For as long as he has a memory Seamus Power will never forget Sunday 19th July 2021.   It was the day that the big Irishman from a wee place called Tooraneena in county Waterford realised a very big dream and won his first title on the PGA Tour.

While young Collin Morikawa was in Kent winning the Open Championship with insouciant ease, Power was in Kentucky, winning the Barbasol Championship at the sixth hole of a not-so-sudden play-off, outlasting J.T. Poston at Keene Trace GC in Nicholasville.

It was joy unconfined, the reward for years of toil, dedication and unwavering self-belief, working his way up from a golf scholarship at East Tennessee State (he graduated with an honours degree in accounting, magna cum laude, exceptional), turning professional and, eventually, hoisting aloft a trophy on the world’s biggest, most lucrative tour.  Not bad for a lad who started out at West Waterford GC, a few miles from Dungarvan and was hooked on the game from the age of 12.

Power’s mother Philomena died when he was just eight and his twin brothers Willie and Jack were 10.  Ned, the boys’ father, a farmer, said, “I can’t emphasise enough what West Waterford meant to me when Philo died….the club and my great friends John and Celia Walsh were a great help to me….”

It was the late Celia who took Seamus out one day to carry her bag and that was the start of it all.  By 2016 West Waterford had themselves an Olympian when Power represented Ireland in Rio, alongside Padraig Harrington and now their most famous son has joined Harrington, Darren Clarke, Graeme McDowell, Rory McIlroy and Shane Lowry, the only other Irishmen to win on the PGA Tour.  Note that they are all also major champions…

“This changes everything for me,” Power said.  “For ever now I’ll be able to say I am a winner on the PGA Tour….I couldn’t be more proud.  My caddy Simon Keelan…all of the Spratt family, my own family, all the members at West Waterford…I have just too many people to thank.  It’s unbelievable….It’s an incredible day……career-changing, life-changing, all that kind of good stuff.  It’s not going to sink in for a while.”

With all the partying that’s undoubtedly going on at West Waterford – all being well Seamus should be home by now – there’s a lot of worry too because the receivers are in and, according to a piece on irishexaminer.com the club is going up for auction next week.  The course, designed by the legend that was Eddie Hackett, opened in 1993, is still busy and popular and the members are hoping to raise enough money – just over a million Euro – to buy it.  Good luck to them and fingers crossed they succeed.

And many thanks to the tireless Brian Keogh and his daily updates on IrishGolfDesk.com for keeping this blog well informed.

The world’s best women are on the shores of Lake Geneva at Evian-les-Bains for the Amundi Evian Championship, the fourth of their five majors and the seniors are at Sunningdale for the The Senior Open Presented by Rolex.  It’s a lovely, nostalgic wallow, a case of all our yesterdays and a bit of a test to recognise some of the players, what with beards, white hair, no hair, avoirdupois (Pooh and his stoutness exercises come to mind – as do the words pot, kettle etc).  It’s easier when they start swinging and the signature moves are still there, if a little creaky in some cases.

They’re still worth watching, especially on a lovely golf course at a wonderful venue.  Not sure how many people are being allowed in but Sunningdale is always worth a visit.

The Olympics in Tokyo have already started – Sweden’s women beat the USA 3-0 in the football and American talisman Megan Rapinoe was first on my Olympic IIWII chart:  “It is what it is,” she said, “we got bopped…They’re one of the best teams in the world….”

It’s only the group stages, so the Americans, the world champions, have time to recover from the shock.

Here in the UK, we’re eight hours behind Japan, so there’s loads going on even as we sleep, available on the radio, the BBC red button, who knows quite where.  The opening ceremony is scheduled for some time today (Friday) but it’ll all be a bit odd, with no spectators to generate excitement and inspiration and most events taking place in a bit of a vacuum, with most of the reporters thousands of miles away and the athletes on red alert for a virus whose variants are more real than virtual.

Good luck to everybody.  Stay safe.

It’s all a far cry from the first Olympics that I remember:  Tokyo 1964.  I still recognise the BBC’s theme music and names like Mary Rand, Lynn Davies, Jim McCourt, Ken Matthews, Ann Packer, Abebe Bikila.  I looked up Irish Olympians and found out that Tokyo was the great Maeve Kyle’s third Olympics.  At the age of 36, she reached the semi-finals in the 400 and 800.

When she became Ireland’s first woman Olympian in track and field at Melbourne in 1956, Kyle was a real pioneer, excoriated by some who called her “a disgrace to motherhood and the Irish nation” according to one letter in the Irish Times.

“You could call me an athletic suffragette, I suppose,” Kyle said.  Read all about her exploits on hersport.ie, it’s fascinating and I’m just sorry I didn’t realise quite what a huge star and amazing woman Maeve was when she hoped that I would make a long jumper….

 

 

 

 

What on earth to write about this week?  Just what is going on in the world of golf that’s of the remotest interest to anyone?

Of course, there are loads of people who have no notion whatsoever about golf – they’re into music, football (not the English obviously), theatre, art, history, tennis, politics, antiques, wine, whatever but don’t have a clue that this is Open Championship week, one of the sporting wonders of the world.

I’d regard it as more of a general knowledge thing than a specialist interest thing to know a bit about the Open but perhaps I’m just biased.  Or perhaps it’s just that a lot of the golfing people I know are experts- or at the very least very knowledgeable – in other fields, with wide-ranging areas of expertise.  Mind you, I did once mention James Thurber to another man, a bit of a golfer, who was also from Columbus, Ohio and was met with a blank look.  That was one of my proudest moments, introducing one genius from Ohio to another.

If you haven’t heard of Thurber, please look him up and read some of his stuff.  It’s more than worth the effort.  If you don’t laugh, I won’t give you your money back, I’ll just give you a very wide berth….

The Open is back at Royal St George’s in Kent, on the outer edges of England – as some wag said the easiest way to get there is from France – and it’s led to a lot of reminiscing.  Hard and all as it is for most of us to get there, Royal St G is (like Thurber) well worth the effort.  It’s too hard a course for me but I’ve had some memorable times there – and even the odd par.  The weather looks set fair this week but the Sunday that Darren Clarke won his Open, in 2011, the last time it was there, it was Baltic.  I know I’m not exaggerating because I was there!

There was a huge stand behind the 6th tee (a short hole) and you also had a good view of the 5th green and a large part of the 7th, especially if you’d worked your way to the top of the stand, as I had.  The wind was howling, it was bitterly cold, even wet at times and I was wearing every item of clothing that I possessed, including a long, thankfully waterproof coat.  I was nearly frozen by the time the leaders came through – and had seen some woeful efforts to combat the wind from players blown to blazes by the conditions.

Darren was different.  He was in his element.  It really was his time.  He stood on the 6th tee, selected his club with the minimum of fuss and arrowed his tee shot through the gale (well, it was certainly several notches up from a breeze) in to the heart of the green.  No drama.  I was also there when Dustin Johnson, a serious threat, launched his second shot at the 14th miles out of bounds and gave Darren the breathing space he needed to win the title.

My plan had been to leave early to miss the traffic and watch the last knockings on the telly but when it became apparent that Darren might just do it, was not going to blow it, I couldn’t leave.  I stayed to see him lay his hands on the oldest jug of all.

In the days, not so distant, when RSG didn’t countenance the idea of women as members (though they could play the course, as near-invisible beings), the Curtis Cup was held there in 1988.  Linda Bayman, one of the near invisibles (hard to imagine, I know, for those of us who know her….), with a home just behind the 4th green, made her Cup debut at the age of 40 (her birthday was that week) and among other things holed some sort of monstrous, beyond outrageous putt at the 18th to win one of her matches.  Or perhaps it was for a half….The details have blurred and the reference books are elsewhere but whatever, it was bloody marvellous!

Of course, Sandy Lyle won the Open there in 1985 and I could find the relevant magazines easily because I’d rooted them out for last year.  The championship then went the way of the pandemic and I hadn’t got around to tidying them away, despite lockdowns and that sort of thing.  Suppose Zoom bridge, virtual singing (no truer description of my caterwauling; the prospect of returning to real, live choir is scaring the life out of me) and endless electronic catch-ups with friends here, there and everywhere kept me from tidying up properly.

Who knows what trials and tribulations await over the next few days.  Will the favourites prevail or fail?  Will a rank outsider sneak up on the rail?  There’ll be heartbreak and hard luck stories but even for the men who let the title slip from their grasp, who’ve done something unimaginably daft in the heat of the moment, there will be, all being well, successes and triumphs to come.  But not necessarily a Claret Jug.  Life isn’t always that neat.

Finally, congratulations to Lewine Mair, who has just been elected president of the AGW (Association of Golf Writers), founded in 1938, the first woman to hold the post.  About bloody time!

 

 

 

 

There’s so much sport going on at the moment that I could do with a phalanx of tellies, a veritable mission control of screens, a bit like something the baddie in a James Bond fil(u)m would be using in their bid to take over the world.

World domination.  There’s a thought.  Why on earth would you bother?  Especially since it usually seems to involve blowing up half the planet and exterminating as many of its inhabitants as possible.  Couldn’t we just settle for the meek inheriting the earth?  Not very exciting perhaps but infinitely less messy.  Ah well, we can all dream.  And I’m beginning to feel guilty every time I use the washing machine or turn on the tap.  Not forgetting the conniptions (not so much rage as hysteria verging on panic) generated by the boiler (gas).

Perhaps that’s why I love sport.  However complicated it becomes it’s generally a lot simpler than grappling with the complexity of day-to-day life.  And sportsmen and women can go at it hammer and tongs and still shake hands at the end and behave in a civilised manner – mostly.

The picture at the top of this piece (credited to Getty Images) is of Tony Jacklin (left) and Jack Nicklaus on the 18th green at Royal Birkdale at the conclusion of their halved match that meant the Ryder Cup ended in a tie, 16-all (the format was different in those far-off days of 1969).  Nicklaus had just conceded Jacklin an eminently missable putt with the words, “I don’t think you would have missed that putt but under these circumstances I would never give you the opportunity.”

Jacklin, the Open champion, the home hero, had holed a monster putt at the 17th to square the match and as they walked down the 18th, Nicklaus asked him if he was nervous.  “Bloody petrified,” Jacklin said and they both laughed, with Nicklaus, in his first Ryder Cup (the eligibility rules were different then), admitting that he was also “feeling the squeeze”.

Sam Snead, the US captain, was, apparently, less than pleased at his man’s act of generosity but the Americans retained the trophy – although they allowed GB and I (as it still was), who had lost every match since their famous victory at Lindrick in 1957, to look after it for a year.  I still don’t see why the holders should start every match with an advantage and keep the trophy if the match ends level.  It should be a tie, nothing more, nothing less.

The concession, as it’s known, has now morphed into something tangible – The Nicklaus-Jacklin Award presented by Aon, which will be awarded for the first time at this year’s Ryder Cup, at Whistling Straits in Wisconsin.  To quote from the official announcement:  “The first-of-its-kind award will be given to two players – one each from the U.S. and European Ryder Cup teams – who best embody the spirit of the event:  seeing the bigger picture and making decisions critical to sportsmanship, teamwork and performance at the Ryder Cup.”

The recipients will be chosen by a committee that includes Nicklaus, Jacklin, other past Ryder Cup captains and representatives from Aon, the PGA of America, the PGA of GB and I, Sky and NBC Sports.

Even in the middle of all the hype and the hoopla, the rowdiness and, sometimes, rancour, there’ll probably always be at least one player on each side that keeps a level head and retains a sense of perspective, the knowledge that, after all, it’s only a game……

The trouble is that, if you play as a professional, to make a living, it’s hard to think that it’s just a game.  I’d never have had the nerve (overlooking the fact that I never had the game!)  So, many congratulations to Heather MacRae who has just won the WPGA Championships for the third year in a row and a record-equalling fourth time.

The 37-year old Scot, who represents Gleneagles Hotel (where I don’t suppose her £1000 in prize money would go too far), had rounds of 69 and 71 to finish on 140, eight under par, at Kedleston Park.  She was five shots ahead of runner-up Keely Chiericato, the only other player under par on a damp, gusty day.

The men are playing for a bit more money – total prize fund $8,000,000 – at the Renaissance Club, near North Berwick, in Scotland, this week.  It’s a good field, including Jn Rhm, the new US Open champion and world No 1, Jstn Thms, Rry Mclry, L Wstwd, Tmmy Fltwd and others.  No sign of Hrvy, the young lad who ditched the vwls and made a frtn and wwd s ll n Stctly Cm Dncng….Thought he might have been asked to play in the pr-m.

As you can see, there’s a limit to this sort of thing but we’re all having a bit of fun – and taking the pss – because the title of the event is now the abrdn (NOT abrade as my computer insisted) Scottish Open.  Heaven knows why but although this vowel void grates, it’s also great fun.  And, why, one asks, did they not go the whl hg and call it the abrdn Scttsh Pn? We’d have worked it out eventually.

Anyway, luckily for you all, I’ve run out of room and won’t be able to go into the pros and cons of the booking system:  to keep or not to keep?  That’s a question that is exercising many golf clubs now that the COVID regulations are being eased .  At WHGC it seems that it’s too close to call but the ensuing discussions could be a godsend for even the most wide-eyed insomniac…

I found this photo of Dad, dated 12th July 1948, hence its appearance here on the (near) anniversary of his getting his degree from Queen’s University Belfast.

And, irresistible as ever, another McKenna special.

 

 

 

 

Gambling, betting, wagers, hustling, call it what you will, it’s always been part of golf.  Even if you’re just playing for who buys the tea or the beer.  Some clubs are renowned – or notorious – for being hotbeds of big-money, high-stakes matches.  If you can’t afford to lose, don’t; just make sure you win – or make your excuses and leave before teeing off.

In the olden days, a lot of players grew up hustling for a living, became exceptional competitors and some – Lee Trevino is the supreme example – won multiple major championships.  Later, Phil Mickelson, who had a much more privileged upbringing, turned out to be just as ferocious a competitor and like many top-class sportspeople developed a penchant for wagers on a grand scale.

My late husband Dai, who was not a gambler, could not go out for nine holes without having something on the match – a beer or a cuppa or a glass of wine most likely or a temper tantrum if he’d played badly and lost.  He couldn’t understand my easy-osy approach – sometimes I tried hard to win and sometimes I just enjoyed the scenery and hitting the odd good shot.

Although I won money on Team Spirit in the 1964 Grand National, it didn’t lead anywhere.  I realised I wasn’t cut out for the gambling lark when I had a fiver on Red Rum to win – can’t remember which year but it was a lot of money for me back in the 1970s – and found my hands shaking uncontrollably as he approached the last well in the lead.  It wasn’t even my money really – it’s a long, dimly-remembered story – and since then my forays as a punter have been few and far between and largely unsuccessful.

It is virtually guaranteed that any golfer with my money on him will miss the cut, so how anyone can get six guesses out of six absolutely spot on over one weekend is beyond my comprehension.   And how the successful punter survived last Sunday is anybody’s guess because the last leg of his bet earned him a million pounds.  £1,039,554 to be exact.

“I thought I was going to have a heart attack when the winning putt went in,” he said.  “I couldn’t believe it.”

You won’t believe it either, especially when you realise that he had to suffer the agonies of the EIGHT hole play-off (a very prolonged sudden death) that decided the Travelers Championship in Connecticut.   When the normally deadpan Harris English holed a 16-foot putt for birdie to beat Kramer Hickok, he unleashed a pretty good fist pump and sparked what were presumably much wilder celebrations way across the Pond.  Probably just as well the punter wasn’t at the golf course….

The happy winner had forked out £11.50 at what turned out to be odds of 90,396/1 on what I would call some sort  of rollover but the Americans apparently call “a six-leg golf and soccer cross-sport parlay”.

It all came good when Croatia beat Scotland at the Euros and England beat the Czech Republic and Steve Stricker, Nelly Korda, Viktor Hovland and English, eventually, won their respective tournaments.  Blimey.

You’ll be glad to know that Betfair were delighted to pay out and will be helping their customer come to terms with his millionaire status.  As any avid watcher of sport on television will tell you, you’ve got to gamble responsibly (whatever that means, really) and, of course, “when the fun stops, stop”.  As if.

The PGA Tour have a vice president of media and gaming these days but as an ultra-cautious, risk-averse individual, I have my doubts about it all.  It’s bad enough when people are not really watching the football (or cricket or whatever) at all but looking at their phones ready to bet on the number of corners, free kicks, screams, offsides, no balls, wides, who-knows-what? in the next few minutes.  Now that people are back out at golf tournaments a-hooting and a-hollering, a-betting and a-boozing perhaps we should take time out – or better yet cash out?

I know.  Not a chance.

The Prasco Charity Championship, a Symetra Tour event in Cincinnati, Ohio, didn’t feature in the parlay but Meghan MacLaren’s first professional win in America must rank as one of the highlights of a crowded weekend.  “It feels pretty damn awesome,” the Englishwoman wrote in a blog that explores the mental torments that many sportspeople go through as they work towards that often elusive moment of triumph.

If you haven’t read any of Meghan’s musings, seek them out.  They’re well worth the detour.

Meghan comes from good golfing stock and her mother Mary is a bit of a force in senior circles.  She is not infallible, of course but like all good competitors is not deterred by the odd errant shot, accepting the results as just another challenge to be overcome…It was just Mary’s luck that Mary McKenna was on hand to photograph this recovery par excellence during the Irish Seniors Championship at Westport this week.

There aren’t too many diggers on the course at WHGC at the moment so I thought I’d make do with a tasteful picture of my new trolley in front of our old, rather sad and dishevelled clubhouse.  HS2 can’t demolish it yet because of the bats – and I don’t think the ghosts have been exorcised yet either.