Nearly….almost……if only…..not quite.

All words and phrases you never want to hear or employ in most contexts never mind a sporting one.  Unfortunately, they all came into their own for Rory fans during a gut-churning, stomach-sickening, inward nine over the Old Course last Sunday at the 150th Open.  And the weekend had started so well…….

Saturday dawned in our household with eyes firmly fixed on the other side of the world and the third match in the series between the All Blacks and Ireland.  The former had won the opening game but Ireland had squared the series and it was now all to play for in the decider.  Amidst much whooping and hollering the boys in green triumphed in an epic struggle against the mighty New Zealanders.

It’s a rare occurrence in this life if you can ever be the first to achieve something and this was the first time Ireland had ever won a test in New Zealand, let alone a series.  To beat the All Blacks in a series on their home turf is an achievement of such staggering, gigantic proportions that it’s only been done a handful of times and this win has elevated the team from the Emerald Isle to the No 1 spot in the world.

Meanwhile, in St Andrews that morning, Rory was watching and, as he admitted, feeling a little “emotional”.

He would start each day by looking out of his hotel window across the 1st and 18th fairways of the Old Course and visualising his name at the top of that giant, iconic, yellow Open scoreboard.  And if he needed any further inspiration to step out and remain there his beloved rugby team had just provided it.  Rory duly obliged that Saturday with a 66, matching the talented Norwegian Viktor Hovland, the pair opening up a four-shot lead over the Camerons, Young and Smith.  It was all going so well at this point.

Now, much is made of the difficulties and pressures of the late starts for the weekend leaders at majors.  Spare a thought for the fans too.  For us, it seemed an eternity until the names of Hovland and McIlroy were announced on the 1st tee at 14.50 – an interminable number of hours of build-up of nervous energy, of hope that the eight-year major drought was about to come to an end.  Always lurking, however, is the understanding that this is golf, this is sport and anything can, and frequently does, happen.

A friend and fellow Rory fan in Ireland watched the first couple of holes, then couldn’t take it any more, put the broadcast on to record and went out to cut the grass.  Somehow, watching on a delay of an hour or so and knowing that what she was seeing had already happened, was the only way she could watch.

As for Patricia and me, we were also a bag of nerves and when I said to her, “how soon can we have a drink?” the response was instant.  “Now,” she said.  I looked at my watch.  It was 3.20pm.

And so we agonised through the afternoon, willing on a becalmed McIlroy who had misplaced the match needed to light the blue touchpaper and reluctantly saluting the flawless play of Cam Smith.  Being the hunter for the first two thirds of that final round enabled Smith’s devastating burst of five birdies with which he started the back nine.  Much easier having ground to make up than sitting with the lead when still a long way from the finishing line.  Ah, the elusive psychology of the game – winning an Open is about so much than driving, iron play, chipping and putting.

Smith was faultless in that final round and Rory couldn’t get going but spare a thought for Cameron Young who, playing in his first Open, shot a final round 65 when in contention and still didn’t win.  A non-golfing pal summed it up:   “Cameron with the horrid hairstyle deserved to win.”

So, in the end we have Cam Smith as Champion Golfer of the Year.  How worthy he will be of that title remains to be seen if we are to believe the rumours of his departure to join the LIV Golf series.  Is he prepared to embrace the inherent responsibilities that go with being the Champion Golfer or will he ride off into the Saudi sunset for endless saddlebags of cash?

Off the course the professional game is in turmoil and the latest rumours indicate an increasing interest from the Saudis in buying the LPGA (Ladies’ Professional Golf Association).  That, my friends, may well herald the end of my interest and love for the professional end of our sport and hasten the decimation of the majority of our subject matter for this little blog.

After all, there are only so many times I can allow Patricia to post pictures of herself and other old guys and dolls playing Whittington Heath!

It’s a mere 320 miles from my home to the Royal and Ancient clubhouse at St Andrews and the first tee of the Old Course where the 150th Open Championship is taking place.  At times, however, over the last eight months it has seemed an impossible trip for me to consider undertaking because of Covid and subsequent triggered issues.  I have, however, just returned from a magical, almost 48 hours in the home of golf, all the while revelling in day-long sunshine and brisk westerly breezes.

Big sis Patricia was the driver on this little road trip which started in the best possible way with an overnight stay with old pals just outside Edinburgh.  Fuelled with good food, good wine and the warmth of great company we arrived in the ould grey toon at around 1100 on the Tuesday morning and the familiar sights and sounds of an Open instantly assailed our senses.  There were new sights, too, with the serried ranks of hundreds of tents a pitching wedge (oh, OK, maybe a decent drive for me) away from the famous Road Hole.  This is a relatively recent initiative and it provides welcome, affordable, accommodation for an assortment of workers at the championship, as well as for legions of golf fans.

One thing I do miss at a modern Open is the clatter of studded golf shoes on thousands of feet as the owners make their way along pavements and roads to watch their heroes in the gladiatorial arena.  The advent of soft spikes means we are now more akin to the slightly sneaky electric cars that noiselessly usher the players from point A to point B and to the buggies that silently deliver greenkeepers and rules officials to various parts of the golf course.  I do miss that particular background music that accompanied the Opens of my earlier days.

The first port of call was the media centre to collect accreditation badges and to reacquaint myself with my SiriusXM colleagues whom I haven’t seen in the flesh for three years.  And then it was straight into the broadcast booth with Taylor Zarzour for a forty-minute slot on his show.  Ah, it was good to be back and if the buzz of an Open at St Andrews doesn’t excite you, you must be lacking a pulse.

Making our way out to the huge shop in the tented village threw up some lovely chance meetings for Patricia and me, firstly with former BBC colleagues Ken Brown and Andrew Cotter.  Cotter’s canine co-stars Olive and Mabel had failed to score any tickets in the ballot and were not present, so it wasn’t long before we were reminiscing about days in the commentary box with the great Peter Alliss.  Everyone has a story to tell and there would be more of that, along with a few moist eyes, at the service to celebrate Peter’s life.

Shortly afterwards we bumped into PGA captain Sarah Bennett, whose insanely busy schedule had resulted in her going to The Shop the very second it opened for business last Sunday.  Give a busy person something to do and they’ll do it quickly.  Sarah’s gift buying was at lightning speed and as the credit card machines whirred into action she was informed she had made the very first purchases of the entire Open week!  That’s leading by example.

That evening was the AGW (Association of Golf Writers) dinner and amongst the revered print journos and assorted media types was newly-minted and published author Gordon Moir.  Gordon held the post of Director of Greenkeeping at St Andrews from 2000 until his retirement at the end of 2018 but he’s been busy in the interim and this book is the result.  Well worth a read, it is full of the trials and tribulations, as well as the privileges, of being the man in charge of the most famous tract of golfing landscape in the world.

Gordon is steeped in all things golf and has an abiding love for the Old Course.  Preparing for an Open is a real team effort so, despite his retirement status, he told me he had volunteered to join the team of bunker rakers accompanying the players over the first two days.  No lazing back in an armchair for Gordon!

This particular dinner is always a wonderful opportunity to catch up and spend a little time with friends and colleagues in the midst of a relentlessly busy and pressurised week for everyone.  As my late brother-in-law Dai Davies, golf correspondent of The Guardian, used to say,  “The majors aren’t just majors for the players, you know.”

My second (and final) day at this year’s Open began with two delightful meetings with a couple of old friends.  The first was with a pal from uni days in St Andrews, who is now a resident in the golfing mecca and the second was with a fellow golfer and friend from junior golf times in Ireland.  In other words I’ve known each of them for more than 47 years. Hang on, I’ve just re-read that previous sentence and I may need to go and have a lie down…

The emotional focal point of the afternoon, however, was the service of thanksgiving for Peter Alliss, aka “The Voice of Golf”.  The university’s Younger Hall was crammed with famous folk, all keen to pay their respects to Peter and all with their own favourite tales of time spent in his company.

As I was sitting waiting for proceedings to start I realised that the last time I had been in that hall was as an undergraduate sitting an English exam.  I seem to recall there was an obligatory essay question on the poet William Blake, about whom I knew absolutely nothing.  The night before the exam I did some cramming and from this vast subject selected six things to learn about Blake.  No matter the question on the exam paper nor how it was couched those six facts were going to be my answer.  Somehow I was going to have to wrestle my scant knowledge into a framework that would appear to be relevant.  When we were told we could turn over our papers I immediately scanned down to the essay question on Blake.  Rapture and joy!  I couldn’t have set a better question myself.

The luck of the Irish was certainly with me then as indeed it was when I got the opportunity to work alongside Peter and get to know him and his wife Jackie.  The service was peppered with tributes from some of the most eloquent speakers you could ever wish to hear.  Some were present, some tributes were taped but in them all humour shone through and the result was an uplifting experience for those present.

A great day was rounded off with dinner and drinks with three more great pals and my almost 48 hours in St Andrews were drawing to a close.  On Thursday morning, the opening day of the 150th Open, Patricia and I sped out of the town at 0600 for the trek back to Cheshire and I realised that this, my 30th Open, was the only one during which I hadn’t set a single toe on the golf course.  Somehow it didn’t seem to matter – I had survived the test of a hectic four days (journey time included).

We arrived back in time to see Rory open with a 66 but settling down and relaxing was not an option until this blog was penned.  Now that’s done and dusted, there are only a couple of items left on the list:-

Got the TV remote?  Check.  Glass of red?  Check.

And breathe…..