This blog likes to be a bit silly and tries not to take itself or anything else too seriously but sometimes life grabs you by the throat and shakes you so hard that you have to pay attention and stop wittering on about not playing your king of diamonds when you should have or your partner leaving you in 3 clubs when you’ve opened and she has 21 points on her own.  Believe me, we bridge bores, especially those of us who know bugger all, can match golfers yawn for yawn.

On Tuesday, having seen the footage of Tiger’s courtesy car lying in a crumpled heap at the bottom of a wooded slope, I feared I’d be writing a bit of a eulogy, recalling his career and his influence on the game and whether he’d done enough to be called the greatest of all time.  I refuse to use that ghastly acronym GOAT it’s just not good enough.  A goat that’s not a horned ruminant animal is a foolish person, according to my dictionary, so perhaps Tiger, who’s an intelligent man, could come up with something better during the long months of recuperation and rehab.

The crash won’t have done his battered back much good – he had his fifth back surgery a few weeks ago – and his right leg and ankle were badly shattered .  By all accounts he’s lucky to be alive, saved by a top-of-the range-SUV and his seatbelt.  My goodness, some of us can remember the early days when we resented being told to wear the new-fangled safety thingys but a lot of people owe their lives to the way the slogan “clunk, click every trip” wormed its way into our brains and persuaded most of us to belt up whenever we get behind the wheel.

It’s a catchphrase that also became associated with Jimmy Savile, who was revealed, far too late, as a shameless, prolific sexual predator who blighted countless lives.  He abused youngsters who looked up to him and trusted him and were too scared – and ashamed – to tell and ask for help.  Earlier this week, Madelene Sagstrom, the 28-year old Swede who is defending the Gainbridge LPGA title at Lake Nona, revealed that she had been abused by a family friend when she was seven and had kept it to herself, ashamed she said, until she told Robert Karlsson, her coach, in 2016.

“This was something I was never going to tell anybody,” Sagstrom said, but Karlsson, Europe’s No 1 in 2008, twice a Ryder Cup player and, more importantly, an empathetic man, had asked her to think about why she was having so much trouble controlling her emotions on the course.  She realised it was important to talk about the thing she’d buried for so long, spending years trying to pretend it didn’t matter that much.  It proved cathartic.

“I’ve said the worst thing I can say,” Sagstrom recalled, “and I felt so free…..I wasn’t hiding any more…..”

Golf had been her salvation and when she released her demons, she took her game to new heights, playing in the Solheim Cup in 2017, her rookie year on the LPGA tour and winning for the first time last year.  She and the LPGA did not take the decision to share her story lightly but it is part of the Drive On campaign, which is designed to inspire by telling the players’ stories and revealing the people and characters beneath the visors.

Sagstrom’s harrowing tale appeared in full on lpga.com on Monday and a video was posted on her Instagram, with this introduction:   “As human beings we’re all facing challenges and traumas.  Hard, deep and emotional stories that change who we are and how we look at ourselves.  This is my story.  A story how I’ve handled trauma and grown into the person I am today.  How I’ve changed the way I view myself and see my own worth.  If you’re out there and feel alone, remember you’re not.  We’re all in this together and there’s always light at the end of the tunnel.”

Not surprisingly, given the attention and the emotion, Sagstrom made a shaky start to the defence of her title with a round of 77, five over par, that included a birdie at the 1st but a couple of ugly double bogeys at the 15th and 18th.  She’s 12 shots behind Lydia Ko, the leader but no one’s in any doubt that the defending champ has played a blinder this week and impressed countless people with her fortitude.

“It’s slightly overwhelming,” she said, “but it feels so good inside…..If I touch one life by telling my story, it will all be worth it.”  Judging by the response so far, it’s been more than worth it.  Thanks Madelene.

Annika Sorenstam, who played with Sagstrom, said, “It takes a lot of courage to do what she did, to be able to share some intimate personal stories from her childhood that must have just been obviously haunting her for years and years…..I’ve reached out and told her I’m proud of you and if you need anything I’m here to support you in whatever you need….”

For the record – and because the tournament doesn’t seem to be available anywhere on my telly – here are some scores:  Sorenstam, venturing out of retirement at the age of 50, had a 75, as did Laura Davies and Carlota Ciganda; Leona Maguire 69; Sophia Popov 70; Albane Valenzuela, Charley Hull and Mel Reid 71; Georgia Hall 72; Stephanie Meadow 76; Yani Tseng 81.

The subject matter has been a bit grim this week, so I’ll finish with a bit of light and colour, courtesy of Caroline Scallon, who is, like so many of you, a jigsaw junkie.  A thousand pieces from www.eurographicspuzzles.eu.  Notice, Caroline says, with relief, that there are no “endless, seamless skies”.  And no snow.  The white stuff nearly defeated one veteran puzzler I know – nearly but not quite.

And finally, another Mary McKenna special to make our hearts soar.

 

 

 

A word of warning at the start:  I’ve just had my vaccination and who knows what kind of reaction there might be, so if this blog peters out halfway through, that’s probably the reason.  The possible side effects include fatigue, chills, nausea, vomiting, fever, dizziness, headaches, so who knows if I can stagger to the end?  Fingers crossed.  And don’t think that I’m not aware of those going, “Please God, make her stop now….we can’t take much more of this….”  Or, as the old-time, late lamented copytakers, rendered redundant by technology, used to say to the reporters desperately trying to make the words sing but decomposing at the end of the phone:  “Is there much more of this?….”

You had to be on the receiving end to hear the ennui and disdain, delivered with immaculate timing that would have done justice to Dorothy Parker at her most haughty and dismissive.  Ah, the good old days!

I suppose I’d better start with a bit of golf to get it out of the way.  The good news is that Mike Whan, who transformed the LPGA in almost every way in his record-breaking spell (a mind-boggling 11 years) in charge, will not be lost to golf.  He’ll be taking over as CEO of the USGA (United States Golf Association) in the summer and the world’s junior governing body, traditionally sedate and buttoned up – its idea of casual is dispensing with a tie – knows it’s in for a bit of a wild ride.

Whan knows golf but he’s not afraid to take risks and what makes him effective is that he takes people along with him.  He’s already told his future colleagues that he’ll make many more mistakes than Mike Davis, the man he succeeds but he’s good at learning and doesn’t usually make the same mistake twice.  “I’m really not that great at very many things,” Whan said, “but I’m really good at bringing people together for a common purpose.”

I hesitate to describe him as a miracle worker – I really don’t know him but he seems to be well aware of his strengths and isn’t scared to admit his weaknesses and appoint people who are better at certain things than he is – but anyone who has run a women’s tour for more than a decade and leaves with praise raining down on them from every angle (and no sharp implement in their back) has to inspire shock and, above all, awe.  Whan really will have performed miracles if his successor is appointed in a civilised manner, proves a success and stays in post for a decent amount of time, building on what are now very firm foundations.

He’s a man who doesn’t like to feel too comfortable in his job, which is perhaps something we could all learn from, especially those of us who are rather fond of our comfort zone and don’t feel the need to challenge ourselves too much.  Whan revealed that his wife Meg (I got her name off the internet so hope it’s right) knew 18 months ago that they’d be moving, she just didn’t know where.  Why? How?  Because he’d stopped waking up at two in the morning and reaching for his notepad!

“I’m taking this job because I’m really uncomfortable,” he said of his move to the USGA.  “This makes me nervous.  I know I’ve got a lot to learn.  I’m excited because of all the things I don’t know……I need first tee jitters to play my best.”  Fortunately, as he said in another interview somewhere – and I paraphrase – he’s never suffered from stage fright, he likes an audience and he likes nothing better than a bit of collaboration and persuading people that it’s in their best interests to work together.

I don’t know if the sainted Rory (well, we know he’s only human and not perfect but the blog is still a McIlroy fan) has met Mike Whan yet but it won’t be too long before he does.  Rory has been very outspoken, scathing even, about the USGA and R&A’s distance initiative and the Ulsterman has just become the first player not born in the US to be elected to the PGA Tour policy board, pipping Russell Knox and Kevin Streelman.  Rory is currently chairman of the Player Advisory Council (PAC) and he’ll take up his position on the policy board next year, replacing Jordan Spieth.  Ah.

Those of us who’d like Rory to complete the Grand Slam by winning the Masters and go on to win more majors and lots of other tournaments aren’t too sure we want him taking on more committee work and neglecting his core business, so to speak.  How much good did it do Spieth’s golf?  Perhaps it’ll suit Rory, who is not built like a Woods or a Faldo, single-minded individuals who pursued titles with little thought for anything else in their lives.  Perhaps Rory will pitch up at Augusta – soon I hope – thinking about something else, find himself playing well (goodness, that fierce, concentrated practice seems to be working) and end up wearing a green jacket. Ah well, we can all dream.

The pandemic is still playing merry hell with scheduling and events like the West of Ireland, the men’s home internationals and the Girls’ U16 Amateur Championship, have already been postponed until later in the year.  If the Walker Cup at Seminole goes ahead at the beginning of May, GB and I, most of whose players will nearly have forgotten what competition is, will have to perform miracles not to get mangled.  And once May comes, July can’t be far behind.  If the Open goes ahead this year, will any of us be allowed to be there?

Ah well, back to the jigsaws.

 

 

 

There’s lots of chat about distance these days, how far the ball goes, how high-tech the equipment is, how fit and strong the players are, how obsolete some of the great courses are becoming.  There’s lots of thought, expertise and money going in to resolving this apparent conundrum but surely the solution is relatively simple?  Nothing as banal as making the players wear boxing gloves or wellies tied together or asking the right-handers to play left-handed and vice versa and insisting on blindfolds on every par 3 – might be a relief at the 12th at Augusta National.

No, why not just stop manicuring the courses beyond the wildest imaginings of a super model?  Put them into lockdown with the rest of us, let them get a big shaggy, a bit ragged round the edges, a bit less uniform, a bit less perfect.  Do all the greens, masquerading as snooker tables, have to run at the same speed ?  Does every bunker have to be immaculately raked, so much so that it’s a shock if a player fails to get up and down from a greenside pit?  Does rough have to be graded centimetre by centimetre, inch by inch?  Is heather planta non grata?

Isn’t there an argument that the top players and the courses they play on are too pampered?  Of all the golfers in all the world aren’t they the ones who need the least help?  They can still have their coaches, agents, psychologists, fitness trainers, caddies – heaven forfend that they should have to make their own decisions, unaided, out there on the wild and woolly fairways.

Of course that would mean a change of tack for the tournament organisers, the greenkeepers, the course superintendents and for us telly viewers, who have become used to near perfection.   A less pristine Augusta might, in fact, come as a relief to greenkeepers all over the world, who are mithered by their members, who, having watched the Masters, want immaculate fairways and greens at all times, irrespective of the time of year, weather conditions or resources.

Dustin Johnson, the Masters champion and undisputed world No 1, won on a course that the players said was “in fantastic shape, with great facilities and difficult greens”.  He and his brother, who caddies for him, found it hard to read the greens at Royal Greens but he played well enough and holed enough putts to win by two shots from Justin Rose and Tony Finau.  The form Johnson’s in at the moment he could win anywhere, with anything, even on a ploughed field using a spade.

And that’s another thing, perhaps players don’t need as many as 14 clubs, perhaps we could be limited to, say, 10 – all of us, not just the big boys.  That might bring back a bit of creativity, those awkward in-between shots that require a bit of fiddling and finagling – the sort of thing that separates the best from the rest.  As a 10-clubber myself (a by-product of back trouble many years ago and now just a habit, super-duper trolleys notwithstanding), I can confirm that it makes decision-making at my lowly level much easier.  It also means that there are shots that are beyond my capabilities but that would be the case however many clubs were in my bag.

Chatting to a friend the other day (it was his birthday), he mentioned that one of his grandsons is working in Saudi, at Royal Greens, a top-notch greenkeeper who’s built up his experience all over the world, in America, Australia, New Zealand, the Maldives, nothing but the best.  Not bad for a lad who started at Wishaw in Warwickshire with hopes of winning the Open.  That’s the great thing about golf, there are loads of fantastic job opportunities for those of us who won’t be major champions.

The members of BIGGA (the British and International Golf Greenkeepers’ Association) in the UK have been working harder than ever during the pandemic, especially before the latest lockdown took golf off the agenda almost everywhere.  Just keeping the courses playable was a big ask, never mind making them pristine.  According to research by Sports Marketing Surveys (SMS), between May and October last year there were 15 million extra rounds, 180 billion extra footsteps, 270 billion extra divots and 150 million extra pitchmarks.  Per course, that works out at 1000 extra rounds, 12 million more steps, 18,000 more divots and 10,000 more pitchmarks.

Just think about those numbers for a minute and whenever you’re back out on the course, remember to replace your divots properly and repair your pitchmarks.  It’s the least we can do.

It’s always good to catch ’em young and then, with luck, you’ll keep ’em for life.  I heard Tom Fazio, one of the world’s great golf course architects, who’s been in the design business for six decades now, say that it’s his ambition to live long enough to get all the way to the front tees.  His sons are still young enough and good enough to head for the back tees every time but their dad is wise enough to be working his way forward, so he can keep enjoying his golf.

Whether Annika Sorenstam, who is now 50 and retired from tournament play in 2008, is wise to be heading for the back tees again, we’ll find out in a couple of weeks when she competes in the Gainbridge LPGA at Lake Nona Golf and Country Club in Florida.  It’s her home course, so she couldn’t resist playing in her back yard, with half an eye to sharpening her game in preparation for the US Senior Women’s Open later in the year.  It’ll also give her children Ava and Will a chance to see their mama in what was once her natural habitat, an arena she dominated with an attention to detail and mental fortitude that few could match.

And, to finish, a bit of blue sky and sunshine from down under, where Dennise Hutton is in full swing at Bonnie Doon in Sydney,  inspiring the next generation.

 

 

 

 

 

Well, it’s embarrassment and apologies all round after I got myself in one hell of mess – by putting in an ‘l’ where there wasn’t one.  I thought that it was Joe Flanagan who had died but it was another lovely Joe, Joe Fanagan.   My sincere apologies to the Fanagans and the Flanagans.

Both Joes were a joy to be with but Joe Fanagan was lucky enough never to be asked to run the women’s European Tour.  His daughter Suzie, who played Curtis Cup, did turn professional and Joe and the family were steeped in golf.  Rhona, Joe’s wife, remains an elegant, excellent player, Denise is more than handy and Jody played in the Walker Cup, partnering Padraig Harrington in a memorable GB and I win at Royal Porthcawl, one of the rare occasions when Tiger Woods looked out of his depth.

Sporting excellence aside, the Fanagans are a joy to be with and meeting any one of them always puts a smile on your face.  At this sad time, it’s the happy memories and the laughs that start bubbling to the surface and Mo and I send our love and condolences.

And I send my abject apologies to the Flanagan family.  I’m keeping in my appreciation of their Joe, who died a few years ago, because he more than deserves it.

It’s more than 30 years since he was persuaded to become executive director of the Women Professional Golfers’ European Tour, a body that was often as unruly as its name was unwieldy.  Joe, who’d been involved in running the Carroll’s Irish Open for many years, was well-versed in the ways of tournament golf but trying to manage and promote a tiny, struggling tour was a very different beast.  Ever affable and outwardly unflappable, he had learned to expect the unexpected but I suspect the turmoil of the tour taxed even his patience and forbearance to the limit.

He played his part in getting the Solheim Cup up and swinging at Lake Nona in 1990, recognising that it was a big and important step for the Europeans even though they risked being overwhelmed and outclassed by the Americans.  The home side did indeed win handily and some commentators scoffed that it would be 100 years before Europe could compete.  Two years later it was the Americans who were overwhelmed and outclassed as Europe won a famous victory at Dalmahoy.

Joe had been replaced by then, dismissed for…..what?  Not performing miracles, I suppose.  Except that, looking back, he probably had.

I’ve never had a keen, analytical brain and my powers of logic are intermittent at best – as my bridge partners know to their cost – so it’s a bit of a miracle that I’ve made it this far.  Luck, of course, has played a big part – parents, upbringing, being in the right place at the right time every now and again, loving and helpful family and friends – and I’m totally convinced that there’s no such thing as a self-made person.  Think about it, it’s a patently ridiculous notion given that everybody has been born to somebody; even if they’ve come out of a test tube, they haven’t emerged into the world purely under their own steam; and throughout life everybody has had help at one time or another.

Where’s all this leading?  Well might you ask.  I think it started because someone wondered if I was going to address what they called Rory’s rant on the subject of the Distance Insight report being conducted by the R&A and the USGA and my brain cell shrivelled up at the thought.  Like my once beloved, vibrant Spurs I’m lacking in energy and inspiration  – call it lockdown lethargy – but this distance debate will run and run, though I doubt I’ll ever have anything relevant to say on the subject.  It’s a long time since a powder puff like me knew what a green-in-regulation at a short par 4 was, so I think it’s fair to say that almost everybody on earth plays a game with which I am not familiar.

Embedded balls are also beyond my remit, I’ve decided – though there is a very funny WhatsApp video doing the rounds of a guy calling for a ruling on a ball embedded in the snow.  The ball is orange – a Callaway I think – and at the beginning it’s sitting on top of the snow but by the end it’s buried.  I’d share it if I had the technical know-how but it’s worth seeking out.

That’s another thing, lots of people I know are very good at learning remotely.  Don’t know how to share a WhatsApp video?  Google it.  (Still baffled.)  Need to know how to get multiple, mysterious stains out of a pale woolly?  That’ll be on Google.  (Still stained.)  Want to repair a broken plate?  Look it up on line.  (Still broken.)  Oh dear.  Some of us need something a bit more hands-on, a bit more old-fashioned or, in more extreme cases, a real, live, breathing expert as in The Repair Shop.  Ah, how divine, a real, live, breathing expert…

One good thing about on-line learning is that your singing teacher – and your fellow choir members – can’t hear you mangling the music.  Everybody’s muted because it’s a cacophony otherwise, as we demonstrate when we’re all unmuted to sing happy birthday to some poor soul who has to look grateful.  Funnily enough, though, when we’re all together in the same room it sounds suitably tuneful and celebratory.  Real, live rehearsals?  That’ll be fun.  Some time this year do you think?

A little bird tells me that the Scots are still playing real, live golf, out there swinging on real golf courses, come snow or high water.  Am I envious?  Not at the moment, given the mostly foul weather but let’s hope the rest of us will be out there joining them soon.

This is as good a moment as any to introduce my cosy Aussie cardy, made of King Island wool, born and raised in the middle of the Roaring Forties.  Dai and I played on the little course there, best described as sporty and associated with the Goggins, one of Australia’s most  famous golfing families.  Dai thought I, a non knitter, was daft carting back a load of wool but it’s beautiful stuff and my cousin Lesley did the technical, creative bit, for which many thanks again.  It’s like a blanket, so it’s a treat when it’s cold enough to wear it!

And this is a turtle made of kelp, another of King Island’s native products.  I was just looking for an excuse to give him an outing.