There’s a good deal of chat going around the golfing world at the moment as to how golf can fight its corner in attracting and keeping new players in the face of stiff competition from a plethora of seemingly more exciting and more sexy sports and pastimes.

At grass roots level it is fairly obvious that we in the UK and Ireland can do better at providing an environment appealing to women, children and families, an idea embraced by the Scandinavians for the last three decades.  Too many clubs have been slow to buy into this concept with the result that it is frequently an uphill battle combating dwindling numbers and interest.  With this in mind, I applaud the simplification of the rules, the next version of which comes bounding into play in January 2019.  Taking a couple of penalty shots and dropping the ball near the out-of-bounds fence over which your ball has just sailed is common sense and has been in practice in friendly golf for years.  It is simpler and beats trudging back to the tee and taking a penalty of stroke and distance – and, with a bit of luck, it should keep play moving.  Rules that are easier to understand and implement are obviously one way forward, though this OB rule won’t be used at professional or elite level.

I’m pretty much in favour of most things that make the game easier and therefore more enjoyable for the club golfer.  I most definitely would NOT have banned the anchoring stroke in putting for the club player, who, to a greater or lesser degree, is challenged in terms of skill level anyway.  Many of the players you see with the broomhandles have suffered from the yips and the long putter has kept them playing the game and enjoying it.  Of course, the long putter itself is not actually banned but you cannot have your hand touching your body, a near impossible task in winter golf when swathed in several layers.  This is an easy game not to play – let’s not give anyone any encouragement in that direction.

For the same reasons I would not want to see the club player losing significant distance in their long games because of mooted restrictions on the distance the ball can travel.  It is a great joy to swing one of the frying-pan-head sized drivers and belt the ball a decent distance even when the bus pass is tucked into your hip pocket alongside your scorecard and specs with which to read them both.

The sharp eyed among you will have noted that I make all of the above points with reference to the club player.  I am, however, in favour of different conditions being imposed on those who play the game for a living.  I am a fan of bifurcation (a fancy word to describe having two sets of rules, one for pros and one for amateurs.)  The guardians of our game have oft stated they are completely against bifurcation, citing one of the beauties and unique selling points of golf being that anyone can play any of the great courses that host major championships with the same balls and clubs available to the world’s best. That is a claim that doesn’t bear close scrutiny.  We already have bifurcation.  Higher end equipment played by the tour pros is not available to the public from retailers.  And the aforementioned new option of dropping after hitting it OB is only available to the club golfer.  What is wrong with acknowledging that the pros play a completely different game and on occasion should (as they indeed do) play different rules?

Let’s talk about the professional game now.  It’s our shop window and has the power to attract or repel people into or away from our sport.  The modern game played by supreme male and female athletes has been described by many as a “bomb and gouge” game, i.e. go and smash the ball as far as you can, often leaving only a wedge or short iron to the green.  It’s so much more one dimensional than twenty years ago.  But let’s not blame the pros for the lack of guile and shotmaking in the modern game.  They and their skills have developed in response to the equipment and course set-ups they play week in week out where the premium is on length and not necessarily accuracy.  This has led to courses getting longer and longer, rounds taking longer and longer and costs of maintaining courses soaring to stratospheric heights.  With drives now reaching, and on occasion surpassing, 400 yards it is time to restrict the distance the ball goes.  That way the great courses of the world do not become obsolete and the diminishing skills of strategy and shotmaking can be reintroduced through judicious course set-up.

Furnish the manufacturing companies with specifications for a tournament ball and allow them to come up with their own conforming model which must be played in all professional tournaments – and, I would suggest, perhaps also in amateur championships and International matches.  I don’t forsee any difficulty for elite amateur players – it ‘d be similar to when both the 1.62 inch ball and the 1.68 inch balls were in use and we amateurs switched to the larger one for everything because that was what was required at the elite level.

Leave the club players to enjoy and benefit from technology and introduce a tournament-conforming ball for the pros and elite amateurs.  Is it really so difficult?

This week I was going to write about the new rules, which will be introduced in January 2019 and the new handicapping system, due to come into operation in 2020 but things have been a bit fraught in this household this week and rules and handicapping have never been my forte, requiring as they do a level of concentration and forensic attention to detail that stretch my capabilities beyond their meagre limits.

Like a lot of games golf is intrinsically simple:  you tee the ball up, then pursue it across country and hit it (without teeing it up again) until it disappears into the hole, whereupon you add up how many times you hit the ball (or tried to hit it) and that’s your total for the hole.  Then you do the same again, and again, for 18 holes.  Some people might ask why?  What’s the point of all that?  But if you get the point, if it appeals, that’s you, hooked – not always a golfing outcome to be wished for – and on your way to being sucked into the maelstrom of handicaps, rules and even, heaven help us, dress codes.

There’s also lots of fun, competition and banter with friends, being out in the fresh air and able to play a game that has universal appeal and an injury toll that may involve backs, knees, wrists, elbows and shoulders but is unlikely to include concussion – unless you’re unlucky enough to be hit by a ball or a club.

Michelle Wie and Tiger Woods, two of the most hyped golfers in history, one of whom has more than lived up to his billing, are flying high at the moment, revelling in being fit and fighting again after myriad injury woes.  What’s wonderful to see is the joy they have in competing and performing at the highest level, revelling in showing off their talent for a game that has held them in its thrall since they were kids.

Love of the game, whatever it is, is the key to success because, let’s face it, sport will break your heart if you let it; to keep coming back, time after time, defeat after defeat, injury after injury, you have to love it.  However good you are, however many trophies you’ve won, however many leagues you are ahead of your opponent, the moment you think that all you have to do to win is to turn up, you’re toast.

Ireland won’t be thinking like that at Twickenham tomorrow, when all they have to do to win the Grand Slam (and Triple Crown) is beat England on their home turf, a wounded England at that, hitting the buffers for the first time under Eddie Jones, the bullish Australian and staring down the barrel of three consecutive defeats.  Ireland don’t have a great record at Twickers – few visiting teams do – but gone are the days when Ulsterman Cecil Pedlow, a ridiculously talented all-round sportsman, could turn to Tony O’Reilly, of Heinz fame, as they were lacing up their boots before running out onto the pitch and say, “You realise O’Reilly, this is the 13th consecutive defeat we’ve shared together.”

That’s one of my favourite sporting stories – anathema in today’s professional era of positive thinking – and, no, I haven’t trawled through the record books to check that it’s accurate but it probably is.  It was a wee bit before my rugby conscious time, though I was at Ravenhill when Ulster drew 5-all with the All Blacks in January 1954.  Well, Mum was there and I arrived in June and she thought that that experience and her dreaming that they’d christened me Wembley Stadium accounted for my being such a sports nut!

Ireland are probably better than England at the moment but they’ll only win tomorrow if they turn up and give short shrift to the weight of history (and home advantage).  They can’t ignore the fact that they’ve only won the Grand Slam, that magical, elusive beast, twice:  in 1948 and then in 2009, in Cardiff.  Maureen and I were there and Wales had a kick to win the match in the last minute but, right on target, it fell short and those of us in green went gratefully doolally.

Just because it’s St Patrick’s Day doesn’t mean Ireland are destined to win and there’ll be no disgrace in playing their best and losing but there’s nothing more gutting than a BBU (brave but unavailing), especially one that the players will remember years from now as the Slam that might have been.  Might as well win then.  It’s much more fun!

Finally, on a joyous note, congratulations to Angela and Sergio on the arrival of Azalea Adele Garcia, who puts sport in its proper perspective.

Dressed in black from top to toe and looking every inch as if he’d just stepped out from a Western movie, Phil Mickelson rode into Mexico City last week and with some mighty fine sharp shooting made off with a World Golf Championship title, the lion’s share of the loot and his 50th worldwide tournament victory.  The real reason it’s newsworthy is because it’s been a long time between drinks for Mickelson.  The last time he hoisted a trophy was in July 2013 when he won the Open Championship at Muirfield and many felt that that could be his swan song.  Needless to say, he didn’t think that, and how right he has been proved.

We have very short memories when it comes to sport and sporting achievement.  Through our television screens we are assaulted by outstanding sporting prowess from around the globe, seemingly morning, noon and night.  We become sanitised to the sheer brilliance of what we are watching and think of it as the norm.  To many golf fans Mickelson has been in the wilderness for almost five years – but, in reality, that’s not true at all.  He’s had three runner-ups in major championships in the intervening time, which for many wouldn’t be a bad career.  Sure, he hasn’t been firing on all cylinders – but that’s just the point.  It’s simply not possible to occupy the thin air of ultimate performance year after year after year.

This is his 26th year as a professional golfer during which time he has amassed almost $87 million in prize money – a truly colossal amount of dosh.  Coming down the stretch, however, it was fascinating to watch his total concentration, immersion and relish in the cut and thrust of the competition.  He was testing himself to the limit against the world’s best and it was the prestige of winning that drove him on – not the money, just the title.  Phil’s desire hasn’t been dimmed over the years and his success is the accumulation of many tiny habits over many decades.  Resilience is key.  “I can’t put into words how much this means to me,” he said, dewy-eyed.

Michelle Wie is another player who demonstrates resilience on a long term basis and who tasted success this past weekend in Singapore.  Her last win was the 2014 US Women’s Open and since then she has done her best to weather injuries to seemingly every part of her body.  Even now she takes to the links in near-mummified fashion, arms and legs swathed in tape.  Although a mere 28 years of age and almost two decades younger than Mickelson, Michelle has played professionally for 12 years, every single second of it under the most intense spotlight.  And, as my sister is always telling me (as if she had personal experience!):  “Nothing weighs you down like great potential.”

Wie has displayed courage in abundance over a long period, refusing to be cowed by carping criticism of her scheduling, her various putting styles, the close attendance of her parents, to name but three things.  She has dealt graciously with everything and is up there with the best in terms of stickability.  Coming down the last few holes on Sunday you could see her ability to go inwards into herself to produce her best at the very end when she holed a monster of a putt of 40 feet or so from off the putting surface for a birdie at the 18th.  Her ecstatic celebration said it all – the thrill of winning and beating the rest of the best was everything to her.  Every setback, every physio session, every second of graft on the course and in the gym was worth it for that single moment .  No wonder we had another dewy-eyed winner saying, “This feels really, truly amazing.”

Meanwhile, down in Australia 23-year old Englishwoman Meghan MacLaren won the NSW Open, her first LET title.  In only her second year in the paid ranks she has enjoyed a steady progression, working her way up via the secondary LET Access tour and on Sunday she held her nerve and her two-shot overnight lead to claim victory.  With her father, David, the CEO of the Staysure (European Seniors) Tour, on the bag and Mum Mary, an Ireland senior international, enduring a sleepless night back at home (nails bitten down to the quick, no doubt), it was a real family affair.

Younger sister Rebecca is a fine player in her own right and as Meghan’s support group they will all be right there as she attempts to tread the path already followed by the likes of Wie and Mickelson.  Meghan hasn’t yet amassed the millions that the other two have but I’m pretty sure that the winner’s cheque was fairly incidental, albeit a very welcome bonus.  It’s the winning that delivers the thrill and provides the fuel for future years of quiet, sustained, often solitary, effort.  As Meghan, who couldn’t stop smiling, said, “It feels incredible.”

As Robert Collier (1885-1950), author of The Secret of the Ages, said:  “Success is the sum of small efforts repeated day in day out.”  [Thanks to Shann of Chuckling Goat for the quote.]  That is clearly evident in the three winners from the weekend but it’s also a valid mantra for us all in our own lives, whatever stage we’re at.

Yesterday was International Women’s Day (among other things; it was also my cousin’s birthday; now there’s a formidable woman if ever there was one) and this blog is keen on women.  It thinks, not least because it’s written by two sisters, that women are a good thing.  In fact, if truth be told (NEVER trust someone who starts a sentence,  “To be honest with you….”), I’m a feminist to my toenails, however fungal those may be, especially at this entombed time of year.  I’m also inclined to think, however controversial this may be, that men are a good thing, especially the feminist ones, the ones who have daughters, wives, mothers, that sort of thing and have come to the conclusion that women, however baffling, bewitching or benighted, are people too.

Whatever, before this becomes a completely self-indulgent, hobby-horsey riff, I’d like to pay tribute to one of golf’s great women, who died earlier this month, to wit la grande Lally, nee Vagliano, then la Vicomtesse de Saint-Sauveur, latterly Mme Segard.  No one is perfect but Lally was, quite simply, awesome, sometimes scarily so and a lot of us regarded her – and Coco Dupont, who died a few years ago –  as the heart and soul of French and, to a large extent, European golf.  They were talented enthusiasts who loved the game and spent their lives spreading the gospel of golf, with charm, verve, skill and, if necessary, bloody-mindedness.

Lally won the British Girls’ in 1937, at Stoke Poges, where all the championships were played until after World War II.  She won the women’s title, officially the Ladies’ British Open Amateur Championship, in 1950, beating Jessie Valentine, the iconic Scot, by 3 and 2 in the final at Royal County Down, Newcastle, Northern Ireland.  That’s where our grandfather, our mother’s father, fell in love with her.  Thereafter, for him, no golfer, man or woman, came close to the divine Vicomtesse.  She also won the championships of France, Italy, Switzerland and Spain, to name just a few.

She merited a solid entry in the original Shell Encyclopedia of Golf, edited by Donald Steel, who’s just published his autobiography (Thin End of the Wedge) and Peter Ryde, who succeeded Bernard Darwin as the golf correspondent of The Times.  There’s nothing dry and dusty about the description of Lally’s swing:  “….a faultless style with a wide arc and a perfect grip and she swung at the ball with all the controlled force that her lissom figure could muster….in addition to the sound technique she has an attacking spirit which seldom left her short of the hole…”

Lally’s father presented the Vagliano Trophy, now a biennial team event between the women amateurs of Europe and Great Britain and Ireland and these days it’s a major triumph if GB and I manage to win, such is the strength in depth of the opposition.  Lally was also to the forefront when the inaugural Espirito Santo, the Women’s World Amateur Team Championship, took place in Paris, at St Germain.  She chaired the event, in which 25 teams competed and was captain (non-playing) of France, who won by one stroke from the USA, with England third.  Catherine Lacoste, Brigitte Varangot and Claudine Cros were the formidable trio who took the trophy and helped establish France as a force in the game.  It’s not before time that the Ryder Cup should be in France.  Now, what about the Solheim?

Maureen and I never saw Lally play in her prime and I don’t think we ever told her that she was Pampa’s pin-up.  She was so elegant, so French, so vibrant and so youthful that we thought that we must have got it wrong, this woman was surely not old enough to have won at RCD all those years ago!  She couldn’t have been around in our grandfather’s time!

But she was.  And wherever she went, at whatever age, she made a lasting impression.  It wasn’t only the French who came under her spell, she inspired internationally.  Linda Bayman, who played for England and GB and I with great distinction, paid a heartfelt tribute:  “Lally was the guiding light of my life.  It was entirely down to her that I took golf seriously, that I learned French, worked for Conde Nast.  I sometimes wonder what path my life would have taken if we had never met – it would have been completely different.  We were like mother and daughter after my mother died.  What a lady!  I don’t think our generation will  come up with a role model like that.”

This year the Espirito Santo (29th August – 1st September) and the Eisenhower Trophy, the men’s WATC, (5th – 8th September) are in Ireland, at Carton House, near Dublin.  They’re both in rude good health, in no small part thanks to  the efforts of Lally and Coco.

Merci beaucoup.