'My Head Is In A Blender And I've Never Been Lower On Confidence'

I played golf last weekend. I didn’t enjoy it.

It was a fresh but pleasant spring day at Royal County Down, one of the best and most beautiful golf courses in the world. I’m incredibly lucky to have it as my home course. I never take it for granted - the mountains, the sea, the peacefulness of it all – and I still didn’t enjoy it.

You might think I sound like a spoilt brat as you read this piece and if you do, then fair enough, but let me explain why I didn’t enjoy my round of golf on Sunday.

I shot 27 Stableford points. The two weeks prior I shot 29 points and 30 points. By my standards, I hit four good shots total, most notably a 20ft birdie putt on a temporary 18th green to somehow half my 2v2 match I play each Sunday with my regular four-ball after being 2 down on the 17th tee… OK, maybe I enjoyed that part.

That isn’t to say I hated every part of yesterday - I enjoyed playing with three close friends, having ‘the craic’ as we say and being out in the fresh air for four hours. The part I didn’t enjoy was the actual golf part.

Coming home and wanting more

I moved back to Ireland in 2024 after two years of living in London. I had barely touched a golf club in those two years and I was itching to get back at it once I came home - in fact, it was a big reason as to why I came home.

Upon my return, my index was 4.3. I went out with no expectations and played really well in my first competition round back - I was only +2 standing on the 15th tee. I couldn’t finish the job, but I was delighted with how I played.

I hit the ball well the rest of the summer and scored decently. I was having two, three birdies a round every Sunday, if not more. I had blow-up holes that would ruin scorecards, but that was nothing new - for the most part I was playing good golf for 16 holes a round.

Shooting for the stars, I wanted to reach the next level. My one golf goal before I die is to shoot under par at Royal County Down. Once is enough, everything after that is a bonus. For those that don’t know, RCD is very, very hard, and that’s even before the wind starts to blow.

Chasing this, I decided to get lessons over the winter of 2025. I went through big swing changes, learning how to use my lower half to generate more power. In hindsight, this was a mistake.

I don’t regret it by any means. I enjoyed the lessons, I understood what I had to do and worked damn hard at it. I would go to the driving range five days a week and grind. Drill after drill, searching. However, my scores got worse, fast. That’s fine though, right? I’m going through swing changes. I’ll be grand.

But April arrived. Bad. Then May. Wow, this is getting worse. Then June. Have I played well yet this year? I don’t think so.

Signs of life?

Captain’s Day is here. Right, biggest comp of the year, let’s go. Oh my god… I’m… playing okay here. I’ve just closed out our intense 2v2 match on the 14th green and secured bragging rights for at least the next decade. Right Conor, bring it to the house. Ahhhh, triple bogey on 15. Well, look, plenty of positives to take from today.

Could I kick on from Captain’s Day? Absolutely not.

More horrendous, horrific golf. The handicap was rising. I had to fight with myself to not walk in after the front nine on multiple occasions due to sheer embarrassment. I felt like (and I was) holding my playing partners back.

Then, bizarrely, I found myself on a buddies golf trip to the South West of Ireland, standing on the 14th at Doonbeg at -1. I don’t think I’d ever been in the red that late in a round, certainly not on a course of this calibre. Again, I didn’t get it into the clubhouse, but that was the best I’ve played all year by a country mile. See! It's in there!

However, what has now become normal service resumed. Bad round followed by bad round. Birdies disappearing from the scorecard. Instead of hitting proper golf shots, I’m slapping the ball around. I can’t go six holes without losing a ball. My brain is in a blender and my confidence is on the floor.

In the space of 12 months, I’ve gone from a 4.3 index to an 8.3. I’m not enjoying the game I’ve loved my whole life. I feel embarassed. My best round ever at RCD is a 74. My best round of 2025 was an 81.

Winter reset

Winter is here. Cool. Let’s put the clubs away. This will be the break I need. I’ll come back fresh and free-minded in ‘26. I’ll even read a few Bob Rotella books.

So I did. And I came back. And I’m still really bad. I've hit maybe 20% of fairways. I’ve lost about 20 yards of distance with the driver. I don’t know where my miss is.

I now feel anxious as I arrive at the first tee. I hate how I feel over the ball. I hate how I feel on the golf course, period. This used to be fun but now it just depresses me.

What do I do now then? Well, what option do I have other than to keep going? I’ll read a few more books, maybe get one more lesson. I should probably visit a sports psychiatrist, but I'm laden with student debt and I doubt that it would constitute a ‘work expense’.

All I can try and do is enjoy the game, but with the way I’m hitting the ball, it’s a real struggle - and it absolutely kills me to say that.