Tiger Wood's Golf (PS1)

They get it wrong when they review games don't they? They forget about the fun. They talk about the "dynamic" and the "multi-player balance". Let's not do that, here. Nobody talks about any other type of game that way. Look, Match of the Day is on the telly...

Gary: So, Mark, what were your impressions of the game?
Mark: Ahh, it was great Gary. End to end stuff, passionate..
Gary: Sorry to interrupt you there, Mark, but didn't you think the controls were a bit dodgy? I found it difficult to head the ball.
Mark: Eh?
Gary: The graphics were a bit shit, too. And it's too easy to score from a free kick.
Mark: But Gary, what you're failing to understand here is that the boy done good. Those six goals he scored, yeah they were easy but you think about what a shit week he's had at work... And then he had an argument with his girlfriend where he gave her the impression that everything was horrible and pointless in his life and now they're not talking. Who cares about the controls?
Gary: I thought the commentary was a bit weak as well…

”Tiger, is it true that you’re a stiff, humourless kind of guy?”…
“No. Observe… an amusing hand puppet. As is my understanding.”.

These are our golden moments. Hitting such a rich vein of form on Gran Turismo that you can position your beautiful, sleek, black, Nissan Skyline arrogantly in front of any opponent while shouting: "You want my arse? You can't handle my arse!".

Drip-feeding the controls for Tekken 3, so that it's only after an hour of smashing your mate's face into the dirt is he made aware of the ‘kick’ button.

Having a giggling fit whilst playing Championship Snooker when you realise that the only sounds you've heard all evening are the monotone funeral bearer of a referee calling out the number one and an audience member’s cough that sounds like she's just taken a whole load of jism down her throat.

And then there's Tiger Woods’ Golf.

First up, the serious review: it's one of the worst golf games you'll ever play in your life. The end.

But, in the company of friends, a few beers, some fatty foods, 20p a hole... It's one of the greatest experiences you will have in your life.

I am wearing a tea towel over my head. I cannot focus because there's someone sat next to me who is cleaning up. He's never played this game before. He is South African.

I am Michael Owen's outstretched arms. I am Oliver Kahn’s arrogance.

20p a hole? That's not much is it? Yeah, but we're playing skins so it all adds up.

Anyway - there's a fiver in the pot, now. You've got this tricky putt to deal with. The ridiculous green line on the screen is indicating a real bender of a shot. We call it a Graham Watson, after this gay bloke we work with…

We will never get tired of this picture.

Now a lot of these golf games have samples assigned to buttons, so you can try to put your opponent off. Ignore them. They're really not a patch on having someone talking about the wet thighs of the pretty girl on reception whilst you're lining up this putt. And you really need this putt. Every single disappointment in your life rests on this putt. You've under-achieved. You could have been a contender. You could have played for England if you'd put your mind to it. Geoff Thomas did. This is your moment. Except you’ve started to sweat…

I should be Michael Schumacher's nerve but I am Tim Henman's desire.

But I haven't told you the best bits yet.

It takes ages to set up a game. Comedy ages. Whilst your mate is laboriously flicking through the confusing menu system you can nip off for a quick piss, come back and find you've been named something that would shock your mother if she knew what it meant.

You can control the ball in mid-flight. That shot you just spanked right towards the trees, with a bit of panicky up, down, left a bit, up a bit, oop, get left!, get left!!, you can still plant the ball smack in the centre of the green and then confidently hand over the controller with an arrogant sniff. The arrogant sniff is important. This is a man's game after all.

”COME ON! MUTHAFUCKAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!
Uh, I mean… Outstanding. A pleasing putt”.

And here's the piece de resistance… The analogue controls are completely buggered. You can spend hours lining up your tee shot, pull back on the stick, push forward and nothing will happen.

All of a sudden, I am Alex Higgins' nervous tick. I am Goran Ivanisevic's inner demons.

Try it again. Go on. You're doomed to only being able to hit the ball with 37% power. We call it a "thirty-seven-percenta". Suddenly, the game becomes like a really cruel version of Russian roulette. Maybe it's something secret and devious we're doing when we pass the controller to each other? From now on, guys, you have to switch to digital mode and place the controller carefully on the floor, with both sleeves rolled up...

All games should be like this.

I am standing at the tee on the final play-off hole. There appears to be a fair amount of money in the pot. A gentle breeze is blowing. It's a Par 3 with a slight bump at the front of the green which will angle the ball to the left. I'm switching to digital. I'm going to have to sink this.

This is not about the game. This is about the experience. I am Ayrton Senna's radiance, Lance Armstrong's will to win.

I only fucking did, as well.

RUSS, May 2004.

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