Tiger Woods, I’m told, are two words that will get your blog rushing to the top of the hit parade but it’s more than likely that you’ll get crushed in the stampede, swamped and washed away, or whatever.  Still, the man who was the indisputable world No 1 for so many years and looked as though he was certain to sweep past Jack Nicklaus’s total of 18 major championships with contemptuous ease is back in competition after an absence of 16 months and deserves at least a mention in any blog connected with golf.  So, there you have it.

The women, those female persons who have the temerity to think that golf is a game for them – no heavy lifting for a start – have, very sensibly, had a bit of a winter break and are now back in action in a serious, world-class way at the Pure Silk-Bahamas LPGA Classic at the Ocean Golf Course on Paradise Island in the Bahamas.  How idyllic does that sound to those of us looking out at grey, freezing foggy conditions?  And we’re then bombarded with pictures of sun, sea that runs through a whole pallet of blues and greens and, of course, sand.  Oh, and players in shorts and no sleeves hitting wonderful shots to pristine greens.  Though Brittany Lincicome, the early leader, who had a 9-under par 64, wore long sleeves in what looked like breezy conditions and would have got a nod of approval from my dog-walking dermatologist.

Ariya Jutanugarn, the world No 2 from Thailand, is the highest ranked player in the absence of world No 1 Lydia Ko and she, Lexi Thompson and Brooke Henderson are worth crossing oceans to watch.  Stephanie Meadow, the Northern Irishwoman who played for the University of Alabama, finished third in the US Women’s Open at Pinehurst on her professional debut and represented Ireland at the Olympics in Rio, is not in that league yet but she’s been enjoying her time in the Bahamas.  She tweeted that she’d been accosted, in the nicest possible way, by a couple of Canadians, snow birds following the sun, who mistook her for Henderson.  The Ulster and Canadian accents are not dissimilar, just listen carefully to the vowel sounds!

It’s a Solheim Cup year – hooray – so even the eligible players who say that they’re not thinking ahead to Des Moines in Iowa in August (18-20) know that they are.  It’s where any player with a competitive bone in her body (i.e. all of them), wants to be and Annika Sorenstam, Europe’s captain and Juli Inkster, captain of the United States, are on the case.  Inkster, who was in charge when the USA won in Germany two years ago, is playing in the Bahamas and Annika, whose captain’s blog (beam me up) is already on its sixth edition, has been getting her Florida-based Euros together at Lake Nona.  They’ve been laughing, chatting, admiring rings (Suzann Pettersen got married earlier this month and Pernilla Lindberg is engaged – congratulations to them both, wishing them every happiness), eating paella cooked by vice-captain Marta Figueras-Dotti and playing games, golf games, that are fun but have a serious competitive edge.

Annika is a numbers nerd and a meticulous monitor of the minutiae and if she can cope with the less obsessive, more freewheeling members of her team and keep them happy too, Europe should give the Americans a real fright in their heartland.  Whether the visitors can win away in the USA for only the second time depends on things that go beyond the most detailed preparations.  Germany two years ago is a classic example of things spiralling off in an unanticipated direction and requiring cool, clear-headed thinking in a swirling, bubbling, competitive cauldron.  What’s the old saw?  Heart in the oven, head in the fridge?  Even so, as a captain, I’d take everything that’s thrown my way in exchange for 12 players playing well and putting like Bobby Locke (younger readers, if there are any, should look him up but rest assured the man could hole putts when it mattered).   Bring it on!

By the way, Tiger hit a tree with his opening drive at Torrey Pines but we’re eight hours behind California (though who knows, that may change now that Donald is president and whizzing through his “to do” list) so I didn’t stay up to see how he finished and it could have been anything.  It’s sport after all and the only predictable thing is its unpredictability.  Hull City 2 Man Utd 1 anyone?  Or Liverpool 0 Southampton 1.  Or Liverpool 2 Swansea 3.

P.S.  If Rory wants to persuade Tiger to pitch up at the DDF Irish Open at Portstewart in July (6-9), he can assure the great man that there are no trees on one of the world’s best links courses and when you stand on the first tee, arguably the most scenic anywhere, there isn’t a tree to be seen.  Mind you, there is a beach, made famous by the Game of Thrones and it is, I believe, out of bounds.

It’s not easy writing about two legends – and the word is not used lightly – at once.  In fact, it’s quite intimidating, not least because reading about their exploits and achievements makes you – well, me – feel totally inadequate and think, “what on earth have I been doing (or not doing) all these years?  Blimey O’Reilly, how did they do it?”

John Jacobs and Rachael (that ‘a’ in the middle is a blooming nuisance) Heyhoe Flint are the legends in question and they’ve died within a week of each other, at the age of 91 and 77 respectively.  John, a towering figure in the world of golf (no exaggeration), did not make the front pages but Rachael, a whirlwind of a Wulfrunian from Wolverhampton, was on the front page of The Times and The Daily Telegraph, for whom she wrote for many years.

This is an appreciation, not an obituary and I would urge you to learn all you can about both these remarkable, inspirational people.  Rachael’s autobiography Heyhoe! was published in 1978, featured a foreword by Eric Morecambe, of Morecambe and Wise and millions of viewers, and is candid and entertaining in equal measure.  There’s a lovely, loving tribute on the Wolves website, not a natural port of call for a Spurs supporter, where they talk fondly of being Rachaelised, essentially corralled and railroaded, in the nicest possible way, into doing something for the club or the community.  Her memorial service will be at Molineux, where, thanks to Rachael, Maureen and I took Dad, a Sunderland supporter, on two occasions.  The first time Sunderland were 3-0 down in about 15 minutes; the second time, they equalised very late on, with Dad frozen in mid-cheer, waiting, with a fatalism born of years of disappointment, for the ref to disallow the goal; he didn’t!

It was as a pioneer of women’s cricket that Rachael really made her name, with the help and support of fellow Wolves and cricket fanatic Jack Hayward but she also played hockey for England, taught, coached, wrote, broadcast, spoke, promoted, persuaded, hustled, laughed, loved, bossed, charmed, exasperated and changed the unchangeable.  She always denied that she was a feminist but just by being herself, a formidable, competitive, forceful, funny woman who always asked, didn’t take no for an answer and had the unswerving support of her husband, family and friends, she advanced the cause of women.  “Girls don’t play cricket,” she was told early on.  They do now and Rachael helped persuade the MCC to admit women as full members (long before the R&A saw sense) and she eventually moved from the Long Room at Lord’s to the House of Lords, as Baroness Heyhoe Flint of Wolverhampton.

All that explains why a friend of mine recalled that by far the proudest moment of her sporting career was  scoring a goal against Rachael, a one-time England goalie, who played against Scotland at Wembley in front of 60-odd thousand screaming schoolgirls.  There were about 60,000 fewer people at Tettenhall watching Tamworth Cricket and Hockey Club beat the home side in an (alleged) friendly one Sunday and it was Chris Allsop ( she won’t mind the name check), now a golfer at Whittington Heath, who scored the winner.

Most of the obits don’t mention golf but a lot of the tributes on Facebook are from golfers because Rachael not only played for South Staffs but also promoted a women’s European Tour event at Patshull Park for several years.

Jacobs, another strong, forceful character, who excelled at shooting and fishing as well as golf and was a cricket buff to boot, was a Yorkshireman who grew up at Lindrick, where his father Bob  was the professional and his mother Vivien the stewardess.  Bob, who was born in Brancaster and was assistant at Royal West Norfolk, was in the trenches in World War I and committed suicide when John was nine.  John’s cousin Jack succeeded his uncle and was Lindrick’s professional for more than 50 years.

The golfing pedigree was impeccable and John became a handy golfer, with golf taking precedence over homework.  One early school report was littered with comments like “lacks effort and interest; most disappointing; wastes time; needs to work much harder.  Conduct:  unsatisfactory.”  His mother signed off the report with the warning:  “Never bring home another report with ‘conduct unsatisfactory’ in it.”  He never did.

John was good enough to play in a Ryder Cup and was captain twice but it was as a teacher that he was to excel, becoming known as “Doctor Golf”.   For many years, there was hardly a decent golfer, amateur or professional, who had not been counselled and helped by Jacobs.  He set the standard for teaching all over Europe and in America, developed a successful golf school business and was also instrumental in the founding of the PGA European Tour.  That was a process not without its intrigue, in-fighting and acrimony and is documented in graphic detail in Laddie Lucas’ illuminating book John Jacobs’ Impact On Golf, The Man and his Methods.

The preface to the book was written by Peter Dobereiner, a golf writer par excellence, once of The Guardian, The Observer, Golf World, Golf Digest.  He wrote of John:  “He does not teach a system; he teaches people.  He assesses a pupil’s potential, decides which areas to leave well alone and concentrates on parts of the swing which will yield major improvements…..His method is pragmatic and individual……..

“Even if he had not been the greatest teacher of his era or the father of European tournament golf I would still have admired and liked him for one reason.  He is an enthusiast, a real golf person.  For my money, enthusiasm washes away all sins…..”

Jacobs and Heyhoe Flint, enthusiasts both and quite remarkable.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve always loved North Berwick and its old-fashioned, proper golf course with its walls, views of the Bass Rock, a par 3 called the Redan and the bewildering 16th green with what the club’s website calls a “gully” in the middle; it’s a veritable rollercoaster really.  Of course, I’m completely biased because I played some of my best golf there in the junior home internationals and shared some memorable moments with people who are friends to this day.  I think I nearly fell in love that week but was too gauche to realise it let alone make any sort of decisive move.  In my defence it was a long time ago (1971) and I thought that blue mascara was the height of daring raciness – I had a very sheltered upbringing and was unbelievably slow on the uptake!

Whenever the Open was at Muirfield (remember those days?), we’d play at North Berwick early in the morning, then head off to cover the championship.  Madness!  I remember playing the last at just after eight o’clock in the morning and hearing an American playing the 1st say, in awed amazement, “Gee, do you think they’ve played 18 already?”  We had indeed and I played the first few holes like a proper golfer because I was still half asleep and most of my faults were lying dormant.  Magnificent!  Those were the days.  Where has all that stamina and staying power gone?

Still, stamina, stubbornness, endless enthusiasm and sheer bloodymindedness are pretty well essential attributes for all golfers, particularly women, as you’ll discover if you read Ailsa Fortune’s fascinating book Par For The Ladies:  The Extraordinary Story Of The Women Who Golfed At North Berwick.  I thought I’d have a quick skim through it and pass it on but this is a proper book, a real social history written by a woman who specialises in such things and I’ll be sitting down and reading it properly once the pre-Christmas mayhem subsides and the wrapping paper is cleared away for another year.

The photographs are brilliant and so are the names.  For many years North Berwick was the haunt of the rich, the  famous and the regal and was known as the Biarritz of the North.  You’ll learn about Mary Constance Nisbet Hamilton; the Gillies Smith sisters; the Hamilton-Dalrymples; Blanche Anderson; the Hon Miriam Pease; Dorothy Campbell; Catriona Matthew (nee Lambert); Elsie Grant-Suttie and many more.  The battle of the sexes features too, of course, although, as ever, men can be feminists too.  Not all male golfers have to ask advice on how to cope with “the ladies”…..Instead they recognise fellow members of the human race (??!) and fellow enthusiasts for a mesmerising, infuriating game….

North Berwick Ladies’ Golf Club (NBLGC) has been in existence since 1888 but it wasn’t until 2013 that Ailsa began her research, prompted by Anne McCarthy, lady captain from 2012-2014, who thought that a proper written record was long overdue.  She was right and congratulations to everyone who worked so hard to make sure that this terrific book saw the light of day.  It’s published by Stanton Press and is available from them (info@stantonpress.com) or major bookstores like Waterstones.

We wish Season’s Greetings to everyone, bearing in mind that it’s a sad time for people who’ve lost loved ones this year.  Just as I was writing this I heard that Geoff Marks had died, another good man gone.  He was a stalwart of Stone, Trentham, Staffordshire, England and GB and I and respected worldwide as a golfer and a person.  Condolences to his family and friends.

 

The striking thing about Tiger Woods during his comeback in the Bahamas last week was how happy he looked.  He was positively beaming.  He exuded enjoyment and even bonhomie.  He seemed to engage with everyone around him, looking interviewers in the eye as though they were fellow members of the human race, not treating them with the ill-disguised contempt of his playing prime.

No matter how many majors you’ve won, how many records you’ve broken, how much money you’ve won, if you’ve been away from the game you love for nearly 16 months, you’re going to be ecstatic to be back.  Just playing five rounds in a row (including the pro-am) was a triumph for a man who confessed that there had been days when he couldn’t get out of bed, let alone walk, let alone hit a golf ball, let alone play a few holes, let alone compete in public.  Anyone who’s had back trouble – and they say there are two sorts of people in the world:  those with backs and those without – will empathise.  It’s scary as well as painful and debilitating.

Tiger is an ultra when it comes to training and working out, so he’ll do all the stuff needed to keep his back and the rest of his body in some sort of working order and then trust to luck that a sneeze here, a tweak there or a slip or missed step or two don’t put the kibosh on all his best efforts.  He’s in his 40s now, so there should be a lot of life left in him, his prime even, just not on the golf course.

Tiger had a golfing prime like few others and he’s not going to get that back but as an ever-formidable competitor, he’ll doubtless be coming back cleverer, cannier, hungrier (in a different way) and even more determined to show that he can still win against the best.  It should be fun to watch, especially if he keeps smiling.

Rory McIlroy, who watched the event on telly, said, “The excitement levels are huge any time Tiger tees it up and he looked comfortable, he looked happy, which I thought was the most interesting thing.  He looked happy to be out there, which we probably haven’t seen in a while.

“Any time we saw him on a golf course in the last couple of years he had the furrowed brow and he’s been so concentrated.  But he looked happy so obviously that tells you he has been away and he has come back out happy and he is in a better place.”

Rory was talking to Brian Keogh (see the ever-informative irishgolfdesk.com) in Dublin after winning Sportsperson of the Year at the Excellence in Sport Awards in aid of the Irish Youth Foundation.  Padraig Harrington, ever positive and generous, was also impressed with what he saw of Woods:  “Before last week I wasn’t sure if he’d ever win a major again.  I think he will now.  There were a lot of good signs…….It’s exceptionally good for golf that he’s back.  It’s incredibly big for the game.”

Not quite as big but very important from a European point of view and huge for the man himself was the announcement of Thomas Bjorn as Europe’s Ryder Cup captain for the match in Paris in 2018.  The Dane played in three matches (all won) and has been a vice-captain four times (only one defeat, at Hazeltine last year), so he knows what it’s all about.  He made his debut under Seve Ballesteros at Valderrama, winning his second day fourball with Ian Woosnam against Justin Leonard, the Open champion and Brad Faxon.

Leonard had had five birdies and an eagle in that defeat and he continued in the same vein when he set off in the singles – against Bjorn.  Four down after four, the Dane was counselled to relax by his peripatetic (and very unrelaxed and unrelaxing) captain.  “I AM RELAXED,” Bjorn bellowed from the depths of his soul.  Seve retreated and his rookie managed a very valuable half point (although he lost the last when his captain reappeared).

Bonne chance en France, Thomas.