Well, that’s another Portrush Open in the books.

There have only been three in total and I’ve been fortunate enough to be present at two of them and they have both delivered worthy champions.  An Irish winner in 2019 and the world No 1 this time around is a pretty good return in my book, but the two championships were poles apart in terms of excitement and adrenalin-fuelled suspense.  2019 had that in spades;  2025 not so much.

It was, however, a sparkling few days reconnecting with family (alas, mostly non-golfing and not the least bit interested in the Open) and friends (mostly golfers and, like us, immersed in the week).  Some friends had pretty important jobs – refereeing, marshalling, scoring and our knowledgeable historians fulfilled numerous media duties delivering real local flavour to the proceedings, which nicely balanced out the input from our global visitors.

I had a couple of visits to Portstewart golf club, of course, and the hospitality and welcome there remain undimmed.  It’s still my favourite place in the world – even though I now visit without golf clubs in tow.  When the sun shines, like it did on most days, it’s hard to beat.

A modern Open, like any huge sporting event, is an exercise in meticulous planning, detailed analysis and logisitics.  It’s mind-blowing when you pause to think about it.  And there are so many, many things that the R&A get right.  The provision of free water-refill stations and free sunscreen dispensers is terrific and power banks for recharging your phone for a reimbursable £20 were also a bonus.  I did see some assisted-travel buggies designed to help the less able reach far flung points on the course, which is great, but there could have been more of them.  These small details, however, leave lasting impressions.

It did, however, cross my mind that that may well be the last Open I attend.  When I watch golf, I like to pick a group and walk the whole way with them – I’m not one to pause at a grandstand for an hour or two (although that might have been fun at the aptly named Calamity Corner in the very top picture).  Perhaps it comes from all those years of treading the fairways with a microphone in hand but I do enjoy watching how the players deal with all that a round of golf can throw at them.  It’s fascinating to see their coping strategies and for me, to walk all eighteen is akin to reading an entire book and not just dipping into a couple of chapters.

It’s virtually impossible to walk with a game at an Open nowadays because of the vast crowds attending and Portrush certainly does not lend itself to easy watching.  The characteristics that make it such a fabulous course to play contribute to it being a difficult course on which to spectate.  The twisting fairways, the greens tucked away behind sand dunes, the uneven nature of the terrain – all conspire against a match follower who is outside the ropes.  It may be possible to see a player tee off but impossible to see where his ball lands.  If you position yourself behind a green, you may see a shot arrive but be none the wiser as to who has dispatched it.  Finding a position by the green to see both the ball and the hole can also be a challenge.  It’s not for the faint-hearted.

Portrush also has so many pinchpoints that whole swathes of time can be lost standing in vast crowds and shuffling forward at a snail’s pace and you find yourself several holes behind your selected group.  The 8th and 10th greens lie adjacent to each other and at one point the gallery ropes for each hole were so close that a narrow tunnel of fifteen paces was all that was left to accommodate the rush-hour traffic.  There were spectators seated on the grass watching play on the 8th green;  several rows of fans were standing to see the 10th green; and at the same time two sets of match followers were trying to make their way through this spaghetti junction of mind-boggling proportions.  As I said, not for the faint-hearted.

And the length of time the pros take to play……….!!!  Turgid rounds of six hours are too much even for the most ardent of fans and how must the players feel when they find themselves with a lengthy wait on a Thursday morning on the SECOND tee?  I do understand that this is the ultimate revenue stream open to the R&A but perhaps they’d like to consider that there are too many players teeing it up on Thursday and far too many tickets sold to fans who will scarcely be able to see any meaningful action.  There must be a balance to be struck there somewhere.

Mind you, the other majors, as well as the Ryder Cup, are guilty of also allowing so many fans in that there is little chance of decent viewing.  I mentioned this a decade ago to a former Ryder Cup captain and major winner and his response was, “Maureen, when did you ever think the spectators were taken into consideration?”

Hmm, indeed.

One person lit up the Open and that was Rory McIlroy.  He tried his darndest to win but was sensitive as to the importance of his homecoming as a Grand Slam champion to the people of Ireland.  He engaged with the galleries, made eye contact on every hole and took us with him on another roller-coaster ride of a mixture of awe and frustration that we Rory-followers are accustomed to experiencing.  Perhaps it was to his detriment, but Rory gave us everything and ultimately couldn’t live with the machine-like performance of world No 1 Scottie Scheffler.

Ah, Scottie.  What a player – clinical, controlled, complete.  He’s currently dominating the majors having won three out of the last eight and four in total.  Only the US Open is needed for his own Grand Slam and I don’t know of anyone who would bet against him achieving that at Shinnecock next year.

As I write, Portrush will be still engaged in the massive dismantling and cleaning up operation that is required after an Open and I suspect the locals, hospitable as they are, will be quite pleased to reclaim their town.  I’ve heard it’ll all happen again in 2032.  At the moment, I think it’s unlikely I’ll attend but it IS seven years away……..and perhaps, when push comes to shove, I’ll discover that that’ll be an itch that demands to be scratched once more………but I would like to be able to see the action.

Knackered is the only way to describe how a lot of us felt after the Open, not a very ladylike term I know but this blog, albeit written by a female, is not renowned for observing the proprieties and has no intention of starting now.  Perhaps it should come with a permanent warning:  may contain slightly dodgy language; not to everybody’s taste; approach with caution, if at all…

As I was typing, not having disabled predictive text, the machine wanted to turn “blog” into “blob” and that’s probably a pretty accurate description of the person at the keyboard.  It’s amazing how tiring watching golf all day, for a week, can be – even if it’s only on the telly – and just getting to the course at a massive event like the Open is a feat of planning and endurance in itself.  And patience.  Lots of patience.  Because there’ll be queues.  Queues to get in (especially when the electronic doofers designed to speed things up have to be switched off because they went bananas at every hearing aid and pacemaker); queues to sit in a stand (love that, going into a stand to sit); queues for coffee, ice cream, food of any sort; queues for beer, Guinness, booze; queues to spend shedloads of dosh in the shop.

For once, I timed my run to the shop, aka the massive merchandise tent, to perfection.  It was on the Sunday, when all the leaders had set off with hordes in hot pursuit, so the trail of people traipsing round those airport-style snakes that make you dizzy was small enough – and moving at a reasonable pace.  Once in it was still more or less playable and being a generous soul, I settled on some tees that I thought would make good pressies – and cost a single-figure sum.  Then I looked at the hordes waiting to pay.

I put the tees back.

Earlier, I’d been a guest on Colin Murray’s programme on 5 Live, chatting with him and Catriona Matthew about this and that beside the Rolex clock in the middle of one of the tented villages.  Colin was in peripatetic mode, doing his show on the hoof, armed only with his headphones, microphone and i-pad, accompanied by assorted producers, who were desperately trying to keep things up to time. Apparently, for whatever reason – stuff happens – I was one of the few guests who’d managed to turn up, so they were glad to see me!  As my friends know only too well, you just set me going and I’ll yak on until told to stop.  Often an unwelcome trait but pretty useful for radio.

To recover, I got myself something to eat and a Guinness (or was that later, it’s all a bit of a blur now) and had to force myself to tramp out in search of some golf. It was amazingly quiet, apart from the odd roar when Rory holed a putt or hit a green in regulation because Scottie was making a procession of it, strangling the life out of the opposition and the championship. He had a little blip – perhaps in danger of losing concentration because it was all a bit one-sided – but it didn’t last and what is now normal service resumed soon enough.  Majestic.

I didn’t have any actual money on the world No 1 – rubbish odds for an occasional punter like me – so I was relying on Justin Rose, Tyrrell Hatton and Thriston Lawrence to win me a pound or two but it was not to be.  Apologies to Ryan Fox, my other each-way bet, who missed the cut, which is the usual fate of my selections.  Thanks to Harris English, my final pick, I did win my stake back in the house sweep (brother-in-law Brian was on Scheffler) and lo and behold, I’d gone for the main man in the AGW’s PYP (pick your pro), which I’d forgotten all about.

I hung around for a day or two after the Open before getting the train from Ballymoney to Belfast to meet up with a friend who was driving us to Dublin.  Anyway, the rattler chugged along well enough, calling at places like Cullybackey en route to Belfast Grand Central and I couldn’t help thinking that the HS2 millions – or is it now billions? – would have been better spent on upgrading track and rolling stock all over the UK.  Ah well.

Anyway, amazingly enough, there’s lots to do in Bushmills (apart from the oldest distillery in the world, which is still on my list), especially on a very wet and manky Monday.  Pity the poor souls lined up to play golf on a beautiful coastline that they couldn’t see.  I spent most of the day mooching happily in the old Courthouse, refurbed and home to numerous arts and crafts.  Brian Willis, 89 and from Dorset originally before he and his wife came here 30-odd years ago and never left, was away feeding the cats when I first passed his studio but he came back in time for a chat as he worked on his big painting of Dunluce Castle.

”Dunluce is hard,” he said, “because it’s flat, so I’m trying to add a bit of light.”  You can watch him work on Facebook – facebook.com/brian.willis.313.  Not sure about caps and stuff but it’s worth a go  He’s very entertaining.

There was just time for one very important visit to Portstewart, to visit Morelli’s, one of the town’s institutions, to treat Kath, our host for Open week (and beyond).  A coffee and a piece of cake perhaps or an ice cream we thought but settled for a milkshake, the first one either of us had had for years.  Calorific but delicious.

Finally, this blog finds it hard to resist a dog, so here’s Lightning after one of her forages in the undergrowth – looking for frogs, Kath, her owner, tells me.

It’s the Wednesday of Open week as I tap away at the keys here back in Norn Iron, the sun is shining and shorts are the order of the day but before we turn to the greatest tournament of them all we need a word about last week’s Amundi Evian Championship, one of the women’s five majors.

What a performance from Farnham Golf Club’s Lottie Woad!  Winner the previous week of the KPMG Women’s Irish Open she joined a small, but select group of players to win a professional title as an amateur.  Gill Stewart, Amy Yang and Lydia Ko spring to mind along, of course, with Catherine Lacoste, the great French player who won the 1967 US Women’s Open and remained amateur throughout all her competitive days.

At Evian-les-Bains the following week Lottie came oh-so-close to following in the footsteps of the great Lacoste.  Seven under for the day after the 13th hole in the last round, she assumed a one shot lead with five to play.  Level par for the remaining holes resulted in an impressive 64 but it was one too many to join the dramatic play-off between Thailand’s Jeeno Thitikul and Grace Kim of Australia.

Lottie Woad, all smiles after a magnificent, final two weeks of her amateur career. [lpga]

However, through her results in professional events Lotte comfortably attained the required twenty points for an automatic LPGA card and next Thursday she makes her debut in the paid ranks at the ISPS Handa Women’s Scottish Open at Dundonald Links.  We wish her well and look forward to seeing where her glittering skills in this most frustrating of games lead her.

As if that weren’t enough excitement for us all Grace Kim left us (and herself) speechless and breathless at her amazing play coming down the stretch.  Three behind after a double at the 12th she picked up a couple of birdies but was still two adrift of world No 1 Thitikul when they stood on the 18th tee.  They were to play that hole three times together with Grace recording, eagle, birdie (including a penalty stroke), eagle.  The title and trophy were deservedly the Aussie’s.

I’m not sure Jeeno could have done much about it.  It seemed to be destiny.

I wonder whose destiny it will be to hoist the Claret Jug on Sunday.  As ever, much will depend on the weather and the draw over the first couple of days.  Only the Masters and the Open eschew a two tee start which means the starting times at Portrush on Thursday and Friday cover a stretch of just under ten hours.   First off is 06.35 and last is 16.16 – four seasons can quite comfortably be experienced in that little stretch.

The 7th at Portrush in the benign conditions of one of the practice days.

In 2019 I hauled myself out of bed at some unfathomable hour to witness Darren Clarke hit the opening tee shot of that Open and in so doing a 68-year wait for the return of the championship was ended.  Darren started with a birdie and as neither of his playing companions could match him we had an Irishman leading the Open in Ireland.  I hurried to take a snap to commemorate this most magnificent feat – I never dreamed growing up that I would ever live to see such a thing.  Little did we realise then what was to unfold over the ensuing three days.

So, we had an Irishman hitting the opening shot but, most magnificently and thrillingly, we had an Irishman holing the final putt.  Being present and walking with Shane Lowry for every single shot on that final day remains right at the top of my golfing experiences.  This year the honour of hitting the opening shot of the championship falls to two-time winner, Padraig Harrington.  But who will be the last man to pick the ball out of the cup on the final green come Sunday?  Could history possibly repeat itself and allow us another Irish winner……..?  My cup would indeed runneth over.

The Americans have had a good run of it in the last few years with three of the last four winners hailing from the US.  Collin Morikawa won at Royal St George’s in 2021, Brian Harman at Hoylake in 2023 and Xander Schauffele last year at Troon.  The defending champ reluctantly went through the tradition of returning the trophy on Tuesday this week and I, for one, suspect he won’t be too far away come the final knockings on Sunday – he seems to me to be just rounding into form nicely.

Bob MacIntyre will have a huge following over the week.

We all have our favourites – mine, unsurprisingly, include, amongst others, all the Irish, Bob MacIntyre, Tommy Fleetwood, Justin Rose, Viktor Hovland and Ludvig Aberg.  I’m also going to make a point of watching more of Frenchman Martin Couvra if I can.  I watched the 22-year old a little in practice and he does look a bit special though it remains to be seen how he performs in this, his first major start.  With fewer than a couple of dozen starts in his pro career he already has one win, in Turkey, and a couple of top tens in his last five tournaments.

Another new one I wish to seek out is the immensely talented South African, Aldrich Potgieter.  At 20 years of age he is the youngest man on the PGA tour and also the longest hitter.  He has one win already in this, his first year, on the American tour, as well as a play-off loss and a plethora of missed cuts.  He is exciting and occasionally erratic but when he gets it all together he is explosive and a good watch.

Viktor Hovland tried to change his swing a couple of seasons back. Now he’s back playing well and looked confident in practice.

So, settle back and enjoy the week whether you’re here in person or not.  We can only guess at the outcome but one thing is certain – for someone, Sunday 20th July 2025 will be truly unforgettable, unsurpassable and unimaginably emotional.

That’s the Open for you.

Good morning everybody.  Greetings from Portrush and I’m sure you’ll be super pleased to know that no matter what else happens this week, three lifetime golf tragics are super happy and have been beaming from ear to there since Tuesday night.  The reason?   Well, a picture paints a thousand words, so feast your eyes on this.

Rory’s got the green and we three girls are like the cats who’ve got the cream. From left to right: Lil, the Masters champ, Kath and Patricia. [Dave Cannon]

Many, many thanks to the great – no, the super great – Dave Cannon, photographer supreme, who is still tramping the fairways at the age of 70, taking marvellous images that adorn walls public and private all over the world. He himself has a special wall at home because he makes sure he has a photo taken with all the champions he’s chronicled over the decades. It’s a big wall.

Fortunately Dave, who’s a busy man, also does dinners and we were lucky to nab him for a picture to be treasured. I was so convinced that Rory would put in an appearance at the AGW (Association of Golf Writers’) annual dinner with his brand spanking new green coat that I’d told my two distinguished guests that our main mission was to make sure that we had a picture taken with Rory. We were, if necessary, prepared to be shameless, an adult version of those persistent little toerags begging for autographs on caps, shirts, flags, balls, anything…..”Rory, Rory, Rory….Shane, Shane, Shane….”

And we got lucky – because, surprise, surprise, we were a little later than we intended and had to persuade a policeman who had a little list that didn’t have our names on it that we really were invited. He let us through, we got our shuttle bus from the designated car park and as we were walking to the R&A Pavilion, an impressive, if temporary structure, there was a wee bit of a flurry. We looked behind and there, striding towards us at quite a lick, was the man himself, sporting a super severe haircut and the green jacket. Time to be shameless.

Now, Rory doesn’t know me from a hole in the ground but he knows Maureen well, so I said something along the lines of “Hello Rory, I’m Maureen Madill’s sister and she said to say ‘Congratulations, well done’ – and could we have a photograph with you please?” He didn’t break stride but said ‘Yes’ and hurried on. When we caught up, he was at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for his summons. Turned out, although he had won the Golf Writers’ Trophy – yet again – this would be a surprise appearance and we were sworn to secrecy, asked not to barrel up the stairs and announce to the assembled company that the Masters champion and Grand Slam winner was on his way.

We managed to keep the news to ourselves, collected a glass of champagne – slainte and thanks to the R&A – did a mini mingle and were then asked to take our seats.  Rory was announced, got a standing ovation, charmed us all by saying he hoped this would help make up for a few missed press conferences/encounters, assured us his hair would be just right for the Ryder Cup and as he was being presented with his trophy I realised that he wouldn’t be staying much longer.  The girls and I were as on our marks as a trio with knackered knees, hips, feet, whatever, could be expected to be and we did our best imitation of Usain Bolt as we beat Rory to the exit.

True to his word he stopped for the pic and the towering presence of Dave C allowed us to ditch our phones and enjoy the moment.  Lil said to Rory, “You won’t remember me but we’ve met before, in South Africa, at the World Amateur Team Championships.”

“Dezalza,” he said at once.

It was at a gala dinner and Lil, captain of the Ireland Espírito Santo team, said to a very young tousle-haired Rory, “Do you want to dance?”

“I don’t do dancing,” came the reply.

“And I still don’t,” said the senior version nearly twenty years later.

Thanks for making our year, Rory.

One of the minor mysteries of this year’s Open is the absence of the BIGGA (British and International Golf Greenkeepers Association) bunker rakers. There used to be one with every group, relieving the caddies of an important but time-consuming and sometimes inconvenient job. So far I haven’t heard a remotely reasonable explanation for the change and I’ll bet they were much missed on an opening day that saw its fair share of rain and much juggling of brollies, waterproofs, towels and what have you.

The bunkers at Royal Portrush are not for the faint-hearted, they’re mostly deep and difficult and not easy to miss, given the abundance of humps and hollows and deceptive swales that lead even well-struck balls astray. I was standing under my brolly at the 17th wondering if Patrick Cantlay and his group had come to grief at Calamity and disappeared off the face of the golf course when they appeared and, lo, it transpired that Cantlay was in the bunker on the far side of the green. I couldn’t see him when he went in to play his shot and I couldn’t see Joe LaCava, his caddie, who is quite a big bloke, when he went in to do the raking.

It took Joe, who’d had to walk several yards to retrieve the rake in the first place, quite a long time and he then tossed the rake down, well away from the bunker but nowhere near where it had been when he picked it up. At an earlier hole I’d noticed a rake lying neatly right at the edge of a bunker, so there was no consistency on that front and my first thought was: “BIGGA is definitely BETTER.”….