I’m sitting waiting for a call from one of my Sirius XM colleagues from the States, Taylor Zarzour, to do a slot on his radio show.  We’ve been trying to set this up since you-know-who won the Masters and, so far, have failed to find a mutually convenient time to connect.

I thought we’d blown it yet again as I arrived home from my exercise class to find I was locked out of the house.  I had omitted to take a key as I was expecting the place to be still full of people on my return.  But, no – the husband AND the kitchen floor layers had all scarpered, quite naturally expecting a sane body to take a key with them.  And no, we don’t have one hidden in the garden under a plant pot for such an emergency.

Anyway, there was a small window open which enabled me to open a larger one and hey presto, in I glided like a veritable cat burglar!  That’s a bit of an exaggeration – it really was anything but ease and grace but I have realised we need to rethink the defence of our castle.

So, I’m recovering now with a cuppa in hand and wondering if Taylor’ll want to talk about golf in general as well as Rory in particular.  If he does he’ll be disappointed.  Despite being only present at the Masters through the TV screen I am suffering a reaction to McIlroy’s win and his attainment of the grand slam.  The effort of heaving Rory over the line has left me feeling saturated with the game and I’ve been happy to potter about with a warm fuzzy feeling of contentment, paying scant heed to the various goings-on in sundry tournaments.

Knowing, however, that this interview was imminent I did make an effort to check in on Scottie Scheffler in the CJ Cup Byron Nelson played in McKinney, Texas, just down the road from where he lives.  Any interest was soon dissipated when I saw he had an eight-shot lead going into Sunday, a margin he maintained for his first win of the season with a record-equalling total of 31 under par.

I’ve been spoiled my whole life by being able to watch (and be present at) some exhilarating golf performances that stir the blood.  Sublime as Scottie’s was, this was not one of those occasions.  When forty-seven players are ten under par or better I usually can find something more interesting to do than watch dartboard, one-dimensional, golf that results in just about everyone putting for eagle or birdie on every green.  The skill set required for the golf course, saturated by torrential rain, is not hugely varied but kudos to Scheffler for maintaining his mental edge right to the finish of a boring tournament.  He’s not No 1 for nothing.

In a week’s time the spotlight will be on the PGA Championship and the Wannamaker Trophy (pic at top).  It is the men’s second major of the year and will be held at Quail Hollow in North Carolina.  The course is a particular favourite of Rory’s (he has won four times there), Scottie is obviously on form, Justin Thomas has won again after a three-year drought and Jordan Spieth is beginning to look a bit like his old self.  And Bryson has just won on LIV.

It all appears to be bubbling up nicely – a good golf course, top players in form and lots of different storylines.  I wonder how Jordan will cope now he’s the solo next in line to take that giant leap into the Grand Slam club?  It will be intriguing.

Taylor has just phoned and we have done the interview.  It was all about Rory, thankfully, going back to his early days and when I had first seen him play and moving right on up through his career.

There are certain things that stick in your mind for ever – for example, the 2005 Open at St Andrews.  Tiger was romping home victorious, seemingly oblivious to the awful weather we were assaulted with from time to time, when word came through that Rory McIlroy had shot 61 round Portrush in the North of Ireland Championship.  In those days the final couple of holes were fairly straightforward (and a little boring) and often players out for a fun round could peel into the clubhouse from the 16th green – a good ploy in particularly inclement weather.  Upon hearing of the 61 I asked had Rory left out the last two holes.  It seemed unbelievable that a 16-year-old could fashion that score round the Portrush links.

Ten years later, in 2015, I was back in St Andrews – but Rory wasn’t.  He should have been defending his Open title at the Home of Golf but had gone over on his ankle playing footie with his mates.  Who could have dreamt then that it’d be another ten years, in 2025, before he won his next major?

And I reckon we’ve got another ten years to see what this extraordinary human can achieve.  No one knows how he’ll react to joining the Grand Slam club.  No one else has taken over a decade between achieving the third leg and the final leg.  Who knows what it may do to him – he may be like a punctured balloon.  He doesn’t know, we don’t know.  Perhaps winning majors will become easy-peasy again for him.  He doesn’t know, we don’t know.

But it’ll be fun finding out.

 

Well, Maureen’s worst nightmare has come to pass:  it’s Manchester United against Tottenham Hotspur in the final of the UEFA Europa League; Brian (husband) against Patricia (sister).  “I think I’ll emigrate,” she said in a message complete with emojis laughing hysterically.

Last week I was cross with Spurs for conceding a late goal at home to Bodo/Glimt, who were relishing the second leg at their place north of the Arctic Circle.  They’re hard to beat there and fancied their chances despite being 3-1 down from the first leg but my lot, ever unpredictable, managed a composed, professional 2-nil win.  Who’d have thunk it?

The players, soaked from some persistent fine Norwegian wetting rain, celebrated wildly with the 400 or so drenched supporters who’d made the trek north.  Their section, like most of the neat wee stadium, was uncovered – no brollies allowed – but they didn’t care; it had been worth the detour.

United, like us woeful in the league, beat Athletic Bilbao 4-1 at Old Trafford, 7-1 on aggregate.  Bad and all as they are, they’re more used to finals than us and are due a win, having lost to us three times this season already…This is the big one and I don’t want to be the unhappy one.

I really, really want to be one of those fans jumping up and down like demented eejits as her team lifts a trophy.

Should have gone to Tamworth.

I did buy a ticket (cost £5 plus booking fee) with the intention of going to watch the mighty Lambs play Burton Albion in the final of the Birmingham Senior Cup but I hadn’t done the blog in time, I had logs to unload (special offer that proved irresistible but unwise when I’m the only lumberjack) and I thought I’d better have something to eat and suffer with Spurs after all.

Anyway, Tamworth won 4-nil and my mate Chris (not playing but watching) got to jump up and down like a demented eejit and lift what’s reckoned to be one of the oldest trophies in world football, dating back to the 1880s or thereabouts.

Unkindly, I hope Chris, a Man Utd fan, is not smiling in a couple of weeks, on Wednesday 21st, the date of the final.  To add to the complications, his wife Essie is a Spurs fan,  so there’ll be a bit of family tension there too.

And there’s very, very bad news for Mo because I’ve just checked the diary and on that date she, Brian and I are all  due to be away together, at the Cambridge Beer Festival…Oops.

Moving swiftly on, I was walking back from the post box the other morning when I was greeted by a woman (unknown to me) walking her dog:  “Do you have naturally curly hair?” she said, without preamble.

“Yes,” sez I, resisting the temptation to burst out laughing at the thought of finding myself in a Peanuts cartoon alongside Charlie Brown, Snoopy and friends.

“I have to have a perm for mine to be like that,” she said, a touch mournfully.  “I’ve got naturally straight hair.”

“Nothing wrong with straight hair,” I said, having often longed for just such a thing.  “Mine just goes this way.”

And we continued on our separate ways.

The exchange, completely random and unexpected, still makes me smile.  It’s one of the joys of getting older:  she didn’t think her opening gambit the least bit odd; she was just curious; and I thought it perfectly reasonable to reply and not think it strange at all, just funny.

Our post is now collected at 0900, so I’d dutifully tootled round to send a birthday card, only to discover that there was no rush because the intended recipient had taken himself off to Paris for two nights.  He and a couple of mates were there to watch their beloved Arsenal play Paris St Germain in the semi-final second leg of the Champions League.  It was a joyous occasion – but not for the Gunners, who lost 2-1, 3-1 on aggregate.

Back to the drawing board, a journey familiar to most of us.

It was back to the fairways for me as I re-discovered the golf course this week.  Having had an annoyingly dodgy knee for a while earlier in the year, I found it easy not to play golf, especially when the weather was manky and uninviting.  Then, a friend sent a message regaling me with details of his latest round, including a hole-in-one (only his second ever in a long career):  “a 6-iron like a missile and a kindly kick off the back of a bunker”.  For the record, it was the 13th at Cairndhu, 156 yards.

Suitably inspired, I played ten holes early on Monday morning   with a friend and 18 in the Ping 4BBB on Tuesday.  My partner and I had a respectable 36 points and we brought in the winners, with a whopping 47 points.  They both played beautifully and would have given a Rory/Scottie combo a run for their money – off handicap of course.

Finally, to finish, another Charles Schulz classic – he was a keen golfer.