Last weekend was a pretty good one for sports fans from the Emerald Isle.

Firstly, there was the thrilling, resounding, relentless excellence of the national rugby team in defeating, nay, trouncing, the wonderful All Blacks at the Aviva stadium, which was full to bursting for the first time since pre-Covid days.  The outstanding All Blacks defence was responsible for keeping the scoreline close for the majority of the match but the men in green were dominant and deservedly triumphed by 29 points to 20.

Never, ever believe anyone who tries to tell you that armchair sport is not exhausting.  I was completely wrung out by the end of the eighty minutes – but I’d still have given an arm and a leg to have been in Dublin for the celebrations.  There’s nowhere quite like the fair city after an Irish rugby victory of that magnitude.  The pubs are so full that newly purchased pints of the black stuff are passed overhead by one customer to another until they reach their destination – there’s simply never room for bar staff to navigate their way through the mass of wall-to-wall people.  It’s completely joyous and evenings like that are filed away under the “never-to-be-forgotten” label.

After a good night’s sleep I was back on my Meadow/Maguire watch in the LPGA’s Pelican Women’s Championship at Belleair in Florida.  Leona Maguire was the more relaxing of the two to keep tabs on because I was just hoping that she might cap a superlative season with a first LPGA tour victory.  It became obvious that her fans would just have to wait a little longer when she struggled in the final round but she will have rested up for her tilt this week at the CME Group Tour Championship at Naples in Florida.

Stephanie Meadow (picture at top) was another matter altogether.  She was playing last week on a sponsor’s invitation and arrived at Belleair in 101st place in the rankings.  This was the final full field event of the season after which the top 100 would keep their playing privileges for next season.  There is stress and pressure at every level in sport but to have one round of golf determine if you have a job next year is brutal.  Meadow had successfully weathered just such a battle two years ago and she was triumphant again, her four under par weekend total ushering her safely into that 100th spot.

At the start of the week Stephanie declared her plan was to “chill and pray that I don’t have to go to Q-Series”.  Part 2 of that plan was accomplished in style but was she really, really able to chill?  I doubt it very much indeed.  Golfers become very adept at subjugating their true feelings when in the playing arena – usually because those very feelings can lead to negativity if given house room.  There is no time for a post mortem during the round and when you are playing to keep your card there is as much grit and resilience needed as there is up at the top end of the leaderboard.

Talking of the top of the leaderboard, world No 1 Nelly Korda looked to be coasting to her fourth tour win of the season – and then she tripled the17th, giving oxygen and hope to a trio of major winners on her tail.  Indeed, Nelly had to birdie the last just to make the play-off.  She birdied it again twenty minutes later to take the title, a wonderful display of mental resilience after seemingly throwing away a winning position.  It was yet another example of the really great players being able to banish from their minds thoughts of any errors committed.

It’s not that the top men and women don’t hit poor shots – they do.  It’s just that the best of them then proceed to produce tournament-winning shots while others slide into a funk of self criticism.  Nellie’s control of her mental game was supreme and allowed her physical game to shine without interference, resulting in a finish on top of the podium yet again.

Meanwhile, my own winter golf is under way and I’m managing to get out for a few holes a couple of times a week.  My golf, as always, leaves a lot to be desired but I’ve learned not to bother too much about that.  There is something that really does rile me, however, and it is more apparent at this time of year than perhaps it is in the summer:  Have folk forgotten the art of repairing a pitchmark?

Our beautiful greens are awash with them and there is simply no excuse for it.  It must be galling for the greenstaff and it’s so disrespectful to your fellow golfers and is, quite frankly, the height of bad manners.  One of the first things we were taught when we started the game was to leave the course in better shape than you found it.  Repairing a pitchmark is one thing that can make you feel like a decent golfer even if you’re not.  Perhaps a few more could be encouraged to try it?

REPAIR THOSE PITCHMARKS.

Ok – rant over.  And breathe………………

This week marks a first for the blog – not a very distinguished first admittedly but a first nonetheless:  it was started after the shipping forecast (North Utsire, South Utsire – or is it Utsera?  Too late to delve in to the correct spelling forensically but they’re wee islands off the western coast of Norway apparently).  Anyway, that’s a pretty late start even by the standards of a world-class prevaricator.

The reason is that I had very important visitors, who required, nay, deserved my full attention, so I waited until they’d gone to bed and I’d done the clearing up (see above, fingers crossed) – and made my own bed, having taken advantage of a decent day to wash and hang out my sheets – before settling down to write.

I was going to write about golf for once but even Rory swinging sublimely in to an early lead in Dubai didn’t get the fingers tip-tapping.  It’s great to see him getting back to his best and bouncing up the fairways full of joie de golf but I think the truth is that I’m ready for a rest, longing for an off-season, waiting for events that really matter.  Or, even, an event near me that I can go and see in person.  That would do.  The last event at The Belfry, which isn’t too far from me, was still restricted and good though the telly guys are and hard as they try, there’s still a feeling of same old, same old.

There’s not much point writing about my own golf at the moment because there isn’t much of it and what there is is ordinary in the extreme – not always dire but always threatening to head that way.  That said, on Tuesday, in our stableford comp, I putted quite well but didn’t amass very many points, even allowing for it being over the winter distance of 15 holes.  It was, however, a joy to play with Bev Chattaway, who makes the game look easy and is one of those rare competitors who treats the twin impostors  just the same (Tyrrell Hatton take note!)  Whenever I’m playing with Bev, I try, rarely successfully, to suppress my groans and moans and tuts and ochs – after all who am I, hardly a haunter of the practice ground or a visualiser par excellence, to have any expectations whatsoever?

Oops, made a mistake there:  went and had a glass of water, sat down and dozed off….Could be a long night.

All being well, we at Whittington Heath will be playing throughout the winter, kept on our toes by a variety of routings as holes are taken out of commission because of tree felling or other housekeeping tasks.  Fifteen holes proved more than enough for me this week because I’d had my booster jab the day before and felt cream-crackered after what turned out to be nine holes – I had to check the temporary card to see just how many we’d played and was glad to discover later that I wasn’t the only one discombobulated by the changes.

At least we’ll have time to get used to them on the hoof, so to speak.  Last week, my Swedish friend Lena, who has lived in Helsinki for years, played her last game of the season and has put the clubs away for the next five months.  That could explain why she’s pretty good at table tennis!

I haven’t seen Lena in person for years but she tells me she’s put in an application for a new passport, so with a bit of luck will be testing her golfing skills at WHGC before too long.

Given that my golf isn’t bringing me much joy at the moment – even my new woods seem to have developed some disconcerting shots of their own (nothing to do with me guv, obviously) and there’s no sign of the new irons – it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas before hope can spring eternal once again.  Anyway, ever optimistic, I was rather relying on my bridge to take a turn for the better and give me a much-needed confidence boost but it looks as though that will have to wait too.

I was going to explain why but then realised that that would be giving too much away to the people I’m playing with – on Zoom – this evening.  I’ve said too much already.

Hey ho.  Perhaps somebody’ll give me a weekend with Andrew Robson for Christmas….Then again, that’s unlikely.  Bridge is as small a world as golf and he’s probably been forewarned and booked himself up for the next decade or two.  More chance of a game with Rory and Gerry McIlroy at Seminole….

Now there’s a thought to gladden at least one heart.

Oops, did I just hear “No bid” in an Ulster accent?