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.

 

 

 

 

I wasn’t going to mention the Masters this week but that proved a ridiculous notion, given that I’m writing this with the radio on (European football chat at the moment) and the telly turned to face the writing table while I screech, “Relax Rory, relax….”  Then he holes a putt to go 1 under (after being 2 over) and I roar as though Spurs have won the European Cup (or Champions League as it’s misnamed now) – and it’s only the first round.  Relax Rory, relax.  Keep calm, dear, it’s only the Masters.

In my heart I fear that Rory will never win the Masters (think Sam Snead or Phil Mickelson with the US Open, Arnold Palmer and Tom Watson with the PGA and any number of other examples of players who could’ve, probably should’ve won the championship dearest to their heart).  I hope I’m wrong – my predictions usually are – but Augusta National is a very swirly place, with movement everywhere, in the trees, on the greens and in the crowd and it’s hard to keep the mind still.

The spectators (or patrons), controlled though they are, may not run but they’re always moving and there’s always a buzz; it’s not an arena for the faint-hearted or the rabbit-eared.  Colin Montgomerie,  who could hear a pimento cheese sandwich (which clogs the teeth) being chomped at 1,000 paces, never quite adapted.  One year, when in his pomp, he was playing behind Arnie, who had left his playing pomp far behind but still commanded a fair number of troops who followed his every move, oblivious to anyone else.

At the 5th, Monty was surveying his third shot, from the right-hand side of the green, maybe pin high but awkward, as most chips are at Augusta, when he stepped back, hands on hips and glared towards the (distant) 6th tee.  Arnie’s group had hit their tee shots and the Army had set off down the hill towards the green.  They were at least 50 yards, probably more, from where Monty was standing, affronted, glowering at the unsuspecting retreating backs.  Whatever the opposite of Zen is (Apoplectic?), that was Monty.

That might have been the year that the Scot, Europe’s perennial No 1, came off the 18th, signed his card and was escorted to talk to the watch-checking, deadline-dreading scribes clutching their notebooks and tape recorders in an area penned off (behind one strand of rope) for the purpose of a quick quote or two.  Monty had finished over par, been a bit unlucky here and there (he thought) and generally suffered the frustrations that are a speciality of the course.  He was happy to speak, as he usually was (even when he shouldn’t have opened his mouth, thank goodness) and eventually he said, with the familiar echo, “What more can I do?  What more can I do?”

There was silence but reckoning that the interview was more or less over, I made sure that it was well and truly terminated by answering, “Deep breathing?”

I was a few yards away, safely out of reach and had the sense to keep my head buried in my notebook as Monty stomped off.  Just as well.  Apparently I wouldn’t have survived the murderous look he gave me.  (And some of my colleagues, who hadn’t quite finished their questioning, weren’t too happy either.)

In my defence, the question wasn’t really facetious, it was more or less serious.  Because that’s what Augusta requires:  a lot of deep breathing.

To win at Augusta, your game has to be in good shape, you have to hole more than your fair share of heart-stopping putts in the three to six foot range and, crucially, your head has to be in the right place.  There’s no let up.  It tests every last ounce of your skill and nerve.  Every shot.  Every putt.  Every hole.  Every round.  No wonder green jacket almost rhymes with plum knackered.

One person who’s probably still wondering what all the fuss is about is Jennifer Kupcho, of Colorado and Wake Forest (Arnold Palmer’s alma mater), who won the first Augusta National Women’s Amateur by playing the last six holes in five under par for a round of 67.  The world’s No 1 amateur started her winning charge with a stunning eagle three at the 13th and the golf she and Maria Fassi, of Mexico and the University of Arkansas, played lit up an event that is a bit of a misnomer but should get better.  Only the last of the three rounds was played at Augusta National and it clashed with the women’s ANA Inspiration, the first major championship of the season, at Mission Hills in California.

That event was won by Jin Young Ko, of South Korea, who’s now world No 1 in the Rolex Rankings.  It was her first major title but Dave Brooker, her caddie, an Englishman who can now be called a veteran, was celebrating his third victory in this particular desert.  He won the title with Grace Park in 2004 and Lorena Ochoa in 2008.  Many congrats Dave.

Congrats also to Ireland’s Leona Maguire, who had her first win as a professional and to Daan Huizing of the Netherlands, who registered another first when he won the inaugural Jordan Mixed Open presented by Ayla (featuring players from the Challenge Tour, the Ladies European Tour and the Staysure Seniors Tour).  He finished two shots ahead of Englishwoman Meghan McLaren, who led by five shots at one stage but was pegged back and ended up disappointed.  “It was still an honour to be here and represent women’s golf,” she said.  “It was pretty tight coming down the last few holes, so I think it was great entertainment for everybody watching.”

Congrats to everyone involved in an event that shows golf really is for all.

 

 

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.