Who is Corrie Sanders?

Rumour has it David Duval once told Corrie Sanders that after the sun had set on his boxing career he should try to qualify for the US Tour. It’s 2011, three years into retirement, and Sanders has yet to take the American up on the challenge, but from the balcony of the Gardener Ross clubhouse, looking down at the sizeable human being drilling ball after ball effortlessly on the practice tee, I could see why Duval would think that the 45-year-old former WBO heavyweight champion of the world would make a suitable tour candidate.

Born Cornelius Johannes Sanders in Pretoria on 7 January 1966, ‘The Sniper’, as he came to be known in the ring for his deadly accurate punching, is one of the most successful boxers this country has ever produced.

With a career spanning nearly two decades, the 6’4” giant amassed an impressive 42 wins – 31 of them by knockout. However, it was on 8 March 2003 in Hanover, Germany, that his finest hour would come when the southpaw – against all odds – defeated Russian Wladimir Klitschko to claim the WBO heavyweight title.

The boertjie from the Jacaranda City had reached the summit of the boxing world, and he’d needed just three minutes and 27 seconds to do it.

With his illustrious past in the forefront of my mind and the late summer sun now beating down furiously, I depressed my golf cart’s accelerator and headed somewhat wearily off into battle.

Uneasy meeting

Being the consummate professional that he is, Sanders was already on the first tee, gloved up and raring to go. I’ll admit I was a little unsure as to how the introduction between the two of us would play itself out.

I was torn between the traditional handshake and the idea of getting our spotter, who actually bore an uncanny resemblance to Don King, to announce the potentially epically one-sided battle between the almost super flyweight and a man many still affectionately refer to as ‘Conan.’

Fortunately for me, Corrie took the guesswork out of it all, walking up with a bear-like hand outstretched and a friendly smile on his tanned face. “How you, Si?” he said. “You ready?” Well Corrie, if ready means that all we do is play golf and you don’t hurt me or my family, then yes, I’m ‘ready’. Well, that’s what I was thinking anyway.

With formalities concluded, The Sniper set about getting us under way – 18 holes of gruelling matchplay with no ref on hand to save a combatant from a fatal blow or the odd lunge at an exposed ear. I’d heard from numerous sources that Sanders, off a more-than-competent two handicap, had taken his winner’s attitude and general despise of anything weak from the ring straight onto the golf course.
A solid performance off my four handicap would thus be needed in order to secure boasting rights for Team Compleat.

The match

This was reaffirmed by Sanders’ tee shot, which bore an uncanny resemblance to a comet entering the earth’s atmosphere, splitting the fairway on the 402-metre, par-four, stroke-seven opening hole.

With a swing that measured 70 kilometres faster and far, far less finesse, I followed The Sniper down the perfectly manicured fairway. At well over 110 kilograms (he claims to have lost weight), Corrie doesn’t need to swing hard to make the ball go far.
I, on the other hand, do and even though I, to put it bluntly, ‘crunched that puppy’ off the tee, my drive was still a full 30 metres behind the big guy.

With a 9-iron in my hand, I decided to be aggressive and go for the flag, which was tucked away just behind the bunker guarding the front of the green.

In my mind the ball landed up behind the hole only to trickle down to within three feet of the cup thanks to calculated backspin, gifting yours truly an easy birdie.

In reality it landed squarely in the bunker, presenting Sanders the opportunity to take the lead on a hole where neither of us stroked. Corrie’s routine par played my five, meaning he was indeed 1 up after one. I was learning quickly that Corrie doesn’t squander opportunities.

Off to the par-four 2nd we trundled, Sanders in the golf cart behind me wearing an expression on his face that hinted at something vaguely along the lines of: ‘Today Hill, you die.’ And with Corrie’s eyes boring into the back of my skull, looking out over the land Ernie often frequented as a young boy when he used to visit his grandfather, it occurred to me that a match against this true champion would probably be an easy one to lose. After all, the guy made a pretty successful living capitialising on opponents’ mental and physical weaknesses.

Fortunately the loss on the first was not the opening of the floodgates. Like two fighters sussing each other out, we ‘shadow’ golfed until the par-four, stroke-three 6th hole. Corrie, who actually contemplated taking wedge off the tee in order to lay up short of the water acting like a moat in front of the elevated green, was slap bang in the middle of the fairway. I, meanwhile, had taken driver and was finding life somewhat difficult in the rough on the right-hand side of the fairway.

With 160 metres to go, the best I could do with my 7-iron was muscle it into the greenside bunker. Shoulders slumped, I returned to my cart to contemplate how I was going to pull off something never achieved before: fighting back from 2 down against Conan.

It was then that The Sniper misfired for the first time. I’ve subsequently put it down to the thought of the seven roast chickens waiting for him at halfway, because the fat 8-iron he chunked to the front of the green was very out of character – and even more out of place.

Equally out of place was my up-and-down from a tricky spot in the bunker, which resulted in a nett win and a level playing field after a Sanders two-putt par.
“Ag flip man, Corrie!” were the whispered words that could be heard from the golf cart as The Sniper quietly admonished himself for allowing his opponent such a cheap shot.

My birdie on the short par-four 7th only served to irritate him more, and while he was still smiling, the look in his eyes told me that the sparring and shadow golf was now over. His birdie on the stroke-one 9th hole confirmed it. At the end of the first nine, the judges had scored us even.

In order to speed up play, Gardener Ross operates on a grab-and-go halfway-house system.

There would be no time for the sponge or to call trainers in to smear Vaseline on chafed body parts. No, no, this fight continued without respite, which meant
Corrie had to devour the seven roast chickens on the cart. And yes, just in case you were wondering, he also eats left-handed.

Looking back on our afternoon together, Sanders will probably tell you that the par-four, stroke-two 10th was the defining hole in the match. In a game where neither party was affording the other much room to manoeuvre, a careless drive by The Sniper on his ‘baby stroke’ would prove to be costly. Nestled in a remarkably deep, Gary Player-like bunker adjoining the fairway, Sanders could only advance his ball 100 metres. A failure to get up-and-down would see him jot down a nasty five. Well, nasty for him, but great for me because despite not showering myself in glory, my bogey was good for a nett win.

Trying not to show too much joy in fear that he might actually re-arrange my face – not necessarily a bad thing – we headed off to the 533-metre par-five 11th.

Now if I told you that I made eagle here you probably wouldn’t believe me. And I wouldn’t blame you. But I did. Granted, there was a substantial tail wind. OK, make that a massive tail wind. But I’m not lying when I say the 3-wood in rivalled Padraig Harrington’s approach to the par-five 17th at Royal Birkdale in 2008 – minus the appreciative gallery. It was a defining moment then, and it was a defining moment in our match. It was, if you like, the ‘killer blow.’ The Sniper was on the ropes.

And that’s where he stayed, despite my best efforts to get him onto the canvas. The two-shot difference in our handicaps was hurting him and, despite doggedly refusing to give up, in the end he just ran out of holes. We shook hands on the 17th green – the final result being a 2 & 1 win for Team Compleat Golfer.

I raised my hat knowing I’d gone 17 rounds with a world champion. And I had survived.
With business settled, I handed my cart over to the spotter and slid in next to this gentle giant.

And with the sun now low on the horizon we made our way up the 18th secure in the knowledge that we’d arrived at Gardener Ross as opponents, but we’d be leaving as friends. And as a friend, I promised to partner him in one of the Kallie Knoetze-sponsored weekly Wednesday competitions at Pecanwood.

He, in turn, promised never to hurt me or any member of my family. A nice gesture, I thought. But then again, isn’t that what friends are for?

Corrie Sanders

Born: Cornelius Johannes Sanders on 7 Jan 1966 (45)

Nickname: The Sniper

Division: Heavyweight

Stance: Southpaw

Fights won: 42 (31knockouts)

Fights lost: 4

First fight: 2 March 1989 against King Kong Dyubele (won)

Last fight: 2 February 2008 against Osborne Machimana (lost)

Claim to fame: Defeated Russian Wladimir Klitschko on 3 August 2003 to lift the WBO world heavyweight title

Handicap: 2

Home course: Pecanwood