Blog Again

Well, what are we going to talk about this week?

That’s a very good question and I might have been able to answer it better if I hadn’t been persuaded (easily) to go to the pub with two of the in-laws.  We’d convened at mine to discuss the wine for the forthcoming wedding of their son.  Being a member of the Wine Society, I’m considered a bit of an expert (only a bit) and the important thing is they won’t be recommending just any old rubbish.

It’s a bit like having a season ticket for the tottering Totspurs – I’d probably have been quite a wealthy woman, possibly even a bit of a catch (I’m watching a very old episode of First Dates as I write this), if I hadn’t taken over Dai’s membership share of the Wine Soc.  Admittedly I don’t have to be tempted by all the offers and my liver might be a bit resentful of my lack of restraint but when John Arlott has proposed your beloved for something (he proposed Dai for the Wine Soc), it ill behoves you to ditch the membership.

I don’t think you have to be proposed nowadays but it’s a wonderful story and there’s a letter somewhere to prove that it’s authentic, not made up.  If you have no idea who Arlott is, please look him up – and if you can, listen to his voice.  A broadcasting and cricketing legend.

After the wine chat, we headed for the Horse and Jockey, not quite my nearest local at five minutes’ stroll (legend has it that Lichfield used to have about 200 pubs) but one of my favourites.  It’s also in need of our custom because it was closed for a while after a high-powered car smashed in to the front window.  A friend was very lucky that he wasn’t killed – and I realised I’d been in that self same seat just a week before….

The battered pub

There was football on the telly and it just so happened that we were in sight of the screen (small) showing Nottingham Forest and couldn’t see the screens showing the Villa game.  This bro-in-law is a Villa fan but wasn’t too stressed because they were in total control of the Europa League tie against Bologna and ended up winning 7-1 on aggregate.  Sadly, we (Spurs) have to play Villa at their place soon – probably another nul points.  I fear we’re doomed.  Relegation beckons.

It’s back down to N17 this Saturday, for the match against Brighton, who are in decent form – five wins in the last six matches I think – so there’s no way in the world we’re anything but second favourites.  Bear in mind that we haven’t won a single solitary league game this year, so no wonder I’m struggling to remember the last time I left the stadium feeling buoyed up and cheerful.

It’s the friends that matter most but this pic is from last season, when we’d won a trophy but lost our last league game – smashed 4-1 by Brighton.  Oops.  Help.

Now, how could I ignore the Masters and Rory’s defence of his title, such a rare feat that only Jack Nicklaus, Nick Faldo and Tiger Woods had ever managed it?  Of course, we can all expect a different winner next year because no one’s ever won the green jacket three times in a row and there must be a reason for that:  it’s too blooming difficult.

The old saw is that the tournament doesn’t begin until the last nine on Sunday and time after time it has proved to be the case.  Last Sunday was beyond confusing, with any number of players in the mix.  Justin Rose must be kicking himself – irrespective of his bogeys at the 11th and 12th, the killers were his rush-of-blood three-putt par at the 13th and missed putt (not quite a tiddler – the only sure thing at Augusta is the length of Rory’s tap in at the last) at the 17th, for an untimely bogey.  If any player deserves a Masters title it’s Justin and if he does win, he’ll replace Nicklaus as the oldest champion.  Unlikely as the years roll on but not impossible.

We watched the golf on the telly but really, in my heart of hearts, I’d rather listen on the radio – or combine the two somehow.  The pictures are great but there is something spine tingling and magical about hearing an exciting sporting event unfold on the wireless.  What a dinosaur I am….

Nothing beats listening…

Amazingly, I won the money in our family and friends sweep because I had Mr McIlroy.  He was my second pick and none of the others had him as their first choice either – perhaps we didn’t want to tempt fate or didn’t believe lightning could strike twice, all that stuff.  Glad I succumbed, albeit a bit belatedly.

My last pick was Haotong Li and he was chugging along nicely in the last round, on the fringes of real contention.  He was playing with Scottie Scheffler, the world No 1 but that wouldn’t have fazed him because they played together in the last round of the Open at Portrush when Scheffler surged away from the rest to win his first Claret Jug.

We saw quite a bit of Scottie – and he finished second in the end – but nothing of Haotong.  Wondering what was happening to one of my main men, I looked him up on the Masters app and saw he’d had a mare at Amen Corner:  six at the 12th and ten at the 13th, eight over par for the two holes but nary a mention by the broadcasters.

Disasters of a golfing variety are a tradition like no other at Augusta, they’re the stuff of legend, so to let them pass unremarked is dereliction of the first order.  I found the footage on the app and it looked as though his third shot at the 12th hit the pin and rebounded back into the water.  At the 13th he was deep in the azaleas and foliage to the left of the green, had a hack or two, got to the back of the green, hit the ball too hard, in to Rae’s Creek and so on, with Scottie, waiting to putt, watching patiently on.

Haotong, far from inscrutable, endeared himself to the crowd/gallery/patrons by lifting his arms in the air in mock triumph after sinking his final putt.  That’s the way to do it.

He’s my first pick for the Open at Birkdale.

Haotong at Portrush.  He played well, so dunes hold no fear.