Thought for the Day:
Letting the cat out of the bag is a whole lot easier than putting it back in
Donald Ducks a bullet
I have never been able to work out if I would like or loathe my name to be remembered – but only as the answer to a trivia question. Such was the fate, I have always assumed, that would befall Mike Donald. And if his name rings a vague but unanswered bell it is because he is the journeyman pro who emerged from obscurity to go head-to-head with Hale Irwin for the 1990 US Open. I particularly remember it because I was at Medinah CC that week and like most observers, thought that, after matching Irwin after 72 holes, he would disappear during the following day’s 18-hole playoff. But he didn’t, and the two men were still locked together after 90 holes before Irwin finally struck the killer blow at the 91st.
As a consequence I have always had an affection for Donald so I was delighted to see him at the top of the leaderboard for the first stage of the European Senior Tour qualifying school, his 68 getting him into the final stage, where he would join another 72 hopefuls. They would battle it out over four rounds for six all-exempt places, and a further 14 conditional playing cards. Mike looked to have blown his chances after a first day 76 but he then rallied with three rounds of 70, to be the last qualifier, right on the mark of 286.
I will be following the rest of his season with particular interest.
Time to celebrate
How good a week do you think Robert Rock – or, as I like to call him, The Hair – has had? Head to head with Tiger in the final round of the Abu Dhabi HSBC Golf Championship, he outlasted the second best golfer of all time to lift his second European Tour title and elevate his status well above that of journeyman. Okay, Woods played like a donkey but nevertheless, the engagingly modest Rock, who has journeyed from assistant pro at a driving range to the fringes of the world’s top-50 in eight years, was deserving of the win. How long, do you think, before his shirt disappears under a plethora of corporate logos, and that magnificent coiffure is covered by a sponsors baseball cap?
Somebody up there doesn’t like you
Last year Thomas Levet jumped into a water hazard to celebrate winning his own French national title and broke his leg. This year, while competing in the Volvo Champions at Abu Dhabi, he slipped down a step at his hotel, breaking some ribs. He was even more annoyed to discover that, if he pulled out of the event he would still receive his prize money but that it wouldn’t be ‘official’ and therefore not count towards Ryder Cup points. So, feeling battered, bruised and not a little miffed, he slogged his way through the final two rounds, shooting 82, 76.
Get a move on
At the moment, if a European Tour player is put on the clock for slow play 10 times in a season, he gets an automatic fine of £500, which increases to £2,000 for 15 offences and £4,000 for 20. From the beginning of next year, the penalties are to be doubled, which suggests that the current system isn’t working. Lee Westwood says the fines should be tripled or quadrupled – adding: ‘Everyone can learn to pick up speed. Slow play really is driving people away from the game.’
Amen to that.
Where have all the Swedes gone?
One group of players that had a reputation as being methodical, calculated and rigid in routine, to the point of pedantry, resulting in desperately slow play, was the Swedes. This is no longer the case but thinking about it raises the question: Where have all the Swedish wannabes gone? A couple of decades ago there were a few experienced Scandinavians around who tasted considerable success, like Jesper Parnevik and Joakim Haeggman. But what was most striking was the number of hot young talents following in their wake – all due, we were told, to the magnificent junior coaching programme they enjoyed. But now, with the notable exceptions of Robert Karlsson, Peter Hanson and possibly Alex Noren, there don’t seem to be too many potential Swedish multiple winners on the horizon. So what happened to their fabled coaching?
Phil, we need you
One of the saddest sights in any sporting arena is the legendary champion coming to terms (or not) with the inevitable diminution of powers as they age. Monty has been scratching around for the last two years just to make cuts, never mind win, Ernie Els still swings like a symphony of balletic grace but looks as awkward as the rest on the greens, clutching a long putter to his belly. Retief Goosen, the man with the swing that was once voted, by his fellow professionals, as the best on the Europe Tour, is also casting about for a putting method that would restore him to former glories. But of all the great champions apparently on the slide, the one for whom I mourn the most is Phil Mickelson, although he also has more reasons than many to be performing below his magnificent best. His wife and mother were diagnosed with cancer, he himself was told he had psoriatic arthritis and his daughter Sophia recently had a seizure.
Phil was always wild, some would say reckless, off the tee but that magnificent short game, probably without equal, didn’t just get him out of trouble but was usually the platform on which he built his success. So it was sad last year to see him experiment with a long putter, and sadder still so far this year to note that his short game appears to have deserted him. For the first nine holes on the final day of last year’s Open Championship he was the Phil we know, reeling off birdies until he caught the leader, but as soon as he drew level with Darren Clarke his game deserted him, most notably after he missed a tiddler on the 11th of the sort he would normally hole with his eyes closed.
I sincerely hope that he regains some of the old Phil magic, and perhaps Augusta National in April will provide the inspiration for a return to form, but precedence and history suggest otherwise.
Quote of the Week:
My golf is woeful but I will never surrender
Bing Crosby