, 34 feet out from the hole, death or glory.

I was never going to sink it, because I can’t play golf for shit.

It was all going to come down to John Dyer, the man I call Sticky.

You might think it a bit odd that I’d risk the farm on a putt from the road to Gundagai all the way in to the Opera House, but that’s because you don’t know who John Dyer is.

Jockey Toward and bookie Flynn didn’t either.

That was the sting.

Have you ever played golf out on course in a tin arse country town with a bloke who beat Greg Norman in the Queensland Open?

I have.

Ha ha ha ha ha!

Whoever said that Archie was a mug?

Oh that’s right, I did.

The only mugs here are the blokes who believed it.

Nice putt Sticky.

Was a bit close to the hole for you though, wasn’t it son?

Ha ha ha ha ha.



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