Hole 10. We cross the road to reach the return holes. Pont-Royal is an American-style, fun and varied golf course. The route is sometimes wild, sometimes surrounded by houses, as well as a Pierre & Vacances village. Birdie holes sit alongside holes where the par is an excellent score. None of them are drawn the same.

RAS on this classic par 4 in a slight right dodleg, except for this second putt with a re-entering post, or rather re-entering point. I feel like it's my putting day.

On my score card: by

Hole 11. The other signature hole. A par 3 of 190 meters that is crazy, with a strong headwind (obviously), the Alpilles in the background and a welcoming ravine between the tee and the green. When designing the course, Severiano Ballesteros would have hit twenty balls from the back tee (specially built for the occasion) in order to precisely determine the location of the green. Depending on the direction of the mistral, the choice of club can vary from 7 iron to driver!

I swallow a deep gulp before hitting a 3 wood that ends a dozen yards from the flag. I quickly take my two putts and run away, almost at a run, to the next hole. Phew, my scorecard is safe and sound! Casually, I start to think about the record.

On my score card: by

Hole 12. A par 4 slightly uphill. I am at +1 after 11 holes, but it is important not to get carried away. Don't get carried away. Do not get carried away ... Failed, I let go of my drive a little to the right and saw my ball sink into the forest. I do not take my eyes off the point of entry of the ball, but when I get there, it is impossible to find it. Autumn requires, there are pine cones and leaves everywhere. Since the hour is late and I have no time to waste, I decide to drop a bullet in the forest, roughly where I think it went aground. Without penalty. As Plato pointed out in his day, the mind is more important than the rule. And in golf, I am furiously Platonic. Especially when there is a score of madness in play. And then it is true what, us amateurs, we do not have marshalls or spectators to tell us where the ball fell.

I refocus without damage then manage to avoid the grove of holm oaks forgotten by Ballesteros in the middle of the fairway. I take my traditional two putts and do pretty well with a bogey. Never get carried away.

On my score card: bogey (real score: at least triple bogey, even disqualification)

Hole 13. A short par 3, but mostly red balls (118 meters). Whites, it takes nearly 160 meters with a water obstacle in defense and bunkers on the wings. This is one of the peculiarities of the course: its four par 3s are protected by an obstacle and give no room for error. I hold my breath and slap my 6 iron quite a bit, wind in my back. A string later, I find a birdie that all Pierre & Vacances tourists still remember. Back in the business!

Definitely, my big putter is in good shape. I don't know if it's because I'm a left-handed who plays right-handed or if it's because my brain is dimmed, but I've never been able to use a regular putter. Zero sensation, my concierge putts better than me. So I use the same type of putter as Bernhard Langer. Two or three times a month, on a course, there is always someone who feels obligated to tell me that it is now forbidden. As I am straddling the rules, I replied that it is false, it is only the third anchor point that is prohibited.

A few years ago, on my first trip to Mauritius, I found my long putter cut in half. He had not resisted the plane trip and the tact of the baggage handlers of Roissy. The time of mourning passed, I had toured all the golf courses on the island in the hope of finding one. In vain. So I was loaned a classic putter that I used for ten days like a long putter, completely bending the spine. Like Quasimodo, or even Robert Garrigus when he borrowed his kid's putter for several months because he felt better with it. In these cases, we certainly look a little stupid. But it's either that or add a good half-dozen putts to his scorecard. My choice was quickly made.

On my score card: birdie

Hole 14. Change of scenery until the 18th with a last part even more woody and a scent of lavender and thyme. Place a short par 5 (455 meters) very narrow and technical with the practice on the left and a welcoming bunker on the other side, at the end of the drive. A 5 wood, a hybrid, a wedge and two putts later, I leave with par. It looks like Ronsard.

On my score card: by

Hole 15. Casually I'm still +1 and there are only 4 holes left, now is not the time to mess around. Don't get carried away. Don't get carried away. I arrive on a nice par 4, narrow and cut in the Aleps pine forest. I choose a 9 iron for my second shot, 115 yards uphill. Except that my ball tumbles directly behind the green. I realize that I took my 6 iron instead of the 9, a dumpling that I make 3-4 times a year on average. I replay the stroke, obviously without penalty. After all, I don't have a caddy. No spectators to stop the ball when it comes off the green. I end up with a putt of ten meters uphill, right-left slope. Not easy. I passed the hole by 1,50 meters and then took my first three putts of the day. It's nerd, a point stupidly lost.

On my score card: bogey (real score: at least double bogey, even disqualification)

Hole 16. A par 4 that turns right and a funnel green. A Ryder Cup-style Hunter Mahan approach, that is to say scratched, forces me to settle for a new bogey. It's smart, I am now at +3 and I will have to work hard to at least equal my record. In addition, it is dusk and we see less and less well. Quite a symbol.

On my scorecard: bogey

Hole 17. A 340-meter left dodleg whose main difficulty lies in its green, bean-shaped, with slopes worthy of Augusta. I'm in two on the green, with a capital putt of 8-9 meters (big) uphill and a (big) slope from right to left. Even if it is almost dark, I take my time and walk around the hole, like the Tiger around its prey. I am even on the verge of lying on one hand like Camillo Villegas, but since I'm not sure I can get up, I hold back. The dosage of my putt seems good, but the ball is struggling to stop and drips a good two meters to the left. The situation is serious. If I don't want to drop my record, I have to put this putt. He goes in, left edge. I use my fist in the half-light and the general indifference.

On my score card: by

Hole 18. A par 5 that votes on the left, in the heart of the forest. Bad luck, I obviously (so to speak) joined a game of three which has not yet played the second move, while we do not see much. Plus, one of the guys grinds four tries before hitting. With a birdie putt stopping short in the line and my wife phoning me right after a double bogey asking me to buy a wand, that's probably the thing that pisses me off the most in life.

It is the hour of truth. I swing a manly drive but correct since I am on the fairway and the top of the plateau, with an ideal angle for the next shot. The green being too far away and as I have no room for error on both sides, I opt for my magical hybrid that I tope in a despicable way… but straight. I feel like I have taken a step forward at this level over the past two years. My missed shots are just as repulsive but much less penalizing than before.

I have 80 meters left and the hole is heavily protected by a water hazard on the left and a bunker on the right. The full moon gives me a glimpse of the flag as best I can. I wait for the green to clear to hit one of the most important shots of my career, in general indifference. Or almost, since my wife and my 9-and-a-half-year-old little girl, who come back from the Barben zoo to pick me up, are waiting for me on the steps of the clubhouse… playing on their cellphones. It will therefore be in general indifference.

My sandwedge stroke is straight, that's essential, but pitch 6 meters too short. The coming putt is uphill and we can see a steep right-left slope, a bit like the previous hole. Not easy. I tell myself that if I attack too much, I will be closer to the bogey than to the birdie. And that to equal my best score would already be an excellent performance. I putt… just as my daughter starts running in my direction screaming "come on daddy!" ". During this time, my ball descends the slope and passes the hole of 3 good meters. It's not possible ! Sophie makes me a remake of "The Little House on the Prairie" as I play one of the most important putts of my career. In addition, it smells like a bogey full nose this story.

I was clearly embarrassed. In tennis, in these cases, we do not hesitate to hand over two balls. It should be the same as golf. So I logically decide to rewind and put a ball back. Certainly, I could see the slope of the blow, but anyway, I will ensure the par. My ball leaves, still a little too vigorously, but as a remote control falls at full speed on target. Birdie! I just signed a 74 card and broke my record. That is only 8 more strokes than the score of Severiano Ballesteros (66, -6) at the inauguration of the course in 1992. What a foot, an unforgettable day! I can be proud of myself. Tonight, for sure, I'm going to sleep well ...

On my score card: by (actual score: at least bogey, even disqualification)

Final score: +2 (real score: at least +10 and poured into concrete with tar and feathers)

Frank Crudo

To see the first part of this article, click here