Spurs are the gift that just goes on giving:  I’m only travelling to home games but it’s rarely the same route twice, so my organisational and navigational skills are frequently tested to their limits and beyond, not forgetting my stamina.  That took a bit of a hammering last week when we played West Ham at 2015 on the Thursday – drive to Bedford, via Woburn Sands for lunch with friends, coach to N17, back again without the Woburn detour and home by 0345;  then it was Newcastle on Sunday afternoon via Stansted.

“What on earth is she doing at the airport?”  a friend asked, her mind already boggled by my devotion.  “Is there a European match?  Oh, never mind.  I gave up trying to get you to use Google Maps long before you missed your last flight…”

I was at Stansted because fellow Spurs tragic Denise was flying in from Dublin (along with a fair few other Lilywhites, turns out Stansted is a bit of a Spurs hub).  We were then getting the Stansted Express to Tottenham Hale and walking from there to the ground.  It all worked perfectly although parking was expensive but worth every penny because it was very close to the terminal.  We had plenty of time to shop, catch up with John from Derby, have a beer and cheer our boys to a cracking win.

We had our Christmas comp on Tuesday, 13 holes, five clubs each (think I only used four) and my partners and I escaped the torrential rain that soaked the later starters.  We had 47 points (two out of three to count), not bad but not good enough when the winners had 53, next best 50.  We got off to a humdinger of a start (18 points after four holes) but tailed off a bit after a shot of home-made sloe gin…That was our excuse anyway.

I had a Christmas top, dug out from the Middle at Lidl, the bargain middle aisle that is always worth a nose.  My hoodie cost a fiver and passed muster as a Christmas effort but overall I didn’t come close in the outré stakes, as you can see from this small sample.  There were plenty of others, not captured by my camera.

My golf wasn’t too bad, so heaven only knows why I had a golf-related dream of Mo-like proportions.  It wasn’t utterly horrific but took a potentially unpleasant turn at the end, so much so that I had to wake up to escape and was very, very groggy, taking quite a while to tune in to what the sainted Petroc was saying on radio 3.  I even tried to scrawl it down, it was so vivid.

Mo and I were playing somewhere like Birkdale, except it wasn’t because when the four guys in front of us eventually decided to call us through (they were having some sort of feast that included – vegetarians and vegans look away now – a lovely looking ham), there was no space.  Our tee was in the middle of a very busy thoroughfare, with people rushing to and fro, coming or going to a railway station.  There was barely a break to get a ball away and I needed one of those rubber, winter tee thingies and I couldn’t find one.

“I can’t do this,” I said to Mo in desperation after nearly hitting an old woman on my practice swing.  I just knew that I had nowhere to go.  At least the sister could hit the ball properly.  But she hit some sort of right-wing banana effort that bounced on a path into a flowerbed where some children were retrieving it.

“Do you play golf?” sez I.

“No.”

“I’ll have it back then, please.”

The ball had a green mark on it and a dent and wasn’t Mo’s and the children were starting to say something, then Mo said she might need a new handbag because she’d lost her brush and comb and would be hard pushed to find others that fitted into her bag….

Then I had a vision of the Christmas turkey arriving and being far too big for the oven and Maureen saying she knew it’d be too big and that my fridge was too small too….

No wonder I woke up in a bit of a panic and a lot of disarray.

Before going into the Christmas/New Year break, there are two things I’d like to mention, two people who deserve to be on your radar.  First there’s a young golfer from France, who’s doing ok on the Alps Tour and is a cheque writer’s and engraver’s nightmare.  Well, would you want to be etching this name on the Claret Jug?  Here goes:  Oihan Guillamoundeguy.  Bonne chance, young man. I look forward to the day.

And, closer to home, the amazing Chloe Brennan, partner of Matt Jones, one of our greenkeepers at WHGC, has just finished third at the World’s Strongest Woman championships in America in the under 73kg category.  She’s the European champion and this was only her second go at the Worlds.  She also runs her own business, Holistic Strength Coaching, so perhaps one of our New Year resolutions should be to sign up to her Power Up weights course.  All the studies show that weights work whatever your age or stage.

Go Chloe (and Matt) and season’s greetings to everybody.

 

 

The end of the year is fast approaching as is the blog’s annual holiday (thank goodness, I hear you all cry!)  We started this little Madill golf project in May 2016 and the sister suggested we try to keep it going until the Open was played at Portrush.  She meant the last time the Open was played in Portrush – ie in 2019 – not the upcoming (I hate that word!) one in 2025.  Her reasoning was “we’ll have plenty to write about until then”.

I was aghast at the prospect of finding something to write about for three whole years, yet amazingly, here we are seven and a half years later.  Admittedly, golf has been elbowed aside somewhat for football and sundry other topics and the number of articles filed under the heading of “other stuff” has increased exponentially.  I expect this may well be another such missive.

The end of the year is also a good time to tidy up loose ends – and there seem to be a multitude of those from my attempts a fortnight ago to name the Welsh women golfers who have won on Tour.  I had my knuckles rapped (rightly) for omitting Lydia Hall and now it has been pointed out to me that Amy Boulden was also left out.  Just as it’s possible to suffer from a multitude of bad hair days I’m putting this all down to an extremely bad memory day as Amy is another of the blog’s favourites and not easily overlooked.

Sorry Amy.  And sorry to anyone else who may have been omitted.  Let’s close this book on my obvious lack of grey cells.

Loose ends abound in the men’s professional game and there’s absolutely zero chance of any framework agreement between the PGA Tour and LIV Golf being cemented by December 31st as previously promised.  Increasing unrest among the rank and file members of the Tour has led to an undisclosed number signing a petition requesting to meet with the shakers and movers who are supposed to be representing their interests.  Confidence in being fairly represented is at an all-time low for many and the schisms caused by the arrival of LIV Golf are widening.

The golfing landscape for male professionals is changing before our eyes and the only given is that it will not go back to the way it was.  Quite where it will end up is anyone’s guess.  I suppose it’s far too simplistic to think that a tournament should start with a full field, have a cut and that the better you play the better you will be remunerated?  Let’s not have a two or three tier tour but a good honest sporting contest which rewards skill and not the number of hits you get on social media.  Keep it simple and, if possible, with some vestiges of integrity.

And now we have the prospect of a long awaited rollback of the ball.  I tend to think that as far as the professional tours are concerned it may well be too little, too late.  It is much needed from an environmental and sustainability standpoint and should have happened years ago.  Anyway, I wonder if you’ll even notice if your favourite pro only drives it 320 off the tee on the way to winning the Masters as opposed to 335?  That’s all the distance loss that is expected for the very longest hitters in the game.  I welcome it because I’d like to see more emphasis back on shotmaking through the bag and proper testing of a player’s mid- and long-iron skills.

The majority of recreational golfers seem to be up in arms at this latest proposal, incandescent that they will be cheated of yards and yards when, in fact, it is estimated that the loss to his or her distance game will be a mere four yards or so.  Is that really such a negative impact?

I must say my sympathies are all with the ordinary, female club member who doesn’t hit it very far at all.  For the majority of women players their handicap is made up of the fact that they do not hit it far enough to get on many greens in regulation – they simply don’t have the strength or firepower.  They are the ones who can ill afford any distance loss at all – it won’t make a scrap of distance to most men.

That is one of the reasons why I’ve always been in favour of bifurcation – different rules for the pros and amateurs.  It’s important to keep the enjoyment level of this very challenging game as high as possible for the recreational player.  And we already do, in essence, have a bifurcated game – you’re kidding yourself if you think you can arm yourself with the same equipment as Rory and the like.  For some reason, however, bifurcation is not in the lexicon of any of the game’s governing bodies.

No need to panic just yet, however.  This proposal isn’t due to come into being until January 1st 2028 and there is a further two-year grace period for amateurs.

Plenty of time to tie up (or create more of) those loose ends.

In closing, I’m sure it won’t have escaped your notice that Tiger Woods has been back competing in his end of year bash for twenty invited players.  The proceeds benefit Tiger’s own foundation and as the host he invites those he wishes to play.  Not surprisingly Tiger finished down in 18th spot but he is doing very well to be out competing again.

The big bone of contention is, however, that this little gathering awards an inordinate number of World Ranking Points, about the only thing in the sporting world that the Saudi money can’t seem to buy.  Tiger started the week at world No 1328 and four days later had vaulted to 898th, a leap of 430 places – and yet he beat only two people.  Doesn’t seem right to me.

More loose ends.

Well, by Georgina (or whoever, why must it always be George?), I did it.  I arrived in time to catch the coach to the Totspurs Stadium for the match against West Ham, the bubble-blowing ‘ammers.  Blowing bubbles is usually a soft, playful, non-threatening activity (hammering not so much perhaps) but long before we started arriving in our thousands, my mate counted at least 30 Met Police vans lining up ready for whatever off-pitch action the rainy night would bring.  There were also several police dogs straining at the leash and barking fiercely, in no mood for any nonsense.  The whole operation must cost a fortune.

 

The reason for the animosity between West Ham and Tottenham has always escaped me but I remember a Spurs fan telling me he’d once sought refuge with some Arsenal fans to avoid a menacing claret and blue horde – not Villa or Burnley supporters but the crew from east London.  Crikey.

The blog is being composed on the coach, hunt and peck style because of the cramped conditions, even though any sensible soul would have had it done and dusted long ago, knowing they’d be lucky to be home by first light on Friday.

Admittedly, there hasn’t been much light at all in my part of the world these past couple of days, as the rain took over from the frost and, shock, horror, a bit of snow.  There was no golf on Tuesday – 13 holes open but too vile to play in the morning – and my Round Robin opponent and I have re-arranged our match for February!!!  At least we now know that if we both agree, we can play our match over 13 holes, or whatever.  Thanks for the info, all-knowing, long-suffering handicap guru.

 

Still on the golfing front, a bit less tenuously, I was looking forward to cheering two family firsts: Min Woo Lee and his sister Minjee winning their respective tournaments on the same weekend, ditto the Fitzpatrick brothers Alex and Matt.  Sadly, none of them won – Minjee came closest, Ashleigh Buhai pipping her to the ISPS HANDA Women’s Australian Open title in Sydney by a single shot.  In the men’s version, Min Woo finished third, two shots behind the eventual winner Joaquin Niemann (second extra hole) and Rikuya Hoshino.

The championships were played concurrently on the same courses and I think it’s amazing and wonderful that the Australians, of all the golfing people, should have become so enlightened.  It does my old heart good to think of some my more chauvinistic male friends spinning in their graves downunder.

You’ve heard my NFS* story, surely?  If not, I’ll give you chapter and verse over a bottle of our choosing.

When I first went to Australia, many years ago now, I couldn’t believe the rampant misogyny; I, who grew up surrounded by Ulstermen, for goodness sake, was shocked to my core.  The Aussie men made our lot look like committed feminists and I had to dredge up long-forgotten, sharp-tongued survival skills learned in pubs and clubs many years previously.  It was exhausting.

It’s all very well having to fight your corner now and again but if you have to justify your existence every second of every minute of every hour of every day, well, you get the picture.  And there were those who seemed convinced that writing about golf, reporting on any sport really, was a man’s job, far too tough for women.  Must have been all that heavy lifting involved in the days of the typewriter.  We had lots of great times, though and plenty of laughs.

Talking of women, as we often do in this wee corner of the world, have you come across two of my favourites on their programme/podcast Now You’re Asking? on radio 4 on a Friday night at the moment.  Marian Keyes and Tara Flynn are two talented friends based in Dublin, who take it upon themselves to mull over knotty questions sent in by listeners from wherever about whatever.

Tara and Marian wouldn’t call themselves agony aunties but they’re old enough to have a lot of experience of a lot of things and wise enough to admit that there are lots of things they don’t know, so.  So they’re worth listening to and they’re often very, very funny.  Listening to them the other night, to stop myself fretting about my long to-do list, I fell asleep laughing.

You can’t say fairer than that.

Last Friday, two friends and I took ourselves into Birmingham to a place called The Electric Cinema to watch the timeless Christmas classic (isn’t it obligatory for a classic to be timeless?) It’s A Wonderful Life – with wine.  A real live sommelier, formerly of the Hotel du Vin in Brum, conducted the wine tasting with great aplomb, giving a performance that stood up well to those on screen.

At judicious intervals we sampled a fizz, a white, a light red (a German pinot noir), a more robust red (from Italy) and a delicious port.

 

You’ll be glad to hear that we’d eaten beforehand, taken snacks (crisps and cheese, lovingly cubed by me), gone in on the train and home by taxi and could still tell you the story of the film and the name of the angel who won his wings at the end after a couple of hundred years of trying.

The fact that I got home without my phone (left in the taxi but rescued by an earthly angel) is another story altogether.

 

* the first word is no and the third is sheilas…

Faithful readers of this blog will be aware that I’m a great fan of a list….. on most occasions.  To-do lists are fine but others can be dangerous and leave you wide open – as was the case in my blog last week when, off the top of my head, I attempted to name Welsh winners on the Ladies’ European Tour.  I did flag up that this was perhaps a little foolhardy.

Kirsty Taylor, who used to play on tour, obviously agrees as she was good enough to get in touch and say, “What about Lydia who won on tour, Mo?”

Aaagh!  Lydia Hall, aka Boom Boom, one of my all-time favourites from Wales and yet I overlooked her!  Senior moment par excellence and cue grovelling and eating of humble pie.  No more lists must be the mantra going forward.  In a futile attempt to make up for this appalling oversight Lyds deserves her own picture in this week’s offering.

Last Thursday was a bit of a red-letter day in that my regular “Tuesday Four” met and had nine holes and lunch.  It was the first time the four of us had been on a golf course together since October 2021 before Mr Covid came calling.  It was a lovely, bright, fresh day and reversing time and turning the clock back was just lovely.  The intervening couple of years have not been kind to us all and respite from the daily grind is a real tonic.  The hot news is that one of our number has been appointed Lady Captain for the 2025 season so plenty of time to practise our curtseys and forelock tugging.  After that we’ll no doubt be handing out our usual unasked-for advice!

Rumours abound at the moment that Jon Rahm (at top) is being wooed by LIV golf for much gold.  The little matter of a $600 million dollar signing-on fee is being mooted.  After two years of declaring he was more invested in winning majors and creating his own legacy, Rahm and his camp have gone quiet.  And, I suppose, who can blame them as they consider their options?  I’m hoping he turns them down, but won’t be surprised if he doesn’t.

If Rahm does accept I shall just fall another little bit out of love with the game that I grew up with.  There is more money in the sport now than ever before but, to my mind, that doesn’t equate to golf being in a “healthy” position.  Obnoxious greed is trumping all at the moment and we are fast losing any grip we ever had on an honest, competitive environment that rewards performance alone.

I wonder how many of you have ever heard of the PIP – the Player Impact Program on the PGA Tour?  You’ll find no mention of it on their website and news of it usually comes via a leak to the media.  This year there was a pot of $100 million dollars – yes, $100 million – to be distributed among twenty players.  These twenty are identified in a nebulous sort of way and awarded points based on how many favourable internet searches and articles they generate, how many fans they attract to a venue or encourage to tune in to a broadcast.  The crux of it all is favourable fan awareness of the PGA Tour and its products through these players.  Rory finished top of the list and scooped fifteen of that $100 million pot, while Tiger, who hasn’t played since he withdrew from the third round of the Masters last April, was second – worth a mere twelve million.

I suppose in the face of the competition from LIV it is a way the PGA can guarantee their “needle-movers” a reward no matter how (or, indeed, if) they play.  For an organisation like the tour, however, it’s surely pretty galling for the rest of the membership to have such a huge amount of money syphoned off and distributed for something other than skill in their chosen sporting arena.  The Tour is in danger of being accused of creating sycophantic disciples purporting all is well and rosy in happy clappy PGA Tour land.  And if Rory and Tiger avow they are not swayed in their views by the existence of the PIP, then surely there’s no need to have it anyway?  Throw the dosh in the pot and play for it – that’s what golfers used to do, remember?

The integrity is oozing out of the game at a brisk pace.  Economy with the truth, lack of transparency and U-turns abound along with the awful realisation that our men’s professional golf tours are in danger of mirroring the murky world inhabited by many of our politicians.  And “murky” is exactly the term Tiger Woods used when asked earlier this week what he thought the future of men’s professional golf was likely to be.

So, hopefully, Jon Rahm will restore my faith in human nature a little and prove that some folk do understand what the word “enough” means – as in “I already have enough money”.  And I fervently hope the women’s tours don’t become any further involved with Saudi money than they already are.

I’m not holding my breath.