I’m a bit annoyed – well, much more than annoyed but I’m trying hard to moderate my language and reduce the number of swear words used per sentence, especially in the blog.  There’s a tournament this week at The Belfry, not too far down the road from here and it’s really frustrating not to be able to go – we’re not out of the COVID woods yet, so golf in this neck of the woods is still off limits to spectators.

The Betfred British Masters hosted by Danny Willett, in support of Prostate Cancer UK, which started on Wednesday, is one of those events that would be worth watching.  Willett, the Masters champion from Sheffield, is playing; Martin Kaymer, the US PGA and Open champion from  Dusseldorf, who has lost his way, was there for 36 holes; and the talented young Scots Calum Hill and Robert MacIntyre are sharing the halfway lead with Englishman Richard Bland, who is 48 years old, playing in his 478th European Tour event and eyeing up the over-50s tour.

“It would mean everything [to win], especially at my age,” Bland said. “The chances are probably going to come fewer and farther between – that’s not being negative, that’s just being pretty realistic.  I’m going to try and go out there and not think about it too much.  The old cliche, just one shot at a time as best I can.”

The Brabazon course, scene of four compelling Ryder Cups, is still proving a proper test for some of the best, even in these days of smash and gouge. The three leaders are only 7 under par so far and Bland was understandably delighted to have played two days without a bogey.  “That’s extra special,” he said.  “It doesn’t happen very often, especially round here where there are four or five holes that can really catch you out.

“You really have to stand up and hit a proper golf shot even just to make par, so I’m really happy with the way I’ve played.  I think I’ve only missed four fairways in two rounds and they were not by a lot, so my greens in regulation stats are pretty high as well.”

Good to see that a place that started out as a load of old potato fields and was probably too immature a course to deserve its first Ryder Cup or two has matured beautifully and proved a proper test of nerve and shot-making.  It’s a great venue and is full of memories – such laughs with Helen and Colm Smith, who always stayed with us; having an open house for our AGW colleagues, friends and neighbours – there were some memorable encounters and robust exchanges of views; the brother-in-law with me shaking the St Giles Hospice collecting tins on the temporary bridge connecting the car parks with the course (not sure we were quite legal but we did well); great times.

The Sky guys were reminiscing about it all and reminding Ken Brown, who was out on the course, of some of his finest moments.  Ken had a slightly dodgy start to his Ryder Cup career but he won two out of four points, including his singles against the formidable Raymond Floyd, in the near-miss at PGA National in Florida in 1983.  That’s when the incomparable Seve told his downcast teammates that they’d as good as won (it was 14 1/2 – 13 1/2 to the USA and Jack Nicklaus, the US captain, kissed the turf in relief).

“Next time, we beat them,” Seve said, only beat started with an F and ended with a K, with two asterisks in between….

He was right.  Back at the Belfry in 1985 it was Europe 16 1/2 – USA 11 1/2 and in the foursomes on the second afternoon, Ken and Bernhard Langer beat Ray Floyd and Lanny Wadkins, two of the toughest, most dogged competitors ever, by 3 and 2.

It’s ten years since Seve died, far, far too young but he was a force of nature and none of us who met him and knew him will ever forget him.  Dave’s book is a wonderful tribute and brings to life Seve’s charisma, charm and sheer brilliance.  He wasn’t perfect, on or off the course but….

There are lots of Walker Cuppers who go on to become Ryder Cuppers and no doubt there’ll be a few of this year’s stars at Seminole who train on to even greater things as professionals.  I wanted Maureen to get us a game there with Gerry McIlroy, Rory’s father, who’s a member but it didn’t take too long looking at those fearsome greens and bunkers to disabuse us both of that notion.  We’re old enough and wise enough to know when we’re beaten….

It’s a bit harsh to call GB and I’s valiant effort a BBU (brave but unavailing) because both teams did wonderfully well to play such good golf in difficult circumstances – following the pandemic protocols, then having to cope with a nasty gastrointestinal bug that floored almost everyone, then taking on Seminole in a weakened state (the players not the course)…..They were all heroes.

There’s usually nothing remotely heroic about my golf but on Tuesday we were a couple of holes from home when the heavens opened and there was thunder, lightning, hail and torrential rain.  Aaaaagh.  What to do?  What exactly is the correct procedure?  Do we leave the clubs and dive in to the nearest bunker?  Or just trundle in to the clubhouse with all our gear?   After all, most brollies are fibreglass now, aren’t they?

As it happened, we were not far from the greenkeepers’ shed (bigger and posher, so perhaps just a structure), so we legged it to shelter and waited until the weather had calmed down a bit.  Two of us had half decent scores so we finished out on the 17th and played the last with the rain tipping down…….Madness.

 

 

 

 

 

Dreams will come true this weekend at Seminole Golf Club in Florida where the 48th Walker Cup is being played.  You can be sure that the twenty players teeing it up and representing their respective countries will have snuggled into bed thousands of times during their adolescent years with thoughts of this moment on their minds.  And now it’s about to happen for the first time for sixteen of those twenty young men.  There are three returning members for the United States team and one for the Great Britain and Ireland side, Alex Fitzpatrick, younger brother of Walker and Ryder Cup player Matt.

In case you’re wondering, the Walker Cup, the pinnacle of men’s amateur golf, is a biennial match between teams of ten players from the States and Great Britain and Ireland.  It’s a bit of a throwback in that it is only a two-day match with foursomes and singles each day, no fourballs in sight.  In the modern era players tend to move quickly on to the paid ranks and so it’s rare to have a player making his third appearance in the match, as is happening this year for America’s Stewart Hagestad.  Long gone are the days when Ireland’s Joe Carr and America’s Jay Sigel played on ten and nine sides respectively.

This, however, is a Walker Cup with a difference and no amount of dreaming or daydreaming as youngsters could have conjured up the realities of this (hopefully) post-pandemic match.  Attendance at the venue is severely restricted with a Covid testing system in place in the lead up to, and for the duration of, the match.  Testing will continue after the event for all those based in, and returning to, Great Britain and Ireland.  It’s a logistical challenge which has resulted in fewer than 1850 people allowed on site each day – and that includes teams, captains, media, members of Seminole, past players, USGA and R&A officials, as well as all the outdoor and indoor course and clubhouse staff.  Alas, to my knowledge, there is no room for Mums, Dads, siblings, proud families, coaches, trainers and the myriad support networks of the players who have climbed this particular Everest.  With no dispensation allowing for travel from these shores to the States, it must be heartbreaking to be unable to attend the proudest moment of your son’s golfing career to date.

That is the lot of Eileen Rose and Eddie Power, parents of Kilkenny’s Mark Power.  Both Mum and Dad know what it takes to be a golf champion, having won three Irish titles apiece and Eileen Rose played in the Curtis Cup (the women’s equivalent of the Walker Cup) back in the early 1990s.  It looks as though they’ll have to be glued to the telly this weekend rather than following their son round the iconic Seminole golf course.  I know I’d have been devastated if my Mum and Dad had not been able to attend the Curtis Cup I played in – they were so pivotal to everything I achieved and they walked every step of the way with me, metaphorically, if not physically.  It’s all too easy to overlook the decades of effort parents put in to their children and their chosen sports and hobbies.  Whatever the outcome, what a proud moment it is for the whole family and for the families of all the players.

The Americans are overwhelming favourites this year, with all but one of their number inside the top seventeen of the world rankings and, of course, they have home advantage.  Also, their captain, Nathaniel Crosby is a member of Seminole and well acquainted with its demanding traits and subtleties.  The US players  have also played much more competitive golf than some of our players during lockdown.  Our American-based players didn’t fare too badly but the last fourteen months have been tough going for those based on this side of the Atlantic.

Remember, though, this is matchplay golf over two days and anything can happen.  The matches may appear unbalanced on paper but let’s wait and see – and fingers crossed there are no Covid hiccoughs to disrupt the week of a lifetime for these young men.

Many of today’s top ranked players have a Walker Cup cap tucked away in their treasure chest of prized possessions.  Back in 1997 when Justin Rose played in the match as a 17 year old he was, at the time, the youngest player to do so.  Despite all his accomplishments since then the Walker Cup holds a special place in his heart and I’m sure (as with all past players) he’ll be keeping a weather eye on proceedings at Seminole.

He’ll also be paying close attention to matters on this side of the Atlantic where the second edition of the Rose Ladies’ Series got underway last week.  The 2020 brainchild of professional Liz Young, which was so ably expanded and backed by Justin and his wife Kate, has expanded this year into eleven one-day events, the first two of which are already in the books.  Gabs Cowley pocketed a cool £10,000 for winning at West Lancs golf course last week and yesterday, fittingly, was the turn of the inspiration behind the series, Liz Young, at Woburn over the Duchess course.

The aim of the series is to provide much-needed competitive play and plug some gaps in the Ladies’ European Tour schedule and the Roses have personally financed getting this venture off the ground.  The effect of having someone of Justin’s stature recognise the value of women’s professional golf and step in to help can’t be underestimated.  We’re lucky to have him.

That 1997 Walker Cup was the platform for a remarkable career and an important experience in making the man we all know today.  I wonder if when watching the twenty players in the Walker Cup this weekend we will be witnessing someone take the first steps on the road to a Justin Rose-like career?  Now, that would be fun.

Good morning everybody, this blog is being brought to you under a certain amount of duress (all relative of course – I am not starving, homeless or languishing in a cell with my fingernails under threat).  No, it’s just that I’m trying to compose while decomposing, having had my second jab on Wednesday (that fact alone brings home to you just how quickly the years are rushing by) and visited the osteopath yesterday.  As usual, the bits that I thought were tootling along nicely turned out to be locked in unnatural positions and now that they’ve been re-aligned, I’m knackered.  Fit only for a return to the pub, really – inside preferably, given the weather we’ve been having.  Let’s hope the Horse and Jockey’s refurb stays on course – and the dust from the neighbouring demolition stays out of the beer.

You couldn’t tell from the picture above but it’s complete chaos on Sandford Street in Lichfield, just next door to one of the country’s great pubs.

Florida, I have to confess, is not my favourite state but that’s where I’d like to be this weekend, at Seminole, at the Walker Cup, watching the amateurs of GB and I (Great Britain and Ireland) suffer yet another defeat at the hands of the United States.  We usually lose away from home, so that’s not an unreasonable assumption but in reality and against the weight of history I always live in hope and there have been celebrated upsets in the past, so perhaps there’ll be another famous away win this weekend…..

At least the team won’t be hampered by having me taking to the tee.  Earlier in the week, I woke up in a muck sweat because, for some unknown reason, I’d been drafted in at the last minute to play in the Walker Cup at Portstewart, my home course.  I don’t think I ever quite made it to the 1st tee (that’s an anxiety thing usually – in this case it was a relief) because I couldn’t work out why they’d picked me.  Where were the reserves?  Couldn’t they get there in time?  Weren’t there any Irish guys high enough up the list to get there?

Fair enough, it was my home course but I’d never played it from the back tees and would have to play out of my socks even to reach the fairways.  How on earth was I going to avoid losing 10 and 8?  The par 3s were my only chance really and even then it would probably take chipping in a la Dad.  He was lethal around the greens but could I, a not very spiritual being, channel that?  Would blind panic be enough to summon a long forgotten family skill?  Putting like the sainted Inbee might help but I’m still waiting for the videos to be translated…

Proud strikers of the ball though our Walker Cuppers undoubtedly are, chipping like Daddy Madill and putting like Inbee Park, fearsome competitors both, might be just the skills they need to upset the odds at Seminole.  Good luck gentlemen.

These days most Walker Cuppers harbour hopes of being successful professionals and earning lots of money, winning titles, all that sort of good stuff.  Nothing wrong with that, so when everyone starts wondering how much money is too much; when ambition becomes greed; when independent contractors are suddenly no such thing; when proposed super leagues threaten to upset the comfortable status quo….What happens then?

Well, it’s all a bit beyond me, not least because I couldn’t quite grasp the attraction of the premier super-duper league concept, apart from the bank vaults of cash (or will all transactions be in/via bitcoin?) being thrown at potential competitors.  What professional – and assorted advisers – wouldn’t be intrigued?

It just seems a very limited concept to me but judging by their reaction the US PGA Tour and the European Tour are worried.  They probably should be – not too many empires have lasted for a thousand years – and golf is not the same as football, with fans invading Old Trafford.  Who’s going to be storming….where?  Wentworth?  The Belfry?  Quail Hollow?  TPC Sawgrass?  Le Golf National?

This looks like a story that will keep a lot of people exercised for quite a while and even the newspapers are taking an interest.  If you’re a Daily Telegraph reader (I do know a few), Jamie Corrigan will keep you informed and I think Daily Mail readers are lucky enough to have Derek Lawrenson writing about golf still.  The Scots haven’t given up on golf yet and Alistair Tait is asking some pertinent questions on alistairtait.com.

Back to the supposedly ho-hum, lowkey, everyday European Tour, which is doing its best to survive and throws up heartwarming stories time after time.  I love its leaderboards, featuring players from South Africa, Germany, Poland, Finland, name your country and who wouldn’t be moved by the general joy when Dean Burmester ran away with the Tenerife Open (how quaint and old-fashioned, a tournament sponsored by an island) with a last round of 62 at Golf Costa Adeje.

“There’s no words that can describe it,” the South African said of his long-awaited second European win.  “It’s four years of struggle and hard work…I can go home and see my family now, I’m so excited.  This is pretty emotional.”

 

 

 

 

I was doing a bit of tidying the other day and came across an edition of “bunkered”, Scotland’s only golf magazine, left by my sister on a previous visit.  I looked to see how old it was and discovered, rather irritatingly, that as far as I could see there was no date on it.  The cover merely states the issue number.  However, on flicking through it I ascertained that Dustin had already won the November Masters and we hadn’t yet reached the April one.  I rather like “bunkered” – some interesting opinions and in-depth interviews – although it still caters overwhelmingly for the male brigade in golf and is not quite yet embracing the sport in a 21st century manner.

My eye was caught, however, by an article about Blind Golf Scotland which was formed in the 1980s and it reminded me of Jane Connachan, one of Scotland’s best known and most successful golfers, who used to coach a number of blind and partially-sighted players around that time.  Perhaps she still does.  Jane, or JC as she was known to us on tour, was a child prodigy who took Scottish golf by storm as a 12-year old and represented her country at every level before ultimately joining the paid ranks.  At 16 she was the youngest ever Curtis Cup player and setting records was as natural to her as breathing.  She is still imparting her vast knowledge and experience to her devoted clients.

Over the years JC organised a few pro-am events and I signed up to play in one at Gullane.  The week before the event she rang me and asked would I play with a team of three of her pupils, all of them registered blind.  I said I’d be delighted to and she explained that we would be going off at the end of the field as we wouldn’t be too speedy.  I really didn’t give it too much more thought but it turned out to be a life-changing day for me in more ways than one.

On a cold, blustery day we teed off at the end of the field at Gullane No 2 course.  Each of my companions had a guide with them.  Surprisingly the guides weren’t necessarily golfers but they had learned how to steer their players round the course and more importantly how to set them up to aim.  They made all the decisions as regards club selection and when we got near the green they would estimate the length of the pitch or chip shot or putt – whatever it happened to be.

Obviously it was a round devoid of the usual “good shot” congratulations from all members of the group when someone connected really well or hit one close.  That wasn’t something I’d ever considered before and I found it very strange.  The guides had their hands full with their particular player and paid little heed to anyone else and for me it was almost akin to playing on my own because of the lack of interaction.  What it did give me, however, was ample time to study these wonderful players who were determined to try their absolute best on every shot.

As the round progressed I found myself drawn in more and more to helping the guides describe the shot required in greater detail.  Painting a picture of the shot facing the players and giving them a more vivid idea of the terrain facing them, particularly on and around the greens, seemed to help them perform better.  I learned that calling the other senses into play helped compensate for the lack of vision.  I’d get the player to listen and feel the swish of contact with the ground on a practice swing and then just ask him to recreate it.  Listening to the quality of the contact on a chip or putt heightens the sense of touch.  It was thrilling, thrilling stuff to see the joy on the player’s face as I described how a shot was drawing ever closer to the hole.

We ran out of light with three holes left to play and after being on the course for six hours.  Did we stop?  Of course not!  After all, I was the only one inconvenienced by the darkness!  We finally arrived on the last green and I could see the dining room packed with the other pro-am teams enjoying a fine dinner.  We were all frozen by this stage but one of our number (not me!) had a 12-footer for par, a rare beast indeed for a golfer of that handicap never mind one who couldn’t see.  He took on board all the instructions, rehearsed his putting stroke until it was just right and then calmly rolled it into the heart of the cup.  We jumped up and down on the green and hugged each other and those near the windows of the dining room whooped and hollered.  I don’t mind admitting I was misty-eyed, humbled by the never-say-die attitude and the pleasure that lit up the faces of all the players at even the most modest of successes.

When we finally walked into the dining room to join the others, the room rose as one to applaud these wonderfully gritty players.  They asked no quarter.  Once again I was surreptitiously reaching for my hankie.

I had a lot to ponder that evening as I thought back over the events of the day.  I learned so, so much but it was another decade at least before I realised that it was on that very day that I started honing my commentary skills for eventually covering golf on the radio – something I’ve now done for almost 24 years.  So, thanks JC for organising that pro-am;  thanks for fixing me up with such an inspiring team;  and thanks for the life lessons learned in that one round of golf.