Nowadays, it’s only on high days and holidays that I ever feel sick watching golf on the telly – but that’s what I felt watching Manuel Elvira (above) playing the last at Wentworth last Sunday.  The occasion was the DP World Tour’s flagship event, the BMW PGA Championship, and there was a stellar cast of characters in the mix right up until the final knockings.

Manuel, younger brother of three-time DP World Tour winner, Nacho, had more than a solid career in the amateur ranks, representing Spain on numerous occasions culminating in 2016 in the World Amateur Team Championships.  Turning pro in 2018 he eventually forged his way to the DP World tour in 2024, garnering six years of experience on the Alps and Hotel Planner tours (formerly the Challenge tour) along the way.

Last Sunday this 30-year old from Santander found himself in rarefied air sitting on the same score of 15 under as three major champions, Rory McIlroy, Aaron Rai and Adam Scott.  The difference was the latter three were all in the clubhouse, their campaigns completed.  Elvira was on the West Course’s notoriously 17th tee with no previous experience of a professional win to help him on his way.

He couldn’t have dreamt of a more fairytale execution of the famous par five.  A fairway finder off the tee, a long, low, drawing iron from over 280 yards to twelve feet and an eagle putt that never looked like going anywhere else but in to the hole.  In one leap he was 17 under and tied with J J Spaun, another major champ, who was just wrapping up his championship on that very number.

It was riveting stuff.  There’s nothing better in sport than seeing an unfancied contender triumph, knocking the big boys all out of the way.  But, it’s certainly not easy and sport is so, so cruel.  On this occasion it offered so much only to snatch it all away at the last gasp.

And so to the closing hole – an eminently birdieable par five.  Four for the win, five for a play-off, six for outright second.  Elvira took seven heartbreaking shots, hitting every one of them – no penalties involved.  He left the final green with his big brother’s arm around him trying to process just what had happened.  In the space of twenty minutes he had gone from experiencing a perfect eagle on the penultimate hole to the most disappointing moments of his entire career – and all in the most public, and lonely, of arenas.

I’m sure there will have been much reflection over the past week and the only way to prosper in the future is to take all the positives from the experience.  There were early signs that Elvira was attempting to do just that.  Not many minutes after the awful experience of that final hole he said:-

“I’ve played some of the best golf probably of my life.  I was in contention and I wasn’t really that nervous. Maybe coming to the 72nd hole but I managed to hit a good tee shot and unfortunately hit a bad second shot.

“It’s been a great week and I’m really glad for it.”

The harsh truth is that those three extra shots he played down that final stretch of golfing terrain cost him over a million dollars, life-changing money for a journeyman pro.

One thing about sport is the people playing it never, ever know at the time when their peak is, or is likely, to be.  They only ever know in retrospect.  Of course, we all hope and believe that the best is yet to come but it is only in hindsight that we see our whole journey.  Is this championship joint runner-up position amongst a quartet of major champions destined to be Manuel’s career highlight – or is it going to provide a springboard to bigger and better things?  I do so hope it’ll be the latter.

On our own much more humble level we, the ordinary golfers, can empathise with Elvira, most of us having experienced a little of what he went through.  How often in striving to win a club match, the monthly medal or the money in the weekly fourball have we messed up?  We’ve knocked it out of bounds, duffed a chip, shanked it out of a bunker – all at the precise moment we’ve needed our best efforts.

I recall as a teenager having an eighteen-inch putt on the final green at Castlerock to win my first-ever Ulster Championship.  There was a sizeable gallery round the green and I remember the gasp of disbelief as I didn’t even hit the hole.  I managed to pull myself together and hit a stonking drive down the 19th only to find my ball slap bang in the middle of a deep divot hole.  I hadn’t the skill to cope and lost at the first tie hole.  I was devastated – it was my equivalent of the BMW PGA Championship.

The post event analysis and how you frame the experience to yourself is crucial for the player.  Yes, be realistic in what let you down – your thinking, execution, whatever – but be realistic in what you also excelled at.  You wouldn’t have been in the position to blow it in the first place without those skills having come to the fore.

I was fortunate in having people around me who helped me frame the experience more positively than negatively and that contributed to helping me move on and grasp future opportunities rather than shying away from them.  It’s an uncomfortable old game, this golf, and the more you accept that and become accustomed to operating in that testy environment the better you’ll cope.

Hopefully, Manuel Elvira will train on, to use racing parlance.  I’ll certainly be keeping an eye out for the affable Spaniard from now on.

 

The highs and lows of this blog know no bounds:  from Europe’s sublime Solheim success to the ridiculousness of my feet.  Well, keeping them dry and that’s not really that ridiculous, not if you have to spend more than half a day traipsing around in wet socks.

I knew it was a risk heading to the Netherlands – a country no drier than the UK – with a very comfortable new pair of trainers lacking in only one aspect:  they were (are) not waterproof.  And I got my comeuppance on a very wet Sunday when there were muddy patches and puddles here, there and everywhere; it proved impossible to dodge them all.  My goats hair socks did help limit the discomfort because they seemed to be water resistant to a degree, though that surely shouldn’t be the case.

Why not?  Well, Maureen informed me that goats don’t like the rain because their coats lack silicone (I think that’s what she said) – unlike sheep, who can cope with the most inclement weather because they’re designed for it, a bit like labradors, at least if the sainted Alice is anything to judge by.  On the way to the Barnarbus golf club we used to pass a goat sitting on a tractor (parked) surveying the passing scene and he was nowhere to be seen on the Sunday, so if the goats are inside, it’s either raining or about to…

Anyway, on the recommendation of a very active friend, I decided to take my feet on a little jaunt to (Royal) Leamington Spa, to Lockwoods, where they look after skiers, walkers, climbers and trekkers, including as it turns out those foolish enough to totter up and down to Tottenham on a regular basis.  Admittedly, we’re not their core business and I didn’t own up to being a Spurs supporter – Russell struck me as a serious soul rather than one of life’s chatters – though I did stress that my walking was more of the gentle walk-in-the-park and on-the-footpath variety.

My feet were measured in the old-fashioned way, with one of those metal gauges that I remember from the days of school sandals, my lumps and bumps were taken into consideration and two pairs of shoes were brought out, both comfortable, both waterproof, both well into three figures (of course; I am my mother’s daughter when it comes to an unerring eye for quality aka top of the range aka expensive).  After wandering about the shop, I decided on a pair and then asked if they had it in a “boot”, pointing to one on display.  It didn’t really count as a boot I was told (not really admonished but almost), more a shoe with a cuff.  So, that’s what I ended up with.

I don’t suppose they’ll be permitted in the Spurs boardroom but since I can’t even get through to the ticket office, it’s unlikely that I’ll ever be invited to put the shoe code to the test.  All being well with the travel arrangements, I’ll be in St Andrews for the captain’s drive in this morning (Friday 0800!!), so I’ll let you know if they’re allowed over the threshold of the R and A clubhouse…

It was only when I got home – much quicker than I got there but that’s another travel tale – that I realised that we’d moved into the realms of men’s sizes, hardly surprising considering the widths (and lengths) we had to go to.  Men being men the colour palate is limited (though I do know a few peacocks thank goodness) but they’ve used a bit of imagination with the description:  “sea turtle and roasted pecan.”   Ah well, I look forward to years of striding out in comfort.

My journey to Leamington, avoiding motorways, involved a delightful trundle through the Warwickshire countryside, along the Fosse Way, with signs reminding me constantly that I was on a rural road and that it was better to get home safely rather than rush to my death, bends and crossroads being particularly dangerous.  I paid attention and tootled along, all going well until about six miles from Leamington, just after Princethorpe, when I came across a crucial road closure, crucial insofar as it meant retracing my steps and finding a more roundabout route.  Ah well, it could hardly count as a proper journey if there were no unexpected, inconvenient diversions.

I had hoped to be back home in time for lunch but fortunately there was a cracking sandwich shop just round the corner from Lockwoods and I fortified myself there before shopping.

 

There’s  just about space left to congratulate Charlotte Heath on her maiden victory on the LET, in the La Sella Open, Denia, Alicante.  The event was reduced to 54 holes because the Saturday was washed out but the Englishwoman, who led by four shots going in to the final round, had a nervy day, with her lead whittled away as Helen Briem, Shannon Tan, Alessanndra Fanali and Alice Hewson all threatened.  It was bright but breezy, so in the tricky conditions, Heath held on and birdied the last for a round of 73, one over par, two shots ahead of her compatriot Hewson and Fanali, of Italy.

“You probably didn’t want to be in my head on that golf course today,” Heath said.  “I was thinking I was going to shank it, hook it, pull it….you never know.  Alex [Long, her caddy] kept the ship steady all day.  He kept me so calm…When the pressure is on, negative thoughts can creep in, so I’m very, very happy to get it done.”

Here’s to many more.

Oh, and to lower the tone again, I’m off the bottom of the PYP (Pick Your Pro) table – if only just, thanks to Rory and Aaron finishing second at Wentworth.  Am now just over $300,000 ahead of the new tail gunner but still a bit adrift – 13 million dollars – of the leader…