Fear not fellow tragic. This is not about bending rules, finding lost metres or seeking mental toughness via a long walk across hot coals. No, it’s simpler than that, and yet, more complex.

‘The Search’ as I like to think of it, is about finding the golf club no one else has – or possibly wants. And believe me, I’ve looked high and low – up and down Dale, even – and Dale bloody hates it when I do that.

And wide. No golf club bargain bin has been safe, and as I wade through the s**t, the club pro will often ask what I’m looking for because frankly, there’s every chance the stuff I already have is better. But I’m not after what’s good. I’m after what’s different. Doesn’t everyone yearn to have their playing partners marvel at what they’re packing?

That’s why we buy stupid Tiger or Koala or Shark or Gorilla head covers: it’s not to keep our clubs warm or take some kooky pleasure in stuffing our clubs up the novelty anus of some hand puppet. We may think that’s why we do it, but really, it’s because we think someone else will dig our stuff.

The reason I load kooky stuff in my bag is not for me, it’s for you. And whilst we all thought the original Callaway Great Big Bertha 2 iron was going to do it, we were wrong. Dead wrong.

And wrong about the Kleersite hand forged putter, too. And the Skuttle from Trident Golf. The Honma LB 300CC titanium driver was never going to make it (ladies driver, I found out). Persimmon Ping woods were out of their league, and the Callaway Heaven Seven GBB was close but no cigar.

To be honest, the Cpessy “Alexander the Great” wedge was a chance. Especially after I re-shafted it with a modern day steel shaft and used it for a couple of rounds. This club, with its custom ground cut through sole looked the goods. Truly. And on the two rounds I used it I duffed one chip – but also three bunker shots. Otherwise it was mint. In fact, I genuinely love it – the problem is working out what to sacrifice to get it into the bag.

But then, what I was really after was a game changer. A heart starter. A club to stop the lads cold so they could lean on their clubs and swear that now they’d seen it all.

And it wasn’t the vintage Calamity Jane that did it.


But when I saw this beauty my heart missed a beat. I hadn’t even imagined it could exist. It’s so rude and weird and utterly stupid it’s got to go beyond the comprehension of even the biggest golfing dickhead, which is why I had to have it.

It was in a bag of clubs at an Opportunity Shop (it was actually an original Great Big Bertha bag which would have been sweet with my two iron) and $5 bought it. And no, I didn’t even haggle.

The two way chipper. What a beauty. I mean, if you’re yipping out chipping right handed, have a crack the other way. What could go wrong, right? Exactly. Not one single thing.

And it’s sitting on bench in The Shed with a brand new grip on it. Waiting for Saturday and the wide-eyed joy of my playing partners. Won’t they just LOVE it! A two way chipper – not just utterly stupid, but impossible to get your hands on.

And then I Googled it. Well that was about as smart as Googling “cough” and not expecting to get a diagnosis of impending death via some kind of throat tumor.

The Two Way Chipper is not so impossible to get hold of, after all. Amazon sells them – with almost 200 reviews – most in the five-star range. “Worth its weight in gold.” “No question, my best club.” “Unbelievably Good.” “Great inexpensive gift for the golfer.”

Come on, dudes! COME ON! It’s awful. Can you be serious Mr “Has shaved a couple stokes off per game. Especially helpful in early morning with dew on second cut of green. Lifts the ball off that wet grass. It will stay in my bag.”

It’s illegal. You can’t use it. It’s outside the rules of the game. All those strokes you saved? You didn’t save them! You multiplied them.

It’s back to the drawing board.

Back to the well-worn path between here and the Op Shop dump bin. Back to scabbing and poking about and looking for the next used to be best thing. Maybe that Cpessy’ll get another start, after all.