It was a happy day last Sunday for this blogger when Rory McIlroy put the finishing touches to his fourth victory in the last twelve months and regained the No 1 world ranking from Scottie Scheffler, who had held top spot since the Masters or thereabouts.

Rory was the defending champion at The CJ Cup in South Carolina and a blistering four-birdie blitz in the final nine holes afforded him the luxury of finishing with a couple of bogeys and still lifting top prize.  All was well in my world until the American broadcasters put up the graphic below which resulted in a very nice drop of Rioja going down the wrong way and in the ruination of my favourite white tee shirt.

USA?  USA?  Is there something Rory hasn’t told us in this oh-so-strange year in the golfing world?  Yes, I know he lives in America and yes, he has married an American and I suppose his daughter would be able to select just whom she might represent in the Solheim Cup twenty years hence, but – Rory McIlroy, USA???  This was even more disturbing than the news that Boris was cutting short his beach holiday and I was in a fever of anxiety until the final leaderboard was shown with the correct nationality and I was reassured that Rory would, indeed, be representing this side of the pond again come Rome and next September’s Ryder Cup.

You can understand why we won’t give Rory up too easily.  He is the only golfer from the Emerald Isle, male or female, to reach No 1 in the world and he has done it now for the ninth time in his career.  That was his 23rd win on the PGA Tour, the toughest tour in the world, and his sixth straight season with at least one win stateside.

This time last year he was down in 14th/15th place in the rankings and a bit of a lost soul with his game.  Granted it has been another major-less year, which hurts, but it has also been one of staggering consistency, all the while shouldering the responsibility of being the voice of the PGA Tour players in the whole LIV Golf scenario.

Rory’s ability to compartmentalise and “play with joy” again has been amazing and his transparency and willingness to let us share his ups and downs, and thinking, make him one of the best interviews in sport.  Too many players bat the questions back with dull, unimaginative answers which makes for turgid viewing.  I accept that many post-round interviews are very same-y and the questions uninspiring, but it’s part of a player’s job to engage and provide insight and entertainment.  Laura Davies was particularly good at this but, to this day, too many trot out the same ole answers time and again.  Take a leaf out of the books of Davies and McIlroy, please.

While Rory relaxes this week, his goal having been achieved, there are six women from these shores in New Mexico chasing their own dreams.  This is the second iteration of the Women’s PGA Cup, which was played for the first time in 2019.  Mirroring  the men’s competition, this is for PGA members who are not exclusively members of a tour.  They may well have been full-time players at one point, like Alison Nicholas, this year’s captain’s pick but most are principally involved in coaching, retailing or another branch of the industry, working their playing schedule in around their other responsibilities.

The GB&I team is led this year by PGA Captain Sarah Bennett and comprises five players, three of whom played last time – namely, Suzanne Dickens, Alison Gray and Heather MacRae.  They are joined by Jessica Smart and captain Sarah’s pick, the redoubtable Ali Nicholas.

The team had a 22-hour journey to New Mexico but by all reports were enchanted by Twin Warriors Golf Club and course when they got there.  There are six teams of five players playing a round a day for three days.  Each day the best three scores count and the winners are the ones with the lowest cumulative score.  Six professional golfers’ associations are represented – GB&I, USA, Australia, Canada, South Africa and Sweden so there will undoubtedly be some stellar play, new friendships made and several renewed.  Despite the keen rivalry women’s golf will surely be the winner in this particular scenario.

Thanks to Sarah for her facebook posts and the pictures shown here – (that’s Twin Warriors golf course at the top, looking spectacular), although if I were her I’d be careful in that hot air balloon.  It always seems to be the case that the passengers are required to ditch one of their number and as she’s non-playing captain…………..!

Good luck guys – we’re rooting for you.

You know, just for once, I thought I ‘d start with a bit of golf.  There was a picture that caught my eye, not least because it showed that even serial winners and serious men in jackets and ties are human too.  And it was an object lesson to all those involved in designing trophies:  whatever you do make sure the bits all hold together.

Steven Alker, a New Zealander who is having his golfing year of years on the PGA Tour Champions (I think that’s its current title), won the Dominion Energy Charity Classic, his fourth victory of the season, at the Country Club of Virginia and probably relaxed and lost his concentration as he took possession of the trophy – only to see it fall apart!  The picture says it all.

Fortunately no harm was done as the glass trophy hit the grass and survived intact and Alker was able to raise it – cautiously, with a very firm grip – to applause and relieved laughter.

He’d needed birdies at the 15th, 16th and 17th to put clear green fairway between himself and the rest and admitted:  “It was kind of a dogfight down there at the end.  I was trying not to look at the leaderboard because there’s so many guys just trying to win this golf tournament.”

Alker’s late flourish saw him finish one shot ahead of K.J. Choi and two ahead of Padraig Harrington, Jerry Kelly and Doug Barron.  Ernie Els and Brian Gay were a shot further behind.  A little further down came Rocco Mediate, Brett Quigley, Rod Pampling, Jim Furyk, Stephen Ames, Bernhard Langer and Paul Broadhurt, to mention just a few blasts from the past.  I just love it that they are still swinging, still trying to figure the old game out, battling away with their peers.

Earlier, at the Mallorca Golf Open in Palma, Yannik Paul had no such wobbles as he celebrated his first win on the DP World Tour (oh dear, that still sticks in the craw; what will I do when my beloved Totspurs sell their soul along with the naming rights to the stadium?).  Anyway, well done to Yannik, a 28-year old German who birdied the last to win.  Sehr gut.  Except for a gutted Marcus Armitage, who was leading with three holes to play but dropped four shots in a nightmarish finish.  He had rounds of 63, 73, 63, 73.  Aaagh.

Yannik has a twin brother Jeremy who is also a tournmant pro but I suppose it’s too much to hope that they and the Danish Hojgaard twins, Rasmus and Nicolai, could be on a Ryder Cup team together.

One of my favourite trophies has pride of place in amongst my trinkets for several reasons, not least because I won it at Pedrena, where Seve learned his golf.  Sadly, he was otherwise engaged and wasn’t there to present it to me but it remains memorable because it was one of the few times – probably the only time if I’m honest – that I came off the golf course and said, “I couldn’t have scored any better; I gave every shot my full attention.”

I was also cream-crackered.

And realised why it’s a rare achievement, even for the very best.

It’s mentally and physically exhausting.

It was wet, I used borrowed clubs and at the dinner afterwards made my winning speech in Spanish (it was always a good bit better than my German), much to astonishment of the assembled multitude.  Admittedly, after they’d twigged what I was attempting, all I needed to do was shut up, hoist the well-constructed trophy on high and accept the acclaim…

The plaque reads:  Consejeria De Cultura Educacion Y Deporte, I Trofeo Internacional De Golf Para Periodistas, Abril 1990, so it was a long time ago but it was an international event and the periodistas (journalists) came from far and wide…Well, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.  Viva Espana.

I wasn’t going to mention LIV golf ever again – because I’m lucky enough not to have to – but I thought I’d better have a look at what’s going on at Doral where they’re having some sort of team comp for lots of dosh.  The added bonus is that Donald Trump, the former and would-be-future leader of the western world, is there – the place is now called Trump National Doral – playing in the pro-am and promoting Trump Turnberry’s claims to a return to the Open rota.

The course was revived and reinvented by architect Martin Ebert to general acclaim and Trump said, “We did a big surgery on Turnberry and it has gotten great reviews, even from people who hate me.  It is rated the No 1 course in Europe now.”

When Iain Carter, the BBC’s estimable golf correspondent, told me he was going to this thing at Doral, I asked him, “Why?”   He said, “Because it’s newsworthy.”

And, much though it pains me to admit, I suppose that’s hard to argue with, especially when you’ve got the not-so-estimable Donald in the mix.

There are two memories that come to mind from back in the day when I covered golf tournaments and Doral, a posh resort in Miami, with its feared Blue Monster course, was one of the highlights of the PGA Tour’s schedule.  I had one of my best – and most expensive – pedicures there (not, I hasten to say, on expenses) and heard one of my all-time favourite gallery comments.

Two blue rinse Floridians, well beyond the first flush but immaculately turned out and still game, were surveying the 18th and the golfers striding up the fairway and one said to her friend:  “I’ve always liked Greg Norman [then one of the best players in the world; now LIV’s chief spokesman].  He’s got such a great pair of buns.”

On that note….we’ll go to something a little loftier.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For those of us of a certain age it’s jabbing season. – namely Covid and flu.  I had the Covid one a couple of weeks ago and was very apprehensive about it, to say the least.  After all, it was catching the wretched virus last November and then having my booster in January that felled me, opening up an unpleasant medical world that I’m slowly tunnelling out of.  Happily, all was well and I had zero reaction to it.  The flu one is this week so fingers crossed that goes just as smoothly.

Not going smoothly at all is the state of professional golf as the divisions between the Saudi-backed LIV Golf rebels and the PGA and DP World tours widen and positions become more and more entrenched – never a good idea in any walk of life.  If you’re like me, you’ll be beginning to find the whole thing rather tiresome – after all, there’s only so much we ordinary folk can take of multi-millionaires squabbling about world ranking points and the opportunity, or lack of, to play in the sport’s majors and high-profile teams.

It has been nauseating to hear the majority of the LIV golf players say they are invested in “spending more time with their families” and “growing the game” clumsily skirting round the fact that they have signed on because of the colossal amounts of money on offer.  That’s why it’s so refreshing to hear Harold Varner III say it as it is.  He came from a relatively poor background, fell in love with golf and found he was pretty good at it.  When LIV came calling he rejected their first signing-on offer, countered with a figure of his own and was blown away when it was accepted.  Having suffered from a foot injury last year he had glimpsed how precarious a sportsperson’s life can be and had no hesitation in making the jump (with a happily repaired foot), eyes wide open.

Harold accepted the trade-offs, the possibility that majors, Ryder Cup and Presidents Cup teams might be closed to him.  What he was gaining was security for himself and the next couple of generations of little Varners, something he wouldn’t have dared to dream of when growing up and seeing the sacrifices his parents made for him just to be able to play this game.

“You’re telling me I can make X, Y and Z and it’s guaranteed…..I’ve got to go do it and I get to help more people.  I wanted to do it.”

Varner’s candour is at odds with some of his LIV colleagues.  He doesn’t get involved in any spinning of the truth, an admirable trait in any walk of life and one that seems to be in very short supply – certainly in the United Kingdom at the moment.

I was very moved this week when watching a documentary about Ladies’ European Tour player Becky Brewerton (top) in which she highlighted her mental struggles with the game over the last number of years.  It’s entitled “Becky Brewerton:  From glittering career to the pits of despair/My Story”.  Have a look at it if you can – it gives us all a window into the not-so-glamorous world of competitive sport and it takes a lot of guts and courage to come through these tribulations and talk about them.  By doing so Becky will help loads of others who are mistakenly thinking that they are the only ones riddled with self-doubt and feelings of being an imposter.  She’s always been a fabulous golfer but is an even better person.

The link is below.

As you are aware this blog is frequently technically challenged so if it doesn’t work when you click below, just go to youtube.com and google Becky Brewerton.

Those of you who know me well know that all my life I have experienced recurring dreams, many of the anxiety variety.  For example, it’s four decades since I sat any university exams yet I still am haunted in my dreams by not being able to find the examination hall in time to sit the exam.  In other dreams I am on the first tee of an important match with galleries lining the fairways – it’s never just a cosy fourball on my home course!  Everyone is waiting for me to tee off not realising there is something wrong with my contact lenses and, try as I might, I cannot clear my blurred vision.  The result is I take an age to hit the ball and am aware of the restlessness of the onlookers who are fed up waiting.  I always wake up in a cold sweat without ever having hit the drive.

Just how does your mind work, I wonder?  It’s a lifetime ago since I faced either of those scenarios, yet I visit them often in my dreams, so is it revealing deep-seated anxiety issues?  The past year, which has been golf-less because of Covid, has been free of my putting-yips angst, a welcome benefit to not getting out on the course.  It’ll be interesting to see if the yips are lying in wait for me or if they’ll have decided to take a hike, at least for a while.  I suspect the former as I’ve not been up to doing any “mind control” work, which I’m sure is needed for lasting improvement.

In this life it is a comfort to know you are not alone and this underlines the importance of Becky speaking out.  She will probably never truly appreciate how much this may just help folk from all walks of life.  It could be the catalyst to them deciding to seek help.  We are all fragile, after all.

Bravo Becky!

Stubborn?  Luddite?  Paranoid?  Moi?

Surely not but I confess I’ve even disabled Siri and don’t have wotsername, Alexa, worried about unwanted surveillance.  Not that it’ll make any difference if they, whoever they are, really want to find me, for whatever unfathomable reason.  The search for a prime minister with a sense of direction perhaps…

Anyway, one of my friends read the last blog and was in touch at once with instructions:  “You really MUST start using Google Maps instead of just Maps – it tells you about heavy traffic and road works and chooses the fastest route minute by minute.  Would have saved you heaps of time!”

I responded that I didn’t need a satnav and got this exasperated retort:  “It’s just an app on your phone!!  Almost rocket science I suppose. [Satellites I think she meant.]  You’re just a tad stubborn maybe or perhaps a bit of a Luddite?”

Then I read that Elon Musk – cleverer than Einstein according to a recent telly promo – seemed to have decided not to disable the satellites that were keeping Ukrainians in touch with the wider world.  Now, I may have got that wrong – forensic research is not this blog’s remit – but I was a bit peeved that some super smart, multi billionaire seemed to be in control of something so crucial.  Pass me my pencil and paper please.

Admittedly, I have trouble using the phone to enter my golf scores, so it’s little wonder that I’m all at sea in a world of high technology.  A few years ago I was asked by a young press officer if I did email and was quite peeved that he thought me so old that something so cutting edge would be beyond my capabilities.  Now I’m having my doubts about my suitability for the modern world.  Ah well, suppose I’ll just have to keep breathing in and out and see what happens.

Anyway, I took the train to the last match, against Everton (a 2-nil win that was workmanlike at best) and all was going swimmingly until we got to Rugby on the way home and waited for about an hour before getting going again.  We were even asked to leave the train – a door wasn’t working properly – and prepare ourselves for a coach trip to our respective destinations but the train was packed, it would have taken a lot of coaches, so, eventually, we boarded again and carried on, apologies abounding.

I was on a train again on Monday – in to Birmingham to see if I could donate plasma but my veins didn’t pass muster, so I settled for giving an armful of blood – and read the Metro paper to pass the time.  There was a wee tale about a not-so-wee trip by a Lincoln City fan that put my efforts well and truly in the halfpenny place.  It was such an epic journey that it featured in the team talk and inspired an unlikely 1-nil win at high-flying Ipswich.

It also highlighted the inadequacy of the country’s transport links.  This fan, wanting to get from Scotland to Ipswich to watch his (presumably) beloved Imps (or win a bet), flew from Edinburgh to Birmingham, got a train to London, then took tube and train to Ipswich.  At least the station doesn’t seem to be too far from Portman Road and it looks as though there’s a bridge over the river Orwell, so that shouldn’t have been a problem.  Wonder when he got home.

I puffed my way on to the golf club, going the long way round, of course because I took a wrong turn and had cheese and toast and a cuppa in shirt sleeves on the patio.  No need to fly to Spain for a bit of October sunshine.

There have been comments that there’s not too much golf in the blog at the moment but that suits the non-golfers down to the ground, so it’ll continue to be a bit of a meander from here to there with no guarantee of golf – or no golf.

Watching David Attenborough the other night, talking about melting icecaps and similar catastrophes, I turned down my heating, put on another fleece (probably one of those things that clogs the oceans with plastic particles every time it’s washed) and fretted about how to reduce my contribution to global warming.  Fortunately, a friend has solar panels, so has no qualms about keeping her house warm and I’ve been invited round for tea, to discuss my dilemma in comfort.

What do golfers do when they’re not golfing?   Well, some of us visit the magnificent Elford gardens, a few miles from Whittington (even I have managed to cycle), to check up on fellow golfers who volunteer there and can be relied on to take a break for tea, coffee, cake and chat.  It’s a reminder that green spaces are vital to our wellbeing and we forget that at our peril.

It started chucking it down with rain, so I didn’t manage any happy snaps of the gardens but there are acres and acres to explore.  Highly recommended.