There’s no golf on the agenda for the blog this week, except on the telly and I wasn’t even going to mention Bryson, Rory and the US Open but how can I not? Hadn’t I schlepped round Pinehurst No 2 in the heat and the dust, getting goosebumps at the chants of “Rory, Rory” as he pulled away and Bryson wobbled, then watching in horror as it all went horribly wrong at the end. Except for Bryson.
I was gutted. Then I was very, very disappointed when I learned that Rory had rushed off the way he did. A usually classy person behaving in a way that lacked class. Somebody mentioned that Lewis Hamilton, when he was pipped to the title by Max Verstappen in decidedly dubious circumstances and was heading for the hills, was stopped by his Dad, who said: “You’re going to shake Max’s hand, look him in the eye and say ‘well done’; then you’re going to shake his Dad’s hand; then you’re going to do the press stuff; and then you can leave…”
Too late now. In that hideous phrase, “It is what it is.” Or should that be, “It is what it was.” Whatever, it’s still one of the (sporting) world’s most irritating sayings and I hate it. Yuk.
As for Rory’s golf, it seems to me, no expert that I am, that there’s very little wrong with it, no need for root and branch reform. However, I’m resigning myself to him not overtaking Harry Vardon as the European man with the most majors – a person needs to get to eight for that and to get to six to equal Sir Nicholas Alexander Faldo’s more recent tally.
Well, at least one Holywood golfer had a lovely day on Sunday. Tom McKibbin, a lanky lad following in Rory’s footsteps, birdied the last hole last Friday to make the cut and in the last round he was paired with Scottie Scheffler, the world No 1. Ace. A dream draw. They both finished with a 72, two over par and shared 41st place with Frankie Capan III, Harris English, Jordan Spieth, Tim Widing, Emiliano Grillo, Billy Herschel and Luke Clanton, an amateur, on 288, eight over.
Tom and Scottie approaching the 16th green. Hope Dave Cannon or somebody else decent got some better pics for the McKibbin album.
I can’t resist sharing four more photos from Pinehurst, from the 14th green, even though they’re not very good – about up to my usual standard – because they encapsulate just how devilish and mind-boggling the greens are and, of course, no one does frustration and gobsmacked amazement quite like Tyrrell. I miss him.
Pic one is to give some idea of the slopes around the green as Tyrrell, in the dark outfit, surveys the contours on the green.
Pic two, left arm out in astonishment, how can that be?
Pic three, right arm right out, giving it the full Shakespearean.
Pic four, flag back in, hole done, very glad I was far enough away not to hear a single word.
Sorry they’re not the best photos but it’ll give you some idea and you don’t really need words when Tyrrell ‘Mad Hatter’ Hatton is about. He’s with the LIV lot now and I believe they’re just next door to North Carolina this week, in Nashville, Tennessee. Saturday is sold out apparently but at the time of writing you could still get a grounds pass for Friday at $54.14 (not sure what the total is with taxes and so on). Club 54, which seems to be unlimited eating and drinking by the 18th green, is $675.40 (including service fee of 37.59), plus sales tax of 65.85. It’s an expensive place these days, America.
And I still think LIV should set a proper example and pay us spectators to turn up and make the show.
I was going to have a rant about the USGA’s ludicrous bag policy – the beyond idiotic 6 inches x 6 inches x 6 inches. For a day’s golf watching? You’ve got to be kidding. I know a lot of organisations and tournaments take their lead from Augusta National but sometimes sense should prevail and this mini bag thing should be laughed off the course. If your bag is see-through (made of the sort of stuff that melts in the heat, sticks to your skin, gives off who knows what noxious chemical odours and costs an outrageous amount of money), you’re permitted a few more inches. No one searched the non see-through bags, presumably because the scanning machines are now so good that it’s not necessary. So why bother about the size?
Sun lotion, sunglasses, reading glasses, water bottles (empty to enter), hat, binoculars, money, who has enough dexterity and hands to juggle that little lot. And that’s just for starters. Where do you put your food, including your $2 banana? (Don’t tempt me.) And what if you wanted a drink – though a wee beer at $11 didn’t appeal and a big lemonade in one of those squidgy plastic cups was a tricky prospect. And if you could cope with all that and your folding chair (permitted), you were in line for the Cirque du Soleil.
Ah well, perhaps I’ll leave my rant for another day!
I brought my Open rucksack (permitted at St Andrews but not at Pinehurst) and had to borrow the wee burgundy bag from Mo until I splashed out on the clear thing from Dick’s Sporting Goods. Hey, ho, we non-minimalists need all the help we can get.
Brian, Mo and I headed for the North Carolina coast after Pinehurst and made the journey without too many alarms despite nearly getting arrested for trying to enter Fort Liberty (formerly Bragg) in search of coffee. Sat nav’s fault and we decided we’d better approach the heavily-guarded barrier rather than do a U-turn. Driving licence examined, stern, scarily-armed stares delivered, we were directed back whence we came.
You’ll understand why there are no photographs of the incident.
But here are a few to show that we did eventually reach the coast unscathed.
Bliss, a craft brewery in Beaufort.
And, finally, to prove that I waded in to the warm Atlantic in my aged Lands’ End bathing suit and to encourage me to fight the flab on my return home – Aer Lingus pilots’ strike permitting – and, above all, to make everybody else feel better…
The perils of the ocean…
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