I tuned in to a WiJ (Women in Journalism) seminar on AI (Artificial Intelligence) the other night, managed to connect via Zoom but realised, yet again, that I’m now well-nigh unemployable unless all the satellites fail and pencil and paper rule again.

Remember when Prince Charles (now King) threw a bit of a wobbly when a pen leaked or wouldn’t write or whatever?  Well, something similar happened to me when I couldn’t find out how much Brian Harman, the new Open champion, had earned in pounds sterling, the currency of the realm in which he won his title.

The Open app, as far as I could tell before fury and meltdown took hold, didn’t even mention the prize money, though I’m sure Martin Lewis – no, wrong Martin, it’s Slumbers (above), the R and A’s chief exec, another financial whizz….I’m sure he mentioned during the week what the total prize money was, though I’ve now forgotten and my notes only tell me that he reckoned the money had probably risen three years earlier than anticipated because of LIV ‘n all.

He talked about the financial sustainability of professional golf – where will it all end essentially, what’s the limit?  – and the need to find a balance between prize money and money devoted to the grassroots of the game, the R and A’s raison d’être, funded by the Open.  Probably a good thing that Slumbers was a banker in his previous life and understands money, presumably.

I don’t suppose Harman much cared what currency he was paid in last Sunday.  His smile said it all:  the claret jug is priceless.

The new champ with Ada O’Sullivan, Monkstown’s finest, a former Curtis Cup captain (among many other things). Ada, a member of The Open Championships committee, is beyond trustworthy but look how tightly BH is holding on to his trophy! [Not sure who took the pic]

He should be made for life but is anything ever enough for competitive millionaires who long to be billionaires?  There’s always a bigger yacht to hanker after.  Another Ferrari (or is that old hat?).  More acreage.  Another tractor.

The dosh du jour, du monde sportif at least, is pouring out of the coffers of Saudi Arabia and the quizzers out there will know that the currency of Saudi is….the riyal.  It’s abbreviated to SAR or SR and is pegged to the US dollar at a constant rate of exchange, according to Wikipedia.  There are, you’ll be interested to learn, 100 halalas to the riyal.  This is the sort of stuff we undoubtedly need to know.

I was disappointed to hear, no, disgusted is a better word, that some spectators booed Harman and made it quite clear that they didn’t want him to win, telling him so in no uncertain terms.  They didn’t know their man because the abuse only fired him up and helped him to the title.  He managed to put his own dampener on the proceedings on a soggy day that was beyond dreich, keeping all would-be challengers at bay.

Justin Thomas, who missed the cut by miles, his game eluding him at the moment, was still glued to the last 36 holes, as a fan and student of the game.  He congratulated “Harm” and his caddy Scott Tway, brother of PGA  champ Bob, on a masterly display of concentration and control, in their own little bubble under the brolly.

Thinking about it, that was spot on.  It wasn’t a day for flamboyant charges, it was a day for grinding out the victory that some outstanding golf earlier in the week had set up.  Many years ago, on a filthy day, probably an Open, Dai, who did leave the press room on occasion, went out to see why Tom Watson was making the game look easy when everybody else was struggling and racking up big numbers.

Our correspondent came back in, soaked and disgruntled (Dai, disgruntled?  Surely not!).  “Boring as hell,” he said.  “Down the middle, on the green, two putts, sometimes one.  Nothing to it.”

Too happy to be wet. [Getty Images]

I wouldn’t be surprised if the weather is the last thing he thinks of whenever he looks back in years to come.  At the Ryder Cup at the K Club we all spent the week in waterproofs.  They went on before we left the house and came off when we got home but it took the photos to remind me how foul the weather was.  All I remember is the emotion, the excitement, some glorious golf and, of course, Woosie’s mile-wide smile in the warm glow of victory.

Was it wet?  Was the wind a factor?  Oh yes, I suppose it was….

One thing’s for certain:  we’d better be nice to the Open champion in Rome.  He’ll be trying his considerable damnedest anyway but we don’t need to give him an extra edge…

Talking of the Ryder Cup reminds me that this tradition, or whatever it is, of the holders retaining a trophy in the event of a draw/tie/half is beyond nonsensical.  Where on earth does it come from?  Why is it still tolerated?  The defending champions should NOT be given a head start just because they won last time out.

The Ashes probably started it and it’s infected golf – Ryder Cup, Solheim, Curtis, Walker, Vagliano  Trophy, whatever.  It’s just plain wrong.  Bonkers.  Change it at once, please.

That’s the end of the men’s majors until April but the women are in action this week in the Amundi Evian Championship at Evian-les-Bains and The Senior Open is at Royal Porthcawl.  Also, it would be remiss of me not to mention the winners of the Brenda King Foursomes, at Royal St David’s, Harlech.  Many congrats to Whittington Heath’s very own Sue Spencer and  her partner Sally Sketcher, from Trentham.

And welcome home to Ozzy, the bull who was the star of the Birmingham Commonwealth Games, now in residence at New Street station, properly awe-inspiring.

Ozzy before his unveiling.