Yes, yes, I know it’s a big week for golf with the Ryder Cup picks and all.  Mind you, it was an easy task for Jim Furyk to choose Bryson DeChambeau, Tiger and Phil (and undoubtedly Tony Finau on Monday next).  I imagine, however, that Thomas Bjorn’s job was a little more testing – but who on earth could have predicted he’d put his faith in Sergio who hasn’t shown any real form since his Masters victory last year?  In fact, Garcia has missed the cut in the last five majors but let’s not dwell on that.  Henrik Stenson and Paul Casey showed decent form at the start of the year but both have been quiet of late.  Oh well, at least the European Tour won’t have to worry about a knock on the door from Casey demanding a refund of his membership subs!

If you detect a momentary lack of interest on my part it’s because in this normally golf-mad household it’s been all about cycling, cycling, cycling.  Today is the big day – eight intrepid riders start their five-day 320-mile odyssey visiting 22 First World War graves in Belgium and France…….and hubby Brian has made it!  Less than eight weeks ago he was under the knife having elbow surgery, simultaneously nursing a broken collar bone, a broken rib (he just shared that little nugget with me two days ago) and a twisted pelvis. He had lost an argument with a pot hole while out on a training ride and from that moment on his entire raison d’etre was to disappoint the reserve rider.  Move over Bryson DeChambeau in the focused stakes!

We are two villages straddling the Welsh/English border, conveniently linked by the wonderful Queen’s Head pub and there are a total of 22 names on the two village war memorials.  The group of riders and their support staff will visit all 22 graves, sprinkling soil from the respective villages at each site as a sign of respect and planting a small wooden cross bearing the relevant name.  The other evening our rector, Ian Davenport, conducted a blessing of the soil as we all gathered in the pub car park to oversee the loading of the vans with bikes and bags ahead of a 5 a.m. start yesterday morning.  The fundraising is north of £7500 so far and everything raised is going to support SSAFA, the Armed Forces charity – it’s a real community effort.

 

Obviously, I’m used to packing for golf sporting events so it was interesting for me to see Brian’s packing laid out on the bed.  Now, I thought that there wasn’t really an awful lot to cycling gear – skimpy lycra shorts and tops, a helmet, gloves, shoes and away you go!  Erm, not quite.  An array of energy bars and electrolytes were reverentially laid out alongside Dr Beckmann’s non-bio travel wash (other brands are available) and a mysterious-looking something or other claiming to be chamois butter.  Don’t ask.

Next were a couple of pairs of what Brian pleases to call his armoured pants – an absolute must for someone who a few years ago managed to smash his femur to smithereens in the first of what he calls his “unlucky accidents”.  These are not the slim, skimpy cycling shorts of his mates.  These beasts have migrated from the world of mountain biking and are bulky, industrial-sized passion killers.  Next to them were two armoured elbow protectors and oodles of layers to help cope with temperatures ranging from early morning chills to the heat of the afternoon.  It’s all a far cry from the packing that will be required by Messrs McIlroy and co on THEIR little jaunt to France.

And here I am this morning with fingers crossed that they all cycle safely, achieve their goals and come back in one piece. The immense sacrifice of our 22 local lads merits the efforts of these 8 mamils (middle-aged men in lycra) and their support crew.  It puts just about everything in perspective, certainly all sporting events.  And yes, even the Ryder Cup.

In due course you’ll find that there’s a bit of a cycling theme to this week’s blog, even though the Ryder Cup captains have been making their picks – and some uncomfortable phone calls.

I texted a friend who’s recovering from a double hip operation – never a woman to do anything by halves – and said I didn’t think I’d have picked Phil but she was quite happy because she thinks he’ll be useless.  Never a woman to be short of an opinion.  My fear is that the sainted Sergio and Henrik will be just as useless but I’m not going to criticise Thomas Bjorn or Jim Furyk yet.   The clue is in the name:  captain’s picks.  Not mine, not yours, his.  And next year, when the Solheim Cup at Gleneagles rolls round, it’ll be hers.

As a captain, all I’d be wanting is for all 12 of my players to be playing well and putting the lights out on the days of the competition.  That would do me.  If we weren’t hoisting the trophy at the end, I’d be playing the gracious loser and coming to terms with the dubious but enduring honour of being part of one of the greatest matches of all time, to be replayed for ever and a day during rain delays; a lifetime of wondering if something had got lost in translation: putting the lights out means holing every putt, it is not a Sun-like reference to the possibility of Neil Kinnock becoming prime minister.  Older readers (is there any other sort!) may remember the pre-election headline:  Last Out Switch Off The Lights – or some such brilliantly effective scaremongering crack.

Anyway, as an old friend is fond of saying, golf is played on grass and not on paper, so I’m not panicking yet at our (that’s Europe) relative inexperience and maybe Sergio will come to Paris revived, refreshed and winning points.  I’m not too worried about the in-form DeChambeau because he’ll probably take so long over his pre-shot calculations and his post-shot post mortems that he’ll be lapped and be lucky to complete a match.  I admit I think he’s terrific but he’d drive you batty.  The other day he hit a shot that didn’t work out as planned (meticulously) and the look of astonishment and incomprehension on his face was comical.  Then, still standing stock still with shock, he whipped out his charts and went through the old “recalculating, recalculating” schtick.  In your own time, Bryson.

Actually, that brought to mind my time last Sunday, when I completed the St Giles Bike Ride in a very undistinguished 3 hours 18 minutes 15 seconds.  That equated to 7 minutes 20 seconds a mile.  Blimey, I thought, I could nearly have walked it that fast.  You could choose to do the 75-mile route, the 40-miler or, as I did, the 26-mile  stroll.  Apparently, one intrepid soul (or show-off who should have been in the Tour of Britain or Espana) did all three.  I didn’t dare ask for his (or her) time.  Anyway, we had two official pit stops and one unofficial – at the Green Man in Clifton Campville, which was just opening up as we puffed by.  Being the team from the world-renowned Horse and Jockey in Sandford Street in Lichfield (it’s my local, so they took pity on me and roped me in), we had to stop and exchange fraternal greetings and aid the survival of a village hostelry that dates from the 18th century.

It’s the taking part that counts, not the time.  Isn’t that right, Bryson?

St Giles Hospice in Whittington was where Dai was cared for in the days before he died, so it’s a cause dear to my heart and it costs about £9 million a year to keep it up and running.  Actually, I did about 32 miles because I cycled to the start and then, much more painfully, even thought most of it is downhill, back home.  Cyclists wear those padded shorts for a very good reason and after my marathon I read about a woman who’d worn three pairs (at once) so that she could cope with London to Paris.  Good luck to Brian and his SSAFA boys (see Maureen’s post).  My admiration knows no bounds – literally.

Now, I’m not one to boast – not least because as my friends and family point out I have very little to boast about – but the morning after my cycling exertions I went to the gym, then played golf with my brother-in-law at Handsworth.  Paul, Dai’s brother, plays off 26 (or he did but I’m hoping the match and handicap chair will hear of this), so I graciously gave him some shots and, apart from the 1st, not knowing how they are with such things at Handsworth, I played from the same tees.  At the 1st, playing from the reds, I hit two remarkably decent shots and holed a curly old putt of about 35 feet for a birdie three.  My opponent had a triple bogey seven, as befits a 26-handicapper.

I then moved back to join Paul on the yellow tees and, apart from three-putting too often, played quite nicely, pretty close to my handicap of 13.  I lost 5 and 4.  My opponent, after his encouragingly rocky start, barely put a shot wrong and played to 18.  “That’s my best score round here,” he said.  “Wonderful,” I grimaced.  “Well done, well played.”

Culrath, the house I was in at school, had the motto:  “Modest in victory, cheerful in defeat” and we mostly had to be cheerful.  Let’s hope that after the Ryder Cup in Paris later this month, Thomas Bjorn, Europe’s captain, can be a grumpy, grouchy, gold-trophy-wielding Dane.

 

It’s all Ivan Morris’s fault.  I’m blaming him anyway for the fact that I’ve got nothing done for the last two weeks.  For those of you who may not know Ivan – just think of the most fanatical golfer you know, whose every waking moment is filled with thinking of golf, playing golf, writing about golf, talking about golf.  Multiply that one hundredfold and you may begin to get a little bit of an idea of what golf means to Ivan.  And now he’s written his seventh book on the game – a specially commissioned tome to celebrate and mark the 125th anniversary of the Irish Ladies’ Golf Union (ILGU).

Since I received the book, courtesy of the ILGU, it has successfully kept me from doing all the things I should be.  I’ve been playing truant and loving it.  Now, normally, I’m not a huge fan of golf books celebrating a hundred years or so of this club or that or of specially commissioned works chronicling an association down the ages.  They can tend to become simply lists of names with the writer terrified he may offend someone by leaving them out.  I’m sure that’s an ever-present worry for any author of this genre but “A History of Women’s Golf in Ireland” is so much more than that.  It swings along at a jaunty pace telling the story of a fascinating social history through the medium of golf.  There is so much with which I can identify – from the austere, old world pictures of the fabulous Hezlett sisters which stared down at two young Madill girls from the walls of the Ladies’ clubhouse at Portrush as we played in endless fun-filled Junior competitions to the modern-day exploits of Stephanie Meadow and Leona Maguire, both former British Amateur Champions, US collegiate players and professionals – all three achievements that I’m proud to share with them.

I’ve selected a few of my favourite pics from the book.  Some resonate keenly with me for various reasons, others I just love.

 

 

It could not be more apt that this up-to-date chronicle of the women’s game in Ireland should be published just ahead of potentially the most seismic change in golf in the Emerald Isle.  The two oldest golfing unions in the world, the Golfing Union of Ireland (GUI) and the ILGU are three years in to an extensive collaboration to form a new, single, all-embracing and all-encompassing governing body, Golf Ireland.  It is certainly time for this to happen, not least because, to quote the introduction outlining the proposal, “Ireland is the only country left in the world to have two single gender governing bodies for golf.”  This proposal, which thudded into my inbox this week, opens with a joint statement from the presidents and chairs of each Union explaining that the paper sets out “in some detail how Golf Ireland will work in its organisational and regional structures, financial arrangements, legal structure, governance and how it will extend the level of services available to clubs.”  There are also details “on how Golf Ireland will operate, including how it will promote and develop the game for golfers of all levels of ability, streamline the handicapping and course rating systems, set up a new and integrated calendar of events, recruit new volunteers and recognise better the invaluable work that volunteers do all around Ireland.”

Phew, that’s quite a remit and I wish them well.  Should they receive the endorsement sought from the clubs an anticipated “go live” date for Golf Ireland is 1st January 2021.  It’s a far cry from the early pioneering days of the 1890s but with a collective willingness to work at ironing out the inevitable wrinkles it must surely be a step forward for golf in Ireland.  What an incredible journey it’s been.  Ivan, sharpen your pen and bring us an update in, say, a dozen years or so?!

Last week, when I realised that Padraig Harrington was in with a chance of winning his first tournament in quite a while, I plonked myself in the armchair to cheer him on and found myself captivated by a rather lovely Italian called Andrea Pavan.  I have to confess that I thought he was French at first because one of the on-course How’s it lying Clives called him Andre – or at least that’s what I heard – but I twigged eventually.

So it was Viva Italia once again and another second place for Padraig to add to his impressive collection.  I was disappointed that he didn’t win but delighted that Andrea, who looked ecstatic, dazed and amazed all at once, had snatched his maiden European Tour victory in grand style, coming home in 31, five under par, with birdies at the 10th, 12th, 14th, 16th and 17th.

Then they showed the leaderboard and I was so ecstatic, dazed and amazed all at once that I went, “Wow, that’s fantastic,” out loud.  That’s what happens when you live on your own, you talk to yourself, some of it profound (?!), a lot of it rubbish.  Some sort of slippery slope I suppose.  Anyway, what impressed me was the diversity, the way that golf has worked its way in to pretty well every corner of the globe.  

Root out your atlas and we’ll work our way down the leaderboard at the D+D REAL Czech Masters at Albatross Golf Resort, Prague.  Golf in Prague, for goodness sake and this is how the final standings read, by country:  Italy, Ireland, Malaysia, England, Scotland, South Africa, India, Sweden, France, Denmark, USA, Belgium, Thailand, Austria, Spain, Australia, Zimbabwe, Greece, South Korea, Germany.  By my reckoning (taking into account ageing eyes, titchy print and the inevitable margin for error of the mathematically challenged), there were 20 countries represented in the top 30 places.  Wow.  Fantastic.  That’s what I call a global tour.

At the golf club the other day I happened to mention that the World Amateur Team Championships were in Ireland over the next two weeks and wasn’t that exciting.  Dead silence.  No one knew what I was talking about.  I’m a fan of the WATCs because Maureen played in the Espirito Santo (the women’s version) at Pinehurst in 1980 and I met Dai (dear reader, I married him) at the Eisenhower Trophy (the men’s comp) that year.  It’s a big thing, not least because of the numbers involved.  At Carton House, near Maynooth in county Kildare, women from 57 countries are competing and next week there’ll be 71 men’s teams.

For many years Ireland, Wales, Scotland and England combined as GB and I (Great Britain and Ireland) but now they enter as separate entities.  Mo’s was a GB and I team that consisted of her, Mary McKenna and Belle Robertson, with Maire O’Donnell from Donegal as captain.  McKenna was injured just before the start and Jane Connachan, a very young Scot, was drafted in to replace her.  At least now 12 players have a chance to take part instead of three and two years ago, in Mexico, Ireland’s women won the bronze medal, a great effort.

They’ll have to go some to match that this year after the USA rocketed into first place after the 2nd round, posting a total of 272, one shot ahead of South Korea (officially the Republic of Korea), the defending champions and two ahead of Japan.  Ireland’s team of Olivia Mehaffey, Annabel Wilson and Paula Grant were on 288, sharing 10th place with Mexico.  Wilson, an ebullient teenager, had a 74, one over par, on the O’Meara course yesterday but was overshadowed by her playing partners Jennifer Kupcho and Ayean Cho, who had 65 and 64 respectively.  Kupcho, from Colorado, is ranked No 1 in the world and the Korean Cho’s 64 was the lowest score of the week.  Kupcho’s teammate Kristen Gillman also had a 65 so Lilia Vu, the third American, found her score of 69, four under par, discounted!  It’s a tough school.

Looking ahead to 2020, when the Curtis Cup will be held in Conwy, north Wales, not far from where I’m writing this, Elaine Ratcliffe has been named as captain.  Hooray.  The personable Englishwoman, who’s from Cheshire originally, had a distinguished amateur career before turning professional but was reinstated as an amateur in 2008 and has captained England teams at various levels.  She’ll also lead the Vagliano Trophy and Astor Trophy teams next year.  And Ireland’s Maria Dunne will captain GB and I in next year’s Junior Vagliano Trophy at Royal St George’s.  Hooray again.

Finally, the team of the month award must go to Lahinch, whose women won the All-Ireland Senior Cup for the first time when they tonked Elm Park 4 1/2 – 1/2 in the final at Knock GC in Belfast.  It’s a fantastic achievement and I trust the team and their supporters will be celebrating for a while yet.