The Hacker: I must show mettle in my medal or else I might never break 100

Just three chances remain for me to achieve the target I set myself for this year of breaking 100 in a medal.

We are not talking about massive achievement here. Indeed, there can be few more modest ambitions. Although it is not difficult to bungle your way into three figures, a moderately competent golfer will score under the ton most of the time.

But when the scores go up on the board after every medal you'll find around 10 per cent in the 100s and another batch with NR next to their names because they've torn up their cards to avoid the ignominy. And the longer you go without reaching the 90s the harder it seems to get. You'll play quite well in friendly fourballs, but put a medal card in your hand and suddenly the view from the first tee looks like the north face of the Eiger.

It becomes a psychological barrier, and constant failure to surmount it corrodes the confidence like acid.

In my determination to break through to the happy fairways on the other side,I have decided to get serious. Flailing forlornly around the course hoping that your game will improve is not enough; you must take firm and positive steps towards ensuring it improves.

I have taken such steps. I've had a lesson for the first time in years, I'm on the practice range most days and, according to regular playing partners who are nothing if not frank, I am showing signs of improvement.

My switch from a blunderbuss driver to a three-wood continues to land me in more fairways, and the short but fulfilling chipping lesson I had recently at the Dave Pelz short-game academy at Killeen Castle in Ireland has led to fewer duffs from 30 yards.

But can I fight off the nervous twitches for a calm and collected 18 holes? We'll soon find out. This weekendis the September medal, postponed earlier this month because of a waterlogged course, and my first opportunity to soothe the wounds caused by a calamitous 115 in the August medal. Next weekend we have the October medal, and the following Saturday comes the Centurions medal, which is open to all who have failed to break 100 at least once during the season and which is mocked as the parade of the deadbeats.

To prepare for this challenge I hit balls every day last week, but on Tuesday I made the mistake of playing at Royal Porthcawl, which is no place to take a complex.

The rough there is rarely less than savage for the wayward hitter, and I had lost six balls before the 13th. I consoled myself with the fact that I lost them much closer to the fairway than I normally do.

On Thursday I played in the Past Captains event at The Glamorganshire, which is followed by a rowdy dinner. The competition is played over only 15 holes, because playing 18 then eating dinner is more than some of the old duffers can handle. After a great start in which I got a par in a style that shocked my companions almost as much as it shocked me, my game stuttered a little. But if only I can keep theswing slow, steady salvation could be at hand.

p.corrigan@independent.co.uk