Ding! Ding!  Whoop, whoop!  Here it comes again – the major bus for Rory McIlroy!  The MASTERS major bus for Rory McIlroy.

Last year he dragged himself on board, battered, bruised and bleeding but triumphant and it took him a wee while to recover.  This year he hasn’t exactly hopped on board, but climbed up the steps rather wearily yet with the assurance of someone who always knew he’d a great chance of securing his seat once more.  This time there was a difference – he had already had a ticket before.  As he said himself, this year he felt he was playing with the house money.

And there was a difference for the ardent fan too.  Last year Patricia declared the start of the era of “Angst-Free Aprils” for all Rory supporters.  This year wasn’t totally angst free but the edge was certainly taken off the anxiety generated by hours of slowly unfolding drama by the knowledge that there was already a green jacket in the wardrobe.  Thank goodness.

One thing was demonstrably different this year and that was the lightness of touch in McIlroy’s preparation from every other year that he has had the good fortune to drive down Magnolia Lane to tee it up in the year’s first major.  For starters, he hadn’t competed for three weeks because of a balky back, so he took the opportunity to shoulder the school run, drop Poppy off in the morning, jump on his jet, shoot up from Florida to Georgia, have a practice round at Augusta National and be back in time to do the dishes.  Not great for the ole carbon footprint but I’m sure he offsets it.

The net result of all this was he arrived on the Saturday before the Masters feeling he had done all his work and feeling free to throw himself into enjoying all that comes with being a Masters champion.  He attended the final round of the Augusta National Women’s Amateur, handed out some of the prizes at the Drive, Chip and Putt (DCP) contest and played the course with his Dad on the Sunday.  Tuesday, of course, was the champions dinner and it was Wednesday before he began to switch gently into tournament focus and leave this place of relaxed enjoyment behind him.

This recipe suited him because for the first time in donkey’s years Rory opened with a sub-70 round, only the third time he has achieved this in eighteen goes.  Empowered, on Friday he went on to record his best score of the week, a 65, birdieing six of the last seven holes.  I staggered to bed that night rejoicing in his mind-boggling, but curiously unsafe-feeling lead of six shots.  This was Rory, after all.

Saturday was memorable, and annoying, in many ways not least because Scottie Scheffler woke up that morning and well, remembered he was Scottie Scheffler.  A dozen behind at the half-way stage that deficit was reduced to four with one round to go.  He lost a shed load of brownie points from me, however,  when after he had birdied the 15th hole he then proceeded to spit at the side of the green!  What’s with these people?!!!

And, just to prove I’m not having a go at Americans here (just at spitting) I was appalled at both Bob MacIntyre and Sergio Garcia’s behaviour, digging up the course, with lots of uncontrolled, audible swearing, giving the finger – petulance personified.  There was none of that at the DCP.  Perhaps they should both be made to attend that event next year – if they’re invited back.

It was another terrific yet ultimately heartbreaking finish (third) for Justin Rose, who had found himself two ahead standing on the 10th tee.  Others to leave disappointed will be Shane Lowry, who shot a final round 80 and Tommy Fleetwood, whose weekend scoring of 73, 76 rocketed him down the standings.

Somehow, some way McIlroy stood firm like a re-enforced sea wall repelling the batterings of multiple named storms.  His six-shot lead turned into a deficit at times but he was ultimately the last man standing – and was able to board the Masters bus once again.  But guess what, when he looked at the driver of said bus he saw his childhood pal, the oft, under-heralded Harry Diamond.  As always he was where he always is – at Rory’s side.

In the aftermath of this, Rory’s sixth major win, many early videos and footage of him playing as a youngster have emerged once again on social media.  One of these was taken a couple of weeks after McIlroy had turned sixteen and he was teeing it up in his second professional event,  the 2005 Irish Open.  At that time he was the Irish Boys’ Champion, the Irish Youths’ Champion and the West of Ireland Champion.  There is a familiar face on the bag, however, one of his Irish Boys’ teammates.  Have a look at the photo.

What a long way they’ve come in the game together and what a team they are proving to be.  It’s been quite a herculean task for them to catch that Masters bus.

And for the rest of us it’s been a helluva ride.

Thank you boys.

Well, what are we going to talk about this week?

That’s a very good question and I might have been able to answer it better if I hadn’t been persuaded (easily) to go to the pub with two of the in-laws.  We’d convened at mine to discuss the wine for the forthcoming wedding of their son.  Being a member of the Wine Society, I’m considered a bit of an expert (only a bit) and the important thing is they won’t be recommending just any old rubbish.

It’s a bit like having a season ticket for the tottering Totspurs – I’d probably have been quite a wealthy woman, possibly even a bit of a catch (I’m watching a very old episode of First Dates as I write this), if I hadn’t taken over Dai’s membership share of the Wine Soc.  Admittedly I don’t have to be tempted by all the offers and my liver might be a bit resentful of my lack of restraint but when John Arlott has proposed your beloved for something (he proposed Dai for the Wine Soc), it ill behoves you to ditch the membership.

I don’t think you have to be proposed nowadays but it’s a wonderful story and there’s a letter somewhere to prove that it’s authentic, not made up.  If you have no idea who Arlott is, please look him up – and if you can, listen to his voice.  A broadcasting and cricketing legend.

After the wine chat, we headed for the Horse and Jockey, not quite my nearest local at five minutes’ stroll (legend has it that Lichfield used to have about 200 pubs) but one of my favourites.  It’s also in need of our custom because it was closed for a while after a high-powered car smashed in to the front window.  A friend was very lucky that he wasn’t killed – and I realised I’d been in that self same seat just a week before….

There was football on the telly and it just so happened that we were in sight of the screen (small) showing Nottingham Forest and couldn’t see the screens showing the Villa game.  This bro-in-law is a Villa fan but wasn’t too stressed because they were in total control of the Europa League tie against Bologna and ended up winning 7-1 on aggregate.  Sadly, we (Spurs) have to play Villa at their place soon – probably another nul points.  I fear we’re doomed.  Relegation beckons.

It’s back down to N17 this Saturday, for the match against Brighton, who are in decent form – five wins in the last six matches I think – so there’s no way in the world we’re anything but second favourites.  Bear in mind that we haven’t won a single solitary league game this year, so no wonder I’m struggling to remember the last time I left the stadium feeling buoyed up and cheerful.

Now, how could I ignore the Masters and Rory’s defence of his title, such a rare feat that only Jack Nicklaus, Nick Faldo and Tiger Woods had ever managed it?  Of course, we can all expect a different winner next year because no one’s ever won the green jacket three times in a row and there must be a reason for that:  it’s too blooming difficult.

The old saw is that the tournament doesn’t begin until the last nine on Sunday and time after time it has proved to be the case.  Last Sunday was beyond confusing, with any number of players in the mix.  Justin Rose must be kicking himself – irrespective of his bogeys at the 11th and 12th, the killers were his rush-of-blood three-putt par at the 13th and missed putt (not quite a tiddler – the only sure thing at Augusta is the length of Rory’s tap in at the last) at the 17th, for an untimely bogey.  If any player deserves a Masters title it’s Justin and if he does win, he’ll replace Nicklaus as the oldest champion.  Unlikely as the years roll on but not impossible.

We watched the golf on the telly but really, in my heart of hearts, I’d rather listen on the radio – or combine the two somehow.  The pictures are great but there is something spine tingling and magical about hearing an exciting sporting event unfold on the wireless.  What a dinosaur I am….

Amazingly, I won the money in our family and friends sweep because I had Mr McIlroy.  He was my second pick and none of the others had him as their first choice either – perhaps we didn’t want to tempt fate or didn’t believe lightning could strike twice, all that stuff.  Glad I succumbed, albeit a bit belatedly.

My last pick was Haotong Li and he was chugging along nicely in the last round, on the fringes of real contention.  He was playing with Scottie Scheffler, the world No 1 but that wouldn’t have fazed him because they played together in the last round of the Open at Portrush when Scheffler surged away from the rest to win his first Claret Jug.

We saw quite a bit of Scottie – and he finished second in the end – but nothing of Haotong.  Wondering what was happening to one of my main men, I looked him up on the Masters app and saw he’d had a mare at Amen Corner:  six at the 12th and ten at the 13th, eight over par for the two holes but nary a mention by the broadcasters.

Disasters of a golfing variety are a tradition like no other at Augusta, they’re the stuff of legend, so to let them pass unremarked is dereliction of the first order.  I found the footage on the app and it looked as though his third shot at the 12th hit the pin and rebounded back into the water.  At the 13th he was deep in the azaleas and foliage to the left of the green, had a hack or two, got to the back of the green, hit the ball too hard, in to Rae’s Creek and so on, with Scottie, waiting to putt, watching patiently on.

Haotong, far from inscrutable, endeared himself to the crowd/gallery/patrons by lifting his arms in the air in mock triumph after sinking his final putt.  That’s the way to do it.

He’s my first pick for the Open at Birkdale.

 

 

 

 

There can’t be many better stretches of golfing coastline in the world than that of East Lothian and last week found me up in Gullane for the 32nd playing of the Madill Trophy at the home of the Honourable Company of Edinburgh Golfers (HCEG).

The match has been going long enough now that we are beginning to have a few time-honoured traditions of our own and one of the most fun is the girls’ team dinner the night before the match.  On occasion the venue has altered over the years but the over-riding favourite is The Old Clubhouse in Gullane where they look after us very well indeed.  This gives us a great chance to have a catch-up over a meal and a few drinks – totally necessary as we don’t see much of our own team-mates on match day itself.  If you know how to play proper foursomes you’ll understand why.

At the end of the evening we were all up at the bar paying the bill when we fell into chat with a woman who asked us what we were all doing in Gullane.  We informed her we were there for golf and she enquired where we were playing.  Upon hearing it was Muirfield she told us she had a house on the 1st fairway at Muirfield whereupon I asked her was it anywhere near the lovely house of Ronnie Corbett’s.

“It is indeed.  It’s that house,” she said.  “I’m Ronnie’s daughter, Emma.”  It transpired that she and her companions were in the pub to raise a glass to her Dad on what was the tenth anniversary of his death.  Emma is not a golfer but is trying her hand on the stand-up circuit, which strikes me as being a great deal more difficult than anything you might face in golf, but each to their own.  We did tell her, however, that it should be illegal for a non-golfer to own a house on the 1st fairway at Muirfield, which seemed to amuse her greatly.

As I mentioned, this was the 32nd time we have held this fixture but it was a first in one respect.  David Normoyle of Saratoga Springs in upstate New York made his match debut this year and flew in especially to take part.  His Newark to Edinburgh flight landed on Tuesday, he played 36 holes of foursomes on the Wednesday and then flew home on the Thursday – a stout effort if ever there was one.  Unsurprisingly, he is now the record holder for distance travelled to tee it up in the Madill Trophy – and by the time this blog is posted he’ll be at Augusta National along with his wife, Dottie Pepper.  Among Dotti’s many accolades is the distinction of being the only media member allowed inside the ropes at the Masters but that obviously pales in comparison to her hubby’s achievement this past week.

The scores on the doors prior to this year’s match were as follows:  fifteen wins to The Lasses; eight to The Lads; and five halved matches.  We have over the years had three cancellations – two matches falling foul of Covid and one of snow.  Over the last decade The Lads have performed better than us so I was very happy with my team that we were a point to the good at lunchtime.

Historically, though, we don’t train awfully well on wine in the middle of the day – and so it looked like proving yet again.  We found ourselves four points to three down with one match still on the course.  Thankfully, Katie Tebbet and Julie Thomas won on the last to share the spoils overall.  Julie was elected President of Wales Golf a wee while ago and this, her first official day in charge, was spent in Scotland playing at Muirfield!  Talk about having your priorities right!

This year, on the day before the match, Gill Stewart and I climbed the North Berwick Law, one of the numerous volcanic plugs which litter the countryside around Edinburgh.  The jawbone of a whale was placed at the summit in 1709 and a replica stands there today maintaining that rather curious tradition.  We were fortunate enough to have a pretty clear day and could pick out Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh’s Holyrood Park from our vantage point, as well as the Bass Rock, home to the world’s largest colony of  Northern gannets.

Gill took some photos at the top, including the one below and I didn’t realise till afterwards there was an inscription on the side.  With yet another visit to the HCEG, home of the best hosts in the world, behind us it does seem apt to close with this pic.  This unique club is certainly at the forefront of enabling us to obey this command.

 

 

It’s glorious sunshine outside here in Lichfield and I’m inside with the telly on, writing the blog (early) and wallowing in the build-up to The Masters.  There really is no hope for us golf tragics.  In truth, it’s too hot for gardening and my back garden is now lacking shade thanks to the ravages wreaked by Storm Dave a few days ago.

Part of next door’s huge fir tree ended up in my garden and that led to a flurry of tree felling, which leaves a bit of an open look that will take a little getting used to.  Will I miss my shade?  Probably.  Might have to consider some sort of brolly, pergola, whatever, so, like most things, it’s all a work in progress.

The fir tree was really too big for where it was and it shed its needles all year round, much to my irritation.  I took a photo of one of the branches and tried to identify it via the Woodland Trust tree identification app with no luck.  However, something called picturethisai.com (ah, the dreaded AI) came up with Deodar Cedar (aka Himalayan Cedar or Cedrus deodara).  Apparently deodara is Sanskrit for “the wood of the gods” and it’s a sacred tree for Hindus.  Oops.  Perhaps cutting it down will bring bad luck…

 

 

In truth, gardening is for next week because it’s all about Augusta for the rest of this week – except for those competing somewhere themselves; good luck to all at Roehampton and Royal Portrush – and our annual draw has been completed.  Rock on Tommy!

It’s already been a big month for a few people in golf, including David Llewellyn, who’s just become the 86th captain of the PGA.  Lulu, as I’ve always known him, is now the executive head professional at Carden Park in Cheshire and the Welshman is beyond proud.

“It’s the greatest honour the PGA can bestow upon a golf professional,” he said.  “I feel very humble and even now, having known about the appointment for a little while, I still get a bit of a tingle at the back of the neck.  My responsibility is to uphold and support the values and philosophies of the PGA but also to pass the message on to the younger generation.  That’s what our job is, to spread the word of golf and encourage the next generation to play.

“Whatever happens, you’ve got to keep that conveyor belt going of getting people to play the game.  That’s what members of the PGA should be doing and that’s one of the things I’ll try and get over.”

Back in 1972, Lulu, who’s now 74, was rookie of the year on the (very new) European Tour but it wasn’t until 1988 that he won the Biarritz Open with a score of 258, 14 under par, a record total that stood for 32 years.  In one round he had a putt for a 58 but three-putted.  He was in to Zen at the time so wasn’t really aware of his score and only vaguely registered the huge crowd that had materialised round the 18th green then melted away…

The year before he and his partner had won the World Cup for Wales at Kapalua in Hawaii, beating Scotland, represented by Sandy Lyle and Sam Torrance, in a play-off.  Lulu’s partner?   A bloke called Ian Woosnam, who won the individual title by five strokes from Lyle.

Sandy went on to win the Masters in 1988, with Woosie winning his own green jacket in 1991, following Nick Faldo, who’d won in 1989 and 1990.  It really was a golden age of British and European golf, paving the way for the stars of today:  they grew up realising that anything was possible, that big-time golf wasn’t just the preserve of the Americans.  (Looking at the dates, it would have been their parents regaling them with tales of Seve, Langer and company!)

There’s also a new CEO of the LET (Ladies European Tour), once described by some long-suffering soul as the hardest job in golf.  That’s debatable but Tom Phillips says he’s up for the challenge and the blog wishes him all the best.  He has a lot of talented players to work with and golf doesn’t want to get left behind as other women’s sports grow and grow.

Tom has an extensive cv that includes a lot of experience in Asia.  He has worked for the DP World Tour, most recently as Director of Middle East and before that he was CEO of the Hong Kong Golf Association and of the Faldo Series, so he should be pretty clued up on all aspects of the game.

Lauren Coughlin, an American who must surely have Irish antecedents, played beautifully at Shadow Creek, a notoriously difficult course, to win the co-sanctioned (LET and LPGA) Aramco Championship by five shots.  She led from start to finish and the runners-up were Nelly Korda, the world No 2 and Leona Maguire, Ireland’s finest, who returned to form after a bit of a barren run.

Talking of Ireland’s finest, Mary McKenna, a bona fide legend, is celebrating the 25th anniversary of the Mary McKenna Salver.  It’s an annual match between the Irish Senior Ladies and the Scottish Vets Ladies Golf Association.  I think that’s the official designation but in simple terms it’s the Irish Old Dolls agin the SODs….Sorry girls, couldn’t resist it.

The first match was at Royal Portrush and that’s where it is this year, this coming Sunday and Monday.  Hope the weather is kind.

Last but by no means least a very happy 90th birthday to Belle (Isabella) Robertson, one of Scotland’s finest (despite passing on her rabbit ears to compatriots Colin Montgomerie and, it seems, Robert MacIntyre).  She’s due to be at Roehampton today (Friday 10th April, her actual birth day is the 11th) as the Gold Cup celebrates its 100th.  Many congrats to everybody there, past champions and current competitors.  Play away.