6 am
Wake up with this terrible pain in my side. Feels as though a million bees are trying to sting me through my fat rolls – I vow never to wear the sports bra to bed again. It’s just too tight, and if I leave it on for any longer I am at risk of cutting off the blood supply to my entire upper body.
Fortunately Mrs M is there to take it off – it is hers, after all. She lets me keep the panties.
7.30am
A little nervous before the big day, so I opt for a light breakfast of bacon, sausage, eggs, pancakes and soy milk (real milk, I find, promotes man boobs). I am a professional athlete at the end of the day, remember.
It’s still early, so I decide to practise that trademark smile and nod in front of the mirror for 15 minutes. Should annoy one or two people today.
8.30 am
Arrive at Augusta and make my way straight to the changeroom. Anthony Kim jokingly tells me to head to the ladies after he sees me without my shirt on. I tell him I would, but Tiger’s there already. That gets a few laughs. I then tell him to head to immigration. Not as many laughs.
Apply baby powder liberally between the old thighs. It’s not a pretty sight, but completely necessary given that I’m about eight tons heavier than when I started playing. As I’m finishing I see Lee Westwood walk out of one of the stalls. Not a fan of the old hand washing I see. Won’t be shaking his paw after the round. No sir- ree.
10.30 am
Almost time to tee off. Manage to slip in a jelly doughnut for good luck. One shot back going into today’s round – should be a piece of cake. Mmmm, what I would give for a piece of cake now. OK, concentrate big guy. This is serious stuff.
Make final preparations with a couple of practice nods and grins. Everything feeling pretty loose. Except my pants.
11 am
Right, time to go. Think I caught Lee casting a smug look my way – just because the yob lost the equivalent of a baby rhino he feels he can gloat. I’ll show him. Lefty on the rampage. Damn, I’m hungry.
13.45
Round going well. Think the moment has got too big for old Lee though ‘cos he’s pretty much disappeared. I though, have just made two serious hallelujah pars out of the rough. Legend of Bagger Vance stuff there in the trees. Think I actually saw Bagger Vance at one point while I was in the woods – although I think that might be due to those ‘special’ cookies my darling made for me last night. Thought my head was going to fall off with all the nodding and smiling I did after those two shots.
Fred Couples in his ridiculous shoes and no glove looks like he’s making a charge. Hope he decides to take a leaf out of Tom Watson’s British Open book.
16.00
Turns out he did. I finish up with a final-round 67 for a total of 272, 16 under par for my third Masters in seven years. Lee is three back on 13 under. Let’s see that smug look now (didn’t shake his hand). Tiger finishes fourth on 11 under. Not too bad, considering he played most of the tournament with one hand on the wrong shaft.
Anyway, quite an emotional win considering everything that’s happened over the past year and a bit. I thoroughly deserve it. Already planning next year’s Champions Dinner.
Gotta go. The wife is waiting outside with her sports bra. Apparently I need it for the photos. Hope they took my new size for the jacket, if they lie me flat I'll look like a putt-putt hole. Laters.
This article is intended as a parody.
