If you have a sense of deja vu when you read Mo’s piece this morning, don’t panic – because you’re not hallucinating, you do have deja vu, or deja lu.  She’s so busy and so organised that she likes to write her blog early in the week, which is fine – unless she presses the wrong button, as she did on Wednesday afternoon.

My baby sister, who has forgotten more about golf than I’ll ever know, is convinced that Tiger will not match or surpass Jack’s record of 18 major championships.  I’m not so sure.  Tiger has just notched up major No 15 and, for some reason, three seems a much more manageable gap than four.  It’s still asking a lot and Tiger, although driven, is not quite the single-minded, one-dimensional being he was in his earlier years but it looks as though he hasn’t lost the mental toughness that always set him apart.  I never bet on him but I wouldn’t bet against him.  Normal rules do not apply.

My golf’s not much cop at the moment – nothing new there you might say and you’d be right.  The odd good shot here and there but a lot of squandering, frittering, whatever you want to call it and the putting’s going through a dire phase.  It’s not the yips, it’s not the greens, it’s not putting with the pin in but, whatever it is, it’s bloody annoying.

I try to tell myself that I don’t really care any more, that it’s not important, that I’m out there for the fresh air, the exercise, the friendship and the banter.  All of that is true but, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, it is SOOOOOO irritating and annoying that after more than half a century of trying, watching, reading, listening and, sadly, apparently, not learning……..

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.  Ah well.  Today it could be better.  Maybe aye or maybe och aye.

Early Wednesday was a disappointing day because I went to give blood – donation No 52 – and failed.  Well, for the first time ever it sort of fizzled out, too sluggish to satisfy the machine that monitors these things, half a bag at most, so we aborted.  Can I come back next week?  No.  It counts as a donation, so you have to wait the obligatory few months before trying again.  Oh, piddle, as my aunt used to say when something annoyed her intensely.

Fortunately, that was the afternoon that Mo’s piece plopped into my inbox and cheered me up no end – being early is not a crime and, even better, it’s not even life threatening (at least in this case).  What’s more, she’d got a title, which saved me having to go through my excruciating range of head scratching, puns and alliterations.  What’s not to like?  After all, what’s a couple of days between friends?

Best of all, there was a dinner at the club that night, admittedly a bit of a bittersweet affair because it was to say thank you and goodbye to Jenny Burton, our administrator, who’s retiring after 32 years at Whittington Heath (formerly Barracks) GC.  There’s nothing Jenny doesn’t know about the club and how it works and a lot of the captains under her command were there to pay tribute.  There were a lot of stories, a lot of laughs and some tears, which all added up to a great evening.

Somebody at the golf club was talking to me about challenges, how they still, at their great age (!) liked a challenge and it got me thinking:  Did I like a challenge?  Had I ever liked a challenge?  Is it important/necessary to like a challenge?

And you know what?  I realised that for most of my life I’ve been surrounded by people who like challenges, who are always striving to get better, to improve; competitive animals with a drive to win.  The trouble is, if you’re talking about games, about competitions, there are always winners and losers.  That’s the nature of the beast.  But is it the nature of life – the concept of nature raw in tooth and claw notwithstanding?

I’m a competitive animal, up to a point but when it comes down to it, if I’m not picking up a medal, if I’m finishing next to last in the medal or cheering Spurs on to third in the league, I’ve decided that, whatever the outcome,  I’m happiest of all soaking my aching feet in a bowl (well, a cat litter, with more room for big feet, bought in Cromer in a fit/foot of enthusiasm) of Epsom Salts.

There’s more than one way to put a bit of fizz into your life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Well, that old saw “all things in moderation” didn’t get much of a look-in at Augusta this year, did it?  Certainly not on the Sunday when it was all hands to the pumps to avoid the apocalypse that the weather people had predicted – and which skirted the property but hit elsewhere with devastating effect.  Instead of the mother of all storms we had a rip-roaring godmother of a Masters, a tournament of the ages for all ages.

The early two-tee start seemed sacrilegious – and such a break with tradition at such a place was a sure sign that this wasn’t just any old weather warning – but the scrunched-up schedule added to the drama and sense of excitement.  A host of players jostled up and down the leaderboard, more than a few of them genuine title contenders on the day that someone’s dream of winning a green jacket becomes a reality.

Even I, cynical and hard of heart, couldn’t begrudge Tiger the sweetest victory of his star-studded career.  Never mind his shot-making and touch, the man’s concentration and control were immense, impervious and made him indomitable.   It was no wonder that, the last putt holed, the prize secured, he screamed, flapped his arms, hopped a bit, screamed again, hugged everyone, shook hands, then screamed some more and flapped again.  He didn’t know what to do with himself.  He’d given everything and the release of tension, all those years of pain, humiliation, frustration, everything, exploded in one ecstatic volcanic eruption.  A man overjoyed and overcome.

“We did it,” he said as he gave his caddie Joe LaCava a crushing bearhug.  “You did it,” LaCava said.

But Tiger was right, he couldn’t have done it alone.  This was a team effort, a victory achieved through blood, sweat and tears, with the love and support of family and friends.  No wonder their beaming smiles lit up an amazing Augusta afternoon.

 

It may not match the goings-on in Georgia but there’ll be no shortage of emotion at Gleneagles in September (13-15) when Europe attempt to wrest the Solheim Cup back from the United States.  The Europeans, perennial biennial underdogs, have never lost in Scotland, with epic wins at Dalmahoy (in 1992) and Loch Lomond (2000), so it’s as well that captain Catriona Matthew, from North Berwick, has always remained cool and calm under pressure.

The other week, Catriona was in Selkirk for the launch of a Solheim Cup tartan, commissioned by VisitScotland and designed by Rebecca Ferguson of Lochcarron of Scotland.  In a spirit of hospitable unity, Rebecca included red, white, blue and yellow in the design and Catriona said, “The tartan looks fantastic and I love that it represents the colours of the European, US and Scottish flags.  The Solheim Cup is hugely competitive but played in great spirit between the two teams and I think this tartan represents that perfectly.”

Scotland now claims to lead the world in the development and promotion of women’s golf, so it behoves the rest of us to make sure that we keep up.  And we don’t need to be superstars to enjoy golf or promote it.  Today is the end of Golf and Health Week, which aimed to highlight how good golf is for our health and wellbeing and if you go to golfandhealth.org, you’ll see that it’s a lifelong thing, not just a fad or phase of the week.

Marilynn Smith, one of the founder members of the LPGA, who died earlier this month, just short of her 90th birthday, thought golf was for cissies until her parents insisted she try it when they realised that playing baseball with the boys was doing nothing but harm to her vocabulary.  She fell in love with the game and spent a lifetime promoting it and encouraging girls and women to play.  Vibrant, enthusiastic, engaging, interested and interesting, Marilynn was also a player of no little skill, with 21 wins to her name and was inducted into the World Golf Hall of Fame in 2006.

If you go to lpga.com, you’ll find Ron Sirak’s lovely tribute to Marilynn, a woman with a gift for friendship and a smile for everyone.  Just last month, at the Bank of Hope Founders Cup in Phoenix, Arizona, she and fellow co-founders Shirley Spork and Marlene Bauer Hagge were on hand to support and encourage today’s LPGA players and join in the Drive On initiative to get more girls golfing.  Indomitable. Irrepressible.  Inspirational.

 

 

 

 

Ambivalence is the name of the game for me this week.  Really, mostly, I don’t know what to think.  Or, at least, until I sat down to write, I didn’t quite know what I thought.  There was that missed tiddler by Sergio and all the hooha about what was equitable, what his opponent Matt Kuchar should or shouldn’t have done.  Of course, in normal circumstances, Kuchar would have conceded the putt but Sergio, in a fit of irritation, dragged the ball back and didn’t give him a chance.

The Spaniard, who won the Masters title two years ago, seems to have ditched most of the maturity that he displayed that April and has been behaving like a bit of an eejit so far this season.  Battering greens and bunkers in temper and behaving like a man on edge, who knows why?

Lots of people seem to think that Kuchar should have levelled things up by conceding something later on and there were scornful comments about golf and its pernickety rules and I swithered, not sure what I would have done in the circumstances.  And you know what?  I don’t think I’d have given Sergio anything apart from a shrug and some sort of semi-sympathetic grimace.  He’s a seasoned professional, a major champion playing in a big event, not a 54-handicap beginner who doesn’t know any better.  Toddler temper tantrum, loss of hole, end of story.  And none of my money on Sergio to win another green jacket.

That brings me to the much-lauded Augusta National Women’s Amateur, hailed as a breakthrough for women golfers worldwide.  The trophy is lovely, classy, as one would expect but, really, doesn’t the hype exceed the reality? In case you hadn’t heard, the event was announced by Fred Ridley, father of three daughters and newly anointed chairman of Augusta National GC, at the Masters last year.  Women to play a major event at ANGC?  Wow.  Was there a blue moon or something?   Were pigs flying?  Had hell frozen over?

More importantly, had Fred discussed it with anyone else?  Had he consulted Mike Whan, commissioner of the LPGA Tour about the clash with the ANA Inspiration, the first major championship of the year, an event that traditionally included the best women amateurs?  Had Fred, good intentions notwithstanding, really thought it through?

As it turns out, the first two rounds of the 54-hole event were at a course called Champions Retreat, with 30 players (out of 72) qualifying for the final round at Augusta National on Saturday.  In a quaint quirk, all 72 players get to play at Augusta National today (Friday).  Mmmmmm.

Nancy Lopez, Lorena Ochoa, Se Ri Pak and Annika Sorenstam, legends and good people all, are endorsing the new event and gracing it with their presence, so how can I condemn it?  Perhaps it will herald a new era for women’s golf but if I had to sum it up in one phrase it would be “crumbs from the rich man’s table”.  And one word?  Patronising.  Or, since it’s in America:  patronizing.

The winner won’t care but there’s still work to do, Fred.

And perhaps the clash will encourage the ANA Inspiration to live up to its name – and its origins as the Colgate Dinah Shore – and be inspired to up its game.  The Dinah started in 1972 at Mission Hills in Rancho Mirage, California and it blew every other event off the fairways with its (for the time) massive prize money, glamour and exposure.  It’s still at Mission Hills and has long been elevated to major status but for too long it’s traded on its reputation; its prize money has gone up but lags behind most of its fellow majors and, frankly, it now lacks glamour, exposure and inspiration.  Work to do there too.  Wonder if Fred and his cohorts, as promoters of the women’s game, could help.

Meanwhile, at the Ayla Golf Club in Aqaba, Jordan, there’s the unique Jordan Mixed Open presented by Ayla, where the Ladies European Tour, the European Challenge Tour and the Staysure Tour (European Seniors) are competing on the same course (albeit the yardages are different) at the same time.  Daan Huizing, a Challenge Tour member from the Netherlands, had a 64 in the first round to lead by one shot from the English duo of Jack Senior, another Challenge Tour man and Meghan McLaren (LET), whose father David is currently in charge of the Staysure Tour and is happy to confess that all the women in his family are better golfers than he is.

The event’s hashtag is WeShareTheSameDrive.  So, golf really is for all.

Last Friday and Saturday at Whittington Heath GC, we had great fun with some of Europe’s best long drivers competing in a round of the European Long Drive Games and showing us some amazing moves (see pics).  It was a bit cold with a bit of a breeze, so no one quite beat the 400-yard mark but there was a lot of jaw-dropping hitting, some of it accurate enough to be measured!  They brought 1000 balls with them, in a variety of colours and they were battered to blazes as the music blared out.  If you get a chance to go and watch these big hitters, take it.  It’s great fun.

 

 

 

 

We’re in a permanent state of high excitement at Whittington Heath GC these days, what with state of the art netting and diggers everywhere.  I was going to say that the full-size Tonka toys on show were giving boys big and small conniptions but then I checked the dictionary and found that the proper meaning of conniption was “fit of rage or hysteria” or even a tantrum.  Hysteria might work, I thought, then I double-checked that and, well, I won’t even go there.  Suffice to say that a lot of the boys are in seventh heaven.

Mo is trying to ban pictures of “boring” diggers from the blog, claiming that they all look the same but I fear that’s my photos not doing the diggers justice.  Once you get close to them you can see that they’re individuals, with different jobs to do, just like people….

Anyway, this weekend the excitement is of the big-hitting variety because we’re hosting a round of the European Long Drive Games, mainly because Jordan Brooks, one of our pros, is right up there with Europe’s best.  He’s been proving himself capable of holding his own with some of the biggest bombers around and thanks to his exploits, I’ve started taking an interest in a form of the game I’d previously treated with disdain.  Though, on reflection, it was probably just jealousy.  No one’s going to tremble when they see my swing speed stats and no golf manufacturer is going to be interested in me using their latest driver.  In fact, they might be persuaded to pay me not to use it.

No one quite knows what to expect on Saturday but that just adds to the drama.  There’ll be a grandstand set up in the car park and the contestants will be launching their boomers down the 1st, which, I suspect, has never seen anything quite like it in the club’s long (founded 1886) history.  The weather forecast is good, so it should be fun for everyone.  These guys don’t just drive for show, they drive for dough too.

Jordan and Martin are big men but I’d like to see Dustin Johnson, or, even better, wee Rory (who’s no titch but is far from being a giant) take them on at their own game.  The Ulsterman is one of the longest, straightest drivers on tour and doesn’t rely on his size for his power because he can’t.  He’s spent a lot of time in the gym over the last few years but it’s strength combined with flexibility, speed and timing that gives him his length (I think; Mo and her fellow pros will correct me if I’m wrong).  That’s still one of the great things about golf – different shapes and sizes can play the game well and compete against each other.  Admittedly, it looks as though bigger is better when it comes to bombing it.  See below.

On Tuesday, in our Stableford comp (non-qualifying), I played our back nine for the first time in ages and it really was a magical mystery tour, as most of the course is at the moment, with so much work going on.  Where to drop, how far back to go, how far to the side, nearest point of relief, dropping zone?  What with the new rules and all, we need a whole team of refs to keep us right.  By the way, has anyone else found that dropping from knee height means having to hop out of the way of the ball as it hops unerringly towards your foot?  Or is it just me?  What’s the correct technique?  Is there an R&A video?  They like a bit of media, so there probably is.  Must check it out.

The 13th, our shortest hole at an official 124 yards from the red tees, has always been my least favourite hole.  It’s surrounded by bunkers and I don’t have a club for it, so have to do a lot of finagling and hoping for the best.  Well, now that it’s surrounded by netting and dropping zones, I seem to have found the secret, having played it twice and finished within 15 feet of the pin both times.  It won’t last of course but I’m writing to the committee to plead for the netting to remain in place indefinitely.  What club did I hit?  Well, I wasn’t going to confess but then I thought, sod it, you’re a creaking, ageing bod with a non-event of a backswing, so who do you think you’re kidding?  I hit my 5-wood (well, an old one of Dai’s, so it might be nearly as decrepit as I am) both days.  There, I’ve admitted it officially:  my long driving days are over.