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.

 

 

 

 

It’s hard to know where to look at the moment with all the sport that’s filling our time and our screens of various sizes.  Wherever you do look, however, it seems that there’s a member of the Korda family right there in the thick of things.

Last weekend, Nelly, 22 years of age, won her first major – the KPMG Women’s PGA Championship – and ascended to No 1 in the world, the first American to do so since Stacy Lewis in 2014.  By doing so she is fulfilling the weighty expectations that have followed her all her life.

Her sister, Jess, who is five years her senior, has also half a dozen wins on tour including one this year, and when she turned professional back in 2011, she broke the news that her younger sister would be following along in a few years and was a much better player.  This was no idle boast and Nelly has won three times this year alone, including that precious first major and top world ranking.

Two hours before Nelly holed the winning putt on the 18th green Jess holed for a birdie, securing her place on the American team for the Olympics in a few weeks time in Tokyo.  The sisters are joined by Danielle Kang and Lexi Thompson and they will have a chance to catch up with their 20-year old brother Sebastian who will be representing the US in tennis.

This week Seb is in the main draw at Wimbledon having won his first big title last month.  He’s accompanied by his Dad, Petr, former world No 2 and grand slam champion.  Mum Regina, herself a former tennis professional who reached number 26 in the world and who represented Czechoslovakia in the 1988 Olympics, was in Atlanta at the golf with her daughters.

As regards sporting pedigree the Korda family has arguably no peer.  It was, therefore, illuminating, if not disturbing, to hear Nelly open up at the start of last week about the mental health of athletes whom we mere mortals tend to think have it all.  She said she was encouraged to speak out after Matthew Wolff, one of the young stars on the PGA Tour, admitted to struggling for many months this year, hating the limelight and at times finding it hard to get out of bed.  Nelly hasn’t found it easy either and has worked very hard over the last few tournaments to recapture the enjoyment of simply being out on the golf course.

Now, this is where, in my experience, the general public tends to fall into one of two camps.  You are either full of sympathy for the athlete and the relentless pressures of following a long-held dream.  Having to explain every dip in form, keeping positive and acquiring the skill of separating your own self-worth from your performance is a difficult task in the face of a run of bad play.  And, of course, all and sundry feel entitled to comment, critique and generally dissect your performance, your work ethic, your lifestyle and often (in the case of the women particularly) your looks.

On the other hand, many who have jobs they hate and who are locked into lives they dislike find it impossible to feel empathy for those who seemingly have it all.  Their take is that sure, these athletes may live in a goldfish bowl but they’ve never really had a real job, have they?  What’s their problem?  They’ve only got to chase a little white ball round a field/sharpen up their footie skills/service action/place kicking/hurdling technique (insert appropriate phrase) and they’ve tons of time off during the day.  AND they’ve probably got a few million tucked away in the bank, undoubtedly no mortgage to pay and they can walk away from their “job” whenever they feel like it.

Maybe if we’re honest with ourselves we have a couple of toes in each of these camps.  It is undeniable, however, that as taboos surrounding mental health issues lessen and we become more open in discussing the topic it is worrying how many people are really struggling.  My own feeling is that we mustn’t let envy of another’s material goods and assets determine whether we empathise with their struggles or are dismissive of them.  It’s akin to the thinking that if we could only win the lottery all our worries would be over.  That is hardly ever the case as the acquisition of wealth, which so many of us crave, often results in nothing more than replacing one set of challenges with another.  Everyone who is struggling, regardless of their position on the socio-economic scale, deserves our support, our help and empathy.

It does give pause for thought when Nelly Korda speaks out from the bosom of arguably the highest-achieving sporting family on the planet.  No matter how things appear from the outside it is not usually just quite as rosy as you may think.  So let’s keep our eyes and ears open to be ready, willing and able to help, listen and support those we may come across in our own little worlds.  We must look out for each other.

That, after all, is our job as members of the human race.

[Thanks to Nelly and Jess’s twitter feeds for the photos.]

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.

 

 

 

 

 

I don’t know about you but I thought the US Open was terrific, compelling stuff.  Any number of people were still in contention with nine holes to play and it seemed that it was anyone’s to win.  It also seems like a long time ago now, even though it’s not even a week since Jon Rahm snatched his first major title.

Amazingly, he became the first Spaniard to win the US Open and boy (or nino), did he do it in style.  Tiger would have been proud of the ferocity of the fist pumps that followed the birdie putts at the last two holes.  And what putts.  They weren’t straightforward by any means, fast, downhill, curly jobs that were hard enough to read, let alone hole.  Sinking one of them would have been impressive enough but both?….Wow.

(This is where a well-organised blog would have a wonderful photo of Rahm uppercutting madly or beaming broadly holding the trophy.  Sadly, I couldn’t get a single one of the appropriate photos to transfer, so I’m hoping you’ve all seen the images somewhere and will forgive the technical ineptitude.  I was going to tell you what putter the new champ used but…no pic, no namecheck…)

Instead here’s a pic of Rory McIlroy, who was in contention throughout the championship – shock, horror, hooray – and only fell away over the last few holes. He three-putted the 12th and had an untimely and rather unlucky double bogey at the 13th, to scupper his chances.  I think those were the critical holes but I must confess that I dozed off – one minute Rory was on the leaderboard, well in the mix, the next time I looked he’d disappeared.  Such are the perils of late-night golf watching.  Anyway, a revitalised Rory is scheduled to play in the Scottish Open at the Renaissance Club from July 8-11, along with Rahm and any number of stellar names.  Tickets (strictly limited, so hurry, hurry, hurry, as the ads say) are available.

It’s the club championship at Whittington Heath this weekend – from the sublime to the slightly more ridiculous, admittedly – and I’m hoping the greens will be less speedy than the ones at Torrey Pines were.  My spies tell me that the rough has shot up, so from the sound of things I’ll be lucky to find my ball let alone the greens.  I had a club fitting last week but haven’t ordered new clubs yet, so will just have to blame the old ones – and the new trolley Maureen and Brian bought me for my birthday.  Hope I can assemble it in time for the first round tomorrow.

The big day was yesterday, so the big yellow Open scoreboard (pictured at the top of the piece I hope) is sheer indulgence but I couldn’t resist it.  I also got a video message from Hugo Lloris, the Spurs and France goalkeeper (no name check, though he has been a bit busy not saving Cristiano Ronaldo’s penalties) and the promise of a free Aperol Spritz from my local ASK Italian.  I knew there was a reason for signing up to everything and sundry.  Thanks also to everyone for their cards and good wishes.  Also, belated happy returns to two proper players who were born on the same day a few years after me:  Karen Stupples and Juli Inkster.

Another player who is really starting to pack a punch is Leona Maguire, who is now, surely, a virtual certainty to become the first Irish player to play in the Solheim Cup, this year (all being well, pandemic variations permitting, fingers crossed), at the Inverness Club in Toledo, Ohio.  Leona was a close second to Nelly Korda, who is now the world No 3, in the Meijer LPGA Classic in Michigan last week and yesterday had a solid opening round of 72, level par, in the KPMG Women’s PGA Championship at Atlanta Athletic Club in Georgia. Lizette Salas was leading on 67, one ahead of Woburn’s Charley Hull.

Still on a bit of an Irish theme (would you expect anything else!), Padraig Harrington has selected Graeme McDowell and Martin Kaymer as vice captains for the Ryder Cup at Whistling Straits in Wisconsin in September. They have both won major titles and holed the winning putt at the Ryder Cup and join Luke Donald and Robert Karlsson in a formidable line-up.

Maureen has done a tip this week, the first for a while and she assures me that it’s one of the simplest, most straightforward ones she’s come across.  However, a word of warning:  it is not quite foolproof, not least because Mo has found a fool uncomfortably close to home.  I’ll leave you to guess just who that might be.

If there’s a wrong way to do something,  I’ll find it.  I’m inclined to think it’s a skill, a God-given talent but suffice it to say that my sister cannot believe that any of you out there can be as clueless….

Finally, apologies to Suzanne Rundle for not naming her last week.  I was told off by the coach, who said such a magnificent effort deserved proper recognition.  So here’s Suzanne in glorious, free flowing action again, an inspiration to us all.