I decided I’d indulge myself this week and give myself a Christmas present.  In the hurly-burly of the festive season, running around buying presents for everyone else, and continuing to fight a war on three fronts against the still-settling dust from the kitchen renovation, I’ve hardly had a moment to myself.  So, when I received an email telling me the 2025 Masters Official Film was now available to view I thought, “That’s for me.  Feet up for an hour or so is on the horizon.”

Rory McIlroy has been on my mind this past couple of weeks.  We’re at that time of year when all sorts of awards are dished out and traditionally it used to be nail-biting stuff to find out who was crowned the BBC Sports Personality of the Year (SPOTY).  Alas, that once great programme is a shadow of its former self, largely because of the decimation of numerous great sporting events from the channel.  That means to show any footage of golf, for example, the Beeb has to buy said footage from the host broadcasters thus making the whole endeavour extremely pricey.  And so, golf, among other sports, tends to get short shrift from the Corporation.

I know I’m passionate about golf but, in my mind, I do try to choose the person for the top SPOTY award who has achieved something incredible.  Doing my best to be unbiased, and despite all the wonderful achievements of our athletes and teams this year, I still have Rory way out in front.

I was thrilled last weekend when Lando Norris was crowned Formula 1 world champion, the first British winner of the title since Lewis Hamilton several years ago.  That was stupendous, the achievement of a lifelong dream and nail-biting to the very end when he won by the slender margin of two points.  To see his Mum and Dad celebrate and realise that they had made it all possible was heartwarming indeed.  We have, however, had numerous other British drivers in the past [ten in all – ed] who have been world champion.

Back to the golf.  We have never had a Grand Slam winner in golf from Europe, let alone from these shores and Rory is only the SIXTH person in the whole history of the game to win all four majors.  Two of those remarkable men, Gene Sarazen and Ben Hogan, are no longer with us.  This means there are only four people on this planet who are Grand Slam Champions – Gary Player, Jack Nicklaus, Tiger Woods……and Rory.  Whether you’re a fan of golf or not – surely that puts him way out ahead of any other contenders?

Watching the Masters film reminded me of the wringer McIlroy put us through.  I was cross with him as early as the 15th hole of Thursday’s round.  All was seemingly going well to that point with the Irishman four under but he then inexplicably took a fit of the head staggers, chipping the ball from the back of the green at fifteen straight into the water fronting the putting surface.  Two doubles in the space of three holes resulted in a ho-hum 72, a mere seven shots behind Justin Rose’s brilliant 65.  That’s another Masters out of sight, we all thought.

But then, Friday brought Rory doing Rory things and a scintillating 66 zoomed him up the leaderboard, now only two behind his Ryder Cup teammate Rose, who was still at the head of affairs but only one ahead of Bryson DeChambeau.

Saturday was nothing short of joyous for Rory supporters when he opened with six consecutive threes, something that had never been accomplished before.  The entire country of Ireland ground to a halt.  Those supposed to be doing something else were suddenly unavailable.  Golf clubs were packed to the hilt by those brave enough to be in a public arena to watch their favourite son close in on the impossible.  Those of an even more heightened disposition remained at home, unable to trust their emotions or language and needing space to pace, pace and pace.  With a second consecutive 66 in the books we all fell into bed exhausted with our man holding a two-shot lead over DeChambeau, the player who had cruelly swiped the US Open title from McIlroy’s grasp the previous year.

And so to Sunday April 13th 2025 and the burden of overwhelming hope that finally THIS would be the day of all days for Rory, for his family, for his friends, for Ireland, for Europe and for all his fans.  The flickering flame of that hope was all but doused in an enormous draught of cold air in the first half hour of play.  First hole:  Rory, a double;  Bryson, a par.  Both were now 10 under.  Second hole:  Rory, a par.  Bryson, a birdie.  Rory is no longer leading.

Resilience has been the Irishman’s watchword for the past couple of seasons and he works hard to be able to bounce back when things go wrong.  Summoning all his positivity after blowing his lead so quickly Rory birdies the 3rd, then the 4th and boom, just like that his lead is not only restored, but enhanced.  Three ahead.

Standing on the 10th tee he is four clear.  Oh-oh.  Memories of being in the exact same position in 2011 must have been in his mind.  They were certainly in mine………but 14 years on, surely Rory was a different player now from that long ago young gun?  He birdies 10, manages to stay out of the water on 11 with his second and finds the heart of the green at the 12th – all potential card-wrecking parts of the golf course.

Still three ahead of Justin Rose, who is having a storming round and is two holes ahead, and Bryson.  Dare we relax and breathe easier now?  Only six to go and three to the good.

And then…..Rory did more Rory stuff and pitched his third into the creek at the 13th.  In disbelief we watched a seven unfold, followed by a bogey on the 14th and as he picked the ball out of the hole we had a three-way tie at the top on ten under – Justin, Rory and Ludvig Aberg.

Perhaps the moment was too big for Rory?  The pressure of what he was trying to accomplish was immense.  It was certainly far too much for his supporters.

And then he responded with two of the finest iron shots I’ve seen him play, one into 15 (he made birdie) and one into 16 (he made par), both to seven feet or so.  Both putts slid by and at this point, with Justin birdieing the 16th to go to eleven under, the pair were tied.  If Justin had been up against anyone other than Rory I’d have been supporting him and his caddy Futch to the hilt – but this was no time for sentiment.

The 17th was key.  Rory snatched a birdie from the course to move to twelve under while Aberg and Rose both gave one back and Rose’s closing birdie on the last only restored him to the eleven under mark.  A boomer of a tee shot up the hill at the 18th and this was surely it.  McIlroy, in the centre of the fairway with a wedge in hand, had “only” to hit the green and take two putts and his date with destiny would be achieved.

With horror, disbelief, anger and disappointment we watched him hit an atrocious shot into the bunker, splash out to seven feet and then not even hit the hole with his putt.  I felt sick; everyone felt sick; the country was sick; Rory looked sick.

And now, that famous “R” word comes rushing back to me – resilience.  In the play-off another booming tee shot sets up another wedge and this time Rory summoned up the mental strength to execute beautifully, bringing the ball back down the slope behind the pin to three feet or so.  When Justin’s birdie attempt refused to drop, here we were again, teetering on the brink of watching one of our own achieve the seemingly impossible.

The ball dropped and Rory dropped, sobbing, to his knees and we dropped into our chairs from the utter drama and sheer exhaustion of it all.  Ireland partied for days.

Ah, Rory, what a Christmas present it was watching it all again.  Enjoy a well-earned seasonal break, as will we, from our little blog.

Happy festive season everyone.  We’ll see you all again sometime in February and hopefully share more amazing moments from this wonderful sport.

Well everybody, this is the last blog of the year and I’d like to start by thanking you all for reading and wish you season’s greetings:  Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, whatever takes your fancy.  Maureen and I are amazed and delighted that so many of you are still reading our meanderings, golfing and otherwise and keep encouraging us to keep going, whether that’s wise or not….All being well, we’ll be back next year, refreshed and raring to rock and roll all over again.

Mo tells me that this is a golf blog, so I’d better mention that our golf last Tuesday –  the Christmas comp – was cancelled because the weather was so wet and ‘orrible.  All was not lost because I met up with my partners for a coffee and a chat before heading off to watch Spurs against Slavia Prague.  That meant missing the Xmas dinner and dance at WHGC (Abba featured on the menu) but at least we won the match 3-nil – an own goal and two pens – and my seat (not my usual) was one of the best.

My neighbours were regulars and told me that their seats cost £1600.  “Wow,” said a young man who’d come up to check out the view, ” that’s a lot for 19 matches.”  A lot more than my two seats together but the best I’d ever sat in, only available because somebody’s godson couldn’t go.  Many thanks to him.

It was lovely because I wasn’t miles away from Sonny – Heung-min Son, Spurs legend – when he came on to the pitch to say goodbye to us properly after ten or so wonderful years (he’d announced he was leaving on our summer tour in South Korea) and receive a special cockerel from Ledley King, another club legend.  They’ve both got great  beyond-life-size murals not far from the ground, along with Harry Kane.  Sonny’s now playing in America but boy, could we do with him at his peak now!

You’ll undoubtedly be delighted to know that my last two trips to N17 have been relatively troublefree and wonder of wonders, we’ve won both matches after an appalling run of home results. We’d been the opponents of choice for any team struggling to get points away from home and we Spurs fans had to trek off disconsolate, time after time after time.

Mind you, even a good journey back after an evening match means getting home at two in the morning.  The train from Birmingham International to Euston takes just over an hour in the afternoon but the 2300 from Euston to International takes two hours 17 minutes, if you’re lucky.  Apparently, Network Rail take(s) over the track at night to do works and fast trains are diverted on to slow lines (and make more stops).

I was going to regale you with all the gory details of my mate John’s journey from the depths of Derbyshire last Saturday, en route to that rarity, a three o’clock kick off but it’s nearly a novel in itself.  The Oracle as he’s known – he’s the fount of all knowledge when it comes to Spurs and football – uses spreadsheets to plan his travels (he used to have a season ticket for Derby and is still a regular at Burton Albion home and away games) and some of his routes are less than straightforward.  I’ll attempt to précis this one….

It started at 0847 with a walk to catch a bus to Burton-on-Trent; then a walk to catch a train to Tamworth (three carriages, no seats); at Tamworth the 1056 train to Nuneaton had been cancelled because of passengers causing a disruption; at 1157 caught 1156 to Nuneaton but very crowded so no seat; 1211 arrived Nuneaton in plenty of time for 1242 to Euston (coming from Manchester Piccadilly)….

However, at 1235 there was a commotion on the platform and the 1242 was held on the station approach.  A man at the end of the platform was letting his children run around near the platform edge and was ignoring all requests to keep them under control; lots of apologies from the staff and the British Transport Police were summoned to sort things out.  Eventually, the 1242 left at 1314 and arrived at Euston at 1411, 90 minutes late, irony of ironies…Then it was the tube to Tottenham Hale, a brisk walk and John was in his seat at 1455, impeccable timing – if it had been part of the plan.

The match, thank goodness, went well – we won 2-nil – and John set off home with a happy heart.  He boarded the 1813 from Euston to Manchester, 56 mins non-stop to Nuneaton but things started to go wrong at 1828 when they ground to a halt just after Harrow and Wealdstone because the rear brake of the train in front had jammed; John’s train ends up reversing and is passed by a steam train, which makes him think they’ve all drifted inside Doctor Who’s Tardis….

Anyway the upshot is that he reaches Nuneaton at 2137, two hours 27 minutes late; sees that his train to Tamworth is delayed by 50 minutes because of an earlier incident; and gives up the unequal struggle.  He summons a taxi, which arrives at 2230 and deposits him home at 2310.

It was, he said, with admirable restraint:  “A ridiculous and crazy day.”

Finally, two musical pics to end with:  at the CBSO on Wednesday for Kazuki Conducts Strauss with a seat in the stalls for £1 (normally £50 but it was a very special offer).

And, on a smaller but no less important scale, the Serenade Trio at the Wednesday session of Everybody Sings!

Thank you all for the music and the fun.