I don’t know if you’ve come across The Chipping Forecast, the cleverly named podcast featuring Andrew Cotter, Eddie Pepperell and Iain Carter, the BBC’s golf correspondent, their permanent special guest (think that designation must have something to do with his BBC status; but that’s just a guess).  Anyway, Mo is an avid listener to pods – not sure how many she hears to the finish before she falls asleep and has some of those vivid dreams of hers – and she alerted me to the joys of the CF trio.

I’m now a fan, not least because they make me laugh and some of their more esoteric meanderings have helped keep me up to date with current trends.  For instance, Eddie, who has won on the European Tour (now DP World) but admits to a love-hate relationship with the game (nothing unusual there!), is working his way back via various lower level tours and is not immune from trying out the seemingly weird, possibly wonderful.

I’m not up to speed with his thinking on diet but know that his fitness regime now includes wearing a weighted jacket when he’s out walking the dog(s).  Not so odd really I suppose – Mo used to put weights in a rucksack when she was in training for tramping the fairways with mike in hand or climbing mountains with hubby Brian.  Anyway, the other day, when I was walking back home from the park wearing nothing heavier than a tee shirt, I saw a young man coming towards me sporting what looked like a bulletproof vest – that was my first thought, so I’m probably watching too many police dramas.    Then I realised that he was doing an Eddie P and wearing a weighted waistcoat;  wonder if it’s a passing fad or will become a fitness fixture…

The big boys – and more than a few lesser names – are in Pennsylvania this week, at the US Open at Oakmont, a course with a ferocious reputation that is well deserved.  After the first round J J Spaun, who’s been playing well this season, was leading on 4 under par after a round of 66.  Remarkably, he didn’t have a single bogey and the odds are that there will be no more bogey-free rounds this week, not just from Spaun but from anybody.  Some experts are predicting that the winning total will be over par.

Jack Nicklaus won his first major championship here in 1962, beating local favourite and national hero Arnold Palmer, a Pennsylvania boy, to the title in an 18-hole play-off – those were the days!  The fans, Arnie supporters to a man – and woman and child – stood in the rough waving placards saying “Hit it here, fat boy” in ultimately futile attempts to unsettle Nicklaus.   The young man from Ohio was on the weighty side in those days but his mental game was well on the way to being second-to-none.

Not sure any fan waving signs like that nowadays wouldn’t be hustled swiftly off the golf course.  Changed times.  Perhaps those inane cries of “mashed potato” aren’t so bad after all.

The Oakmont logo features a smug-looking squirrel holding a golf ball (I think)  but goodness knows where the squirrels come from because there doesn’t seem to be a single tree on the golf course; small comfort to the players hacking out of penal rough and struggling to read rolling, convoluted greens.  And don’t mention the bunkers…Are there such things as sand squirrels??

You know how golf, professional golf, is awash with statistics? Not just fairways hit, greens in regulation, number of putts but lots of other stuff like shots gained here, there and everywhere, baffling to the likes of me for whom number of strokes taken is usually enough of a mountainous mathematical calculation.  Well, I was watching the build-up to the (Betfred) Derby last Saturday and this bloke came on to talk about stride patterns.  He said that, all other things being equal, this was an excellent way of deciding which horses were best suited to the track.

Blimey, I thought, this knocks golf’s stats stuff into a top hat (standard Epsom wear on Derby day).  I was so enthralled that I snapped the Stride Analysis table that appeared on the screen and decided not to back the favourite Delacroix.  Admittedly, I didn’t back anything but Lambourn, the runaway winner, was right in there, in green.  Probably worth remembering to pay attention to stride analysis if you bet on the horses, especially on a quirky course like Epsom.

There was another bit of telly info that caught my eye and reminded me that I keep meaning to write in to More or Less or one of those programmes that deals with statistics and the likelihood of winning any of these competitions that are based in Derby.  What are the odds?   It could be Rugby World Cup tickets; a super-duper wonderful marvellous house; a trip to the Isles of Scilly; any number of things….but do we have a hope in hell of winning?  Is it worth entering?  And just how much money do the bods in Derby make?

Will we ever know?

And finally, to calm the mind and soothe the soul, a beautiful picture from the incomparable Mary McKenna.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s a load of nonsense, isn’t ?  Thinking that you’re in charge of your life, that you’ve got things running along to your satisfaction, everything tickety-boo.  Every now and again it might look as though you’ve got things under some sort of control but then, boom (or it might just be a less dramatic pffft, say), something happens to throw your well-laid plans off course – aft agley, I think, was how some famous Scottish poet put it.  Awry, always awry.

Nothing too traumatic this time, just irritating and time-consuming, especially because it led to a journey during rush hour, a stop-start affair that reminded me why I’d succumbed to buying an automatic car.  I’ve had it for a month or so and I still feel I should have ‘L’ plates or some sort of sign to warn other drivers that I’m a bit of a beginner, not quite comfortable with the new (to me) motor.

Not so long ago, I was waiting at traffic lights, first in the queue and when they turned green, I pressed the accelerator – and went nowhere.  I panicked, of course, thinking ‘how on earth have I managed to stall?  What the hell do I do now?’  I raised a hand in apology to the driver behind, who slid past successfully – and then I realised that I’d put the car in park!!  No wonder it hadn’t moved.

Then, the other day, just as I was leaving singing, as it was starting to rain, my front passenger window wouldn’t budge.  I’d put it down to chat to a friend but when I pressed the button to put it up, nothing happened.  The other three windows all worked; the button that I suspected locked the windows (I haven’t read the entire handbook yet) was not engaged; and I checked that there wasn’t some sort of gunge causing an obstruction.

Bugger.

I cried off an afternoon cuppa with friends and headed for the local garage.  They had no more luck than I did, so it was off to the nearest Honda dealer – I’d bought the car near Chester, so that wasn’t the most convenient option.  Anyway, to cut a long story a wee bit shorter, making my way through the sort of traffic queues that had persuaded me to go automatic, I got there before closing time.

I knew from their expression that they thought I’d pressed the lock button inadvertently and they strode confidently to the car; still the window refused to budge.  Turned out the motor had given up the ghost.  Turns out each window has its own motor.  Who knew?

Fortunately a clever technical bod managed to close the window, so I was sent on my way, under strict instructions not to open that window.  On the drive home I could feel my fingers twitching, anxious to do just that; the moment you’re told not to touch, that’s just what you want to do.  The car, barely two years old, is still under warranty, so I just have to plaster over the cracks and wait for the call that the part has arrived – better not plan too much in the meantime.

Why is something telling me that I’m not really ready for the electronic age…

It’s a bit of a miracle that I’m even able to watch any television at all these days, given that there is so much streaming, so many channels and an infinite number of gizmos to operate.  However, I did manage to see a bit of the golf last weekend, when Scottie Scheffler strolled to his second consecutive victory at Muirfield Village, making this winning stuff look easy.  It isn’t, of course but he’s developing a rare knack of winning the big events and he’s starting to get in the head of his competitors.

“Scottie doesn’t make mistakes,” Rory McIlroy was quoted as saying but that’s not true.  He’s human, so like all of us he makes mistakes.  The thing is he doesn’t let them bother him and he makes a lot of pars where others would be making bogeys – or worse.  Then he has a run of birdies – or eagles – and, whoosh, he’s free and adding another win to his increasingly long and impressive list.

McIlroy, meanwhile, has admitted that he’s finding it hard to get himself motivated since completing his Grand Slam and he looked a bit grumpy in the first round in Canada.  Perhaps that was just indigestion…

All hail to Maja Stark, who played steadily and sensibly and kept her nerve to win the 80th US Women’s Open (presented by Ally), at Erin Hills in Wisconsin, last Sunday.  She became the third Swede to win the title, finishing two shots ahead of Nelly Korda, the world No 1 from Florida and Rio Takeda from Japan.

Liselotte Neumann, the first Swede to win the title, in 1988 and Annika Sorenstam, who won it three times, both sent Stark good luck messages before the final round and the 25-year old, ably advised by her caddie Jeff Brighton, did them proud.

How the new champ kept her cool at the 18th I’ll never know.  That hole was the stuff of nightmares, a par five with an elevated green and a piggy front pin position – for instance, Korda’s first pitch came back to her feet; another player putted off the green back down the hill; and Stark’s playing partner Julia Lopez Ramirez ended up with a triple bogey eight that included a shot from the scoring tent.

Stark, still short of the green in three, waited and waited and waited while Ramirez went to and fro and those of us watching were in a cold sweat, thinking that she might never finish the hole.  Eventually, Stark got to play and putted up the hill, pin high, giving herself three putts to win from 35-odd feet.  She rolled the ball up to a few inches and that was that.

Bravo.  Bra gjort!

 

 

We’ve seen the conclusion of the damp PGA Championship at Quail Hollow and world No 1 Scottie Scheffler reigns supreme.  Boy, does he thoroughly deserve his third major title in the space of the last twenty-five months.

I settled down to watch the early starters on the Thursday and was preparing to be amazed and enchanted by the irresistible threeball of Scottie, Rory McIlroy and Xander Schauffele.  Talk about a slow start by the three of them and it became even more pedestrian and uninspiring when the trio all doubled the 16th, their seventh hole of the championship.  Scottie was the most wayward of the three, looking totally out of sorts and at that point he certainly wasn’t shaping up to put a marker down as a potential winner.

But Scottie did what Scottie does and hung around, excelling in damage limitation until his normal, excellent, ball striking decided to put in a reappearance.  One lightning flash of utter brilliance in round three, where he was five under for the last five holes, (which included the renowned and challenging Green Mile, aka the 16th, 17th and 18th holes), was enough to open up a three-shot lead.  Despite being pegged back on the Sunday by Jon Rahm, Scottie smoothly found another gear and romped home by five shots.  It was a consummate professional performance by a player who did not appear to be at his shiny, squeaky best.

That’s a scary prospect for the rest of them.

There was much interest, of course, in the latest newly-minted grand slam champ, Rory McIlroy, who offered up a very lacklustre performance indeed, just making the cut on the number and then languishing well down the leaderboard.  His on-course performance was completely understandable, I felt.  After all, there’s bound to be a monumental reaction to achieving his lifelong dream of winning all four majors.

It appeared, however, that off the course, apart from his pre-tournament conference, we were to be treated to the picture-but-no-sound version of Rory as he spurned talking to the media after each of his four rounds.  I’m afraid this isn’t good enough…..and I’m sure he knows it.  It’s the penalty you pay for living and working in a goldfish bowl, earning millions and millions and being one of the most sought-after athletes on the planet.  Man up, Rory, and get on with it.  (As if he’d listen to the likes of me!)

Now, here’s a quiz question for you all.  As most of you know, Rory McIlroy has just become the sixth player in the history of the game to win the grand slam.  This week David Scott has also become just the sixth member of an elite and exclusive band of golfers – but which one?

I have not met David but hope to do so, sooner or later, on my travels to offer up my heartfelt congratulations on his most recent appointment.  Perhaps I’ll run into him on my visit to St Andrews in July or possibly when at the Open in Portrush.  David, you see, has just been appointed as the Honorary Professional of the Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St Andrews, a position that stretches back over a century and one which you certainly can’t apply for.

It is strictly by invitation only and David becomes just the sixth person to hold the post, following in the footsteps of  Andrew Kirkaldy (1910 – 1934), Willie Auchterlonie (1935 – 1963), Laurie Auchterlonie (1964 – 1987), John Panton (1988 – 2006) and Jim Farmer (2006 – 2024).

The R&A could not have made a better choice, in my opinion.  David is a man of golf, a pro’s pro, born and bred and still living in St Andrews.  He is a Master Professional, the current Captain of the PGA and………Scottish (which I happen to think is quite important).  Quite honestly, if you were to write a list of the qualities required of an incumbent of this post you simply couldn’t come up with a better candidate.  The almost two and a half thousand global members of the club will have no cause to regret their decision, I’m sure.

Wishing you a long and happy tenure, David.

More news this week to inspire and make me smile was word of the magnificent staging of the men’s and women’s G4D (golf for the disabled) Opens at Woburn.  Some of the prize winners are pictured at the top.  Strong fields in each Open battled their way round the narrow, unforgiving Duchess golf course and it tested the skills and resolve of the players to the limit.

In the women’s event Daphne van Houten of the Netherlands played beautifully to retain the title she first won twelve months ago.  Her previous winning experience had helped her, she declared afterwards, as she felt comfortable playing with the pressure of a lead and in front of crowds.  The 26-year old was born with scoliosis and has other health challenges, including dizziness on the course.  She did acknowledge it was sometimes difficult to deal with, proving to be a master of understatement as well as of her clubs.

In the men’s event, Irishman Brendan Lawlor scooped the title with a solid 54-hole total of three over par and he was justifiably proud of himself.  He’s the world No. 3 in the G4D rankings and said, “It feels unbelievable.  I played extremely solid all week. My game is in fantastic shape. It’s such a tight course. You can’t go in trouble and I stayed out of trouble a lot over the three days.  I’m absolutely chuffed.”

You really don’t have to look far in life to find inspiring people and this is especially true at any level in the world of golf.

 

I’m sitting waiting for a call from one of my Sirius XM colleagues from the States, Taylor Zarzour, to do a slot on his radio show.  We’ve been trying to set this up since you-know-who won the Masters and, so far, have failed to find a mutually convenient time to connect.

I thought we’d blown it yet again as I arrived home from my exercise class to find I was locked out of the house.  I had omitted to take a key as I was expecting the place to be still full of people on my return.  But, no – the husband AND the kitchen floor layers had all scarpered, quite naturally expecting a sane body to take a key with them.  And no, we don’t have one hidden in the garden under a plant pot for such an emergency.

Anyway, there was a small window open which enabled me to open a larger one and hey presto, in I glided like a veritable cat burglar!  That’s a bit of an exaggeration – it really was anything but ease and grace but I have realised we need to rethink the defence of our castle.

So, I’m recovering now with a cuppa in hand and wondering if Taylor’ll want to talk about golf in general as well as Rory in particular.  If he does he’ll be disappointed.  Despite being only present at the Masters through the TV screen I am suffering a reaction to McIlroy’s win and his attainment of the grand slam.  The effort of heaving Rory over the line has left me feeling saturated with the game and I’ve been happy to potter about with a warm fuzzy feeling of contentment, paying scant heed to the various goings-on in sundry tournaments.

Knowing, however, that this interview was imminent I did make an effort to check in on Scottie Scheffler in the CJ Cup Byron Nelson played in McKinney, Texas, just down the road from where he lives.  Any interest was soon dissipated when I saw he had an eight-shot lead going into Sunday, a margin he maintained for his first win of the season with a record-equalling total of 31 under par.

I’ve been spoiled my whole life by being able to watch (and be present at) some exhilarating golf performances that stir the blood.  Sublime as Scottie’s was, this was not one of those occasions.  When forty-seven players are ten under par or better I usually can find something more interesting to do than watch dartboard, one-dimensional, golf that results in just about everyone putting for eagle or birdie on every green.  The skill set required for the golf course, saturated by torrential rain, is not hugely varied but kudos to Scheffler for maintaining his mental edge right to the finish of a boring tournament.  He’s not No 1 for nothing.

In a week’s time the spotlight will be on the PGA Championship and the Wannamaker Trophy (pic at top).  It is the men’s second major of the year and will be held at Quail Hollow in North Carolina.  The course is a particular favourite of Rory’s (he has won four times there), Scottie is obviously on form, Justin Thomas has won again after a three-year drought and Jordan Spieth is beginning to look a bit like his old self.  And Bryson has just won on LIV.

It all appears to be bubbling up nicely – a good golf course, top players in form and lots of different storylines.  I wonder how Jordan will cope now he’s the solo next in line to take that giant leap into the Grand Slam club?  It will be intriguing.

Taylor has just phoned and we have done the interview.  It was all about Rory, thankfully, going back to his early days and when I had first seen him play and moving right on up through his career.

There are certain things that stick in your mind for ever – for example, the 2005 Open at St Andrews.  Tiger was romping home victorious, seemingly oblivious to the awful weather we were assaulted with from time to time, when word came through that Rory McIlroy had shot 61 round Portrush in the North of Ireland Championship.  In those days the final couple of holes were fairly straightforward (and a little boring) and often players out for a fun round could peel into the clubhouse from the 16th green – a good ploy in particularly inclement weather.  Upon hearing of the 61 I asked had Rory left out the last two holes.  It seemed unbelievable that a 16-year-old could fashion that score round the Portrush links.

Ten years later, in 2015, I was back in St Andrews – but Rory wasn’t.  He should have been defending his Open title at the Home of Golf but had gone over on his ankle playing footie with his mates.  Who could have dreamt then that it’d be another ten years, in 2025, before he won his next major?

And I reckon we’ve got another ten years to see what this extraordinary human can achieve.  No one knows how he’ll react to joining the Grand Slam club.  No one else has taken over a decade between achieving the third leg and the final leg.  Who knows what it may do to him – he may be like a punctured balloon.  He doesn’t know, we don’t know.  Perhaps winning majors will become easy-peasy again for him.  He doesn’t know, we don’t know.

But it’ll be fun finding out.