The players from the Land of the Rising Sun had a supremely successful time last week at blustery, scenic Royal Porthcawl in the final major of the year, the AIG Women’s Open.  Three players in the top four, that’s a resounding result in anyone’s language and the thoroughly deserving winner was the diminutive Miyu Yamashita who led from start to finish, ultimately triumphing by two shots from compatriot Minami Katsu and England’s Charley Hull.

This was the championship’s first visit to Wales and it didn’t disappoint.  It’s hard to beat Porthcawl, a glorious course at the best of times but simply outstanding when presented, as it was, with its best bib and tucker on.  I was salivating at the quality of the turf, the clever run-offs and hollows that make the bunkers larger than they truly are and the challenging angles of tees and greens, all enhanced by the switching of the gusting breezes from the Bristol Channel.  It was all an Open challenge should be – tough, but fair and demanding of a wide range of skills.

 

It was exhilarating watching for the spectators who had managed to find their way to the venue despite the distinct lack of  tournament signage.  There wasn’t a single sign on the M4 proclaiming anything was even taking place and I overheard some spectators say they couldn’t find their way from their car park to the course.  They ended up climbing over a fence to gain access to the golf.

It was worth it, though, and much home interest was provided by local favourite Darcey Harry who finished tied 40th and a quartet of English players – Georgia Hall, Mimi Rhodes, Lottie Woad and Charley Hull – all of whom finished in the top 20.  Lottie recorded a joint 8th finish in her second week in her new job, comfortably taking her fortnight’s earnings to beyond the half million dollar mark.  It’s amazing when you think about it……..and long may it continue.  We actually have a real chance of having a home player who may one day ascend to the pointy top of the world rankings.  It’s been a long time since Dame Laura occupied that spot.

The fireworks were provided in the final round by Charley Hull at her (almost) swashbuckling, brilliant best.  She’s fun to watch, wastes no time and was all business as she set about making five birdies in her first fourteen holes to close within a shot of the leader.  The word spread like wildfire and the galleries swelled as they marched in the wake of Hull, who momentarily looked like she might just pull it off.

The pied piper lost her way, however, and a poor finish of a trio of fives all but handed the title and a first major to the tiny Japanese player, Yamashita, who, at four feet 11 inches seemed impervious to the buffeting breezes, sailing below them to a well-deserved victory.

I had worried at the start of play on Sunday that Charley’s all-out, go-for-broke style would not serve to unlock the secrets of Porthcawl, a course that demands so many skills, including guile.  And so it proved unfortunately.  Back to back bogeys on the 70th and 71st holes meant that Charley really would probably need to eagle the par five last to stand a chance.  A superb drive into position A meant she only had an 8-iron left to the green.  The priority was now to hit the green and give herself an eagle putt, but not only did she miss the green, she short-sided herself, leaving a very difficult up and down, which she failed to achieve.  Game over.

When you are one of the best players competing on the world stage, you get judged by the highest standards and you don’t win majors finishing like that.  Whether she reflects on it and learns from it remains to be seen.  Her post-round comments didn’t seem to indicate there would be much effective analysis going on afterwards.

“I really enjoyed it out there,” she said. “I felt so in control of my game.

“It’s not like I whiffed a drive or whiffed a shot.”

It takes more than ball-striking to win a major and with 60 or so of them under her belt I hope she can soon discover that vital missing piece of the jigsaw.

One player who was completely in control on Sunday was our young friend Paula Martin Sampedro of Spain who won the Women’s Amateur last month at Nairn.  She followed that victory up with another, winning the European Amateur in Germany two weeks ago and then at Porthcawl she shot a best-of-the-day final round 68 to finish in joint 8th spot and win the Smyth Salver for the leading amateur.  Five consecutive birdies on the back nine meant she came home in 30, the best inward nine of the week.  Bravo Paula.

Bravo, too, to Julie Thomas, the home club’s former Wales international, who was called in to action at the weekend to act as a marker because an uneven number of players had made the cut.

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Maureen wouldn’t be the greatest cricket fan but last Monday, as we were driving home from Wales after enjoying the Women’s Open at Royal Porthcawl, we both listened, enthralled, to Test Match Special and the last knockings of the fifth and final test between England and India at The Oval.  It was brilliant radio, tense, compelling, vivid and I had to work hard not to sit on the edge of my seat because I was driving.

The ground was pretty well packed, even though everybody knew that there’d be about an hour’s play at most, weather permitting.  After all, England only needed 35 runs to win and India only needed three wickets (I think; what with all the excitement and emotion the fine details now escape me!), including that of Chris Woakes, down to one arm because of a dislocated shoulder.

You wouldn’t dare make it up.

The atmosphere crackled and sizzled across the airwaves and Mo and I were so hooked that we listened to the last few balls sitting in a service station car park.  Radio rules OK.

Our maternal grandfather was a keen cricketer and he gave me his bat – a big, heavy thing that I couldn’t wield as an adult let alone as a single-figure child.  He had three daughters and four granddaughters and decided that I, the tomboy, was the nearest he was going to get to a grandson.  Sadly, the only cricket we played was in the garden or on the beach, with Mum keeping wicket in her rubber gloves and me being bamboozled by Dad’s cunning spin.

I’ve passed the bat on to Pampa’s great grandson, the first boy in the family for a generation or two; hope you’ve still got it, Chris!

Cricket correspondents undoubtedly work hard but the TMS team have all the action there in front of them and don’t have to put in a lot of legwork – except to try and keep in some sort of shape; I believe they still get cakes and other goodies from grateful listeners and some cricket lunches are legendary, so waistlines must be under constant threat.  I suppose that’s the case for many of us as we get older but tramping around golf courses does wonders for the step count.

Goodness knows how many miles the BBC’s golf correspondent Iain Carter has walked over the last few weeks.  The Beeb doesn’t do golf on the telly any more – apart from the odd highlight – but its radio coverage of the big events is still second-to-none and in this country that means Carter and his colleagues are on the course more often than not.  There’s nothing flat and boring about Portrush and Porthcawl, so following matches every step of the way is more like hiking than strolling.  They won’t need any rocking at night.

In fact, the inestimable Iain, a big cricket fan, was so cream-crackered after Porthcawl that he didn’t have the energy to go to The Oval on that memorable Monday; that’s exhaustion for you.

Terrain apart, following the leaders – or birdie-blitzing Brits who are threatening to lead, perhaps even win a major – is not an easy job, even from inside the ropes:  you have to keep a clear head, remember who’s hit what shot where, take in the leaderboard, watch out for brambles and bunkers, avoid buggies and tv cameramen, all while sounding calm and informed, well, it’s a job for an expert.  And it’s mentally and physically taxing.

In amongst the championships on this side of the pond, Cameron Young was winning The Wyndham Championship in Greensboro, North Carolina, his first victory on the PGA Tour.  He was also billed as the 1,000th winner on said tour, dating back to 1860, apparently, when there was no golf at all in America.  It is a claim so ridiculous as to be beyond ludicrous.

Talk about making yourself a laughing stock.

Not Cameron Young.  He was anything but.  He won by six shots and admitted to a certain amount of confusion after hugging his caddie and shaking hands with his playing partner on the 18th green.  “What do I do now?” he said.

“Every time I’ve come off the last green my entire career, I have shaken the hands of whoever I’ve played with, thanked the standard bearer and our walking scorer and then walked through the tunnel to scoring.  Today there were about 150 people between me and that tunnel….I didn’t know if I did that first or if I spoke to somebody first.  That’s the first time I’ve done anything any different after holing out on 18.

“I would prefer that outcome more often.”

A lot of good judges think it’s something he’ll probably get used to.

Meanwhile, back here at a more lowly level of performance, I’m trying to teach myself to breathe properly after decades of getting it wrong.  It’s not straightforward but my friends and family will be glad to learn that part of the process involves taping my mouth shut…

Can you hear the cheering?