Thought for the day
If you get to thinking you’re a person of some influence, try ordering somebody else’s dog around
Cream rises
Occasionally I like to remind my American friends – and yes, I do have them – that almost everything that is good about the game of golf was invented on this side of the Atlantic. We created the game itself, the template for courses over which we pursue our dreams, the rules by which it is governed, the equipment we use, the terminology by which it is described (birdie, caddy, bunker and so on) and the spirit, etiquette and sportsmanship with which it is played. The Americans gave us the mulligan.
But there is equally no doubt, as my friends are just as quick to point out, that pretty much everything we originated, they have refined, modified and, in many cases, improved. And once they overcame their initial inferiority complex and took to golf with enthusiasm, they did so with such success that their golfers created the world’s strongest Tours and dominated the world – recite a list of the greatest players of the last 80 years, for example, and names like Tiger Woods, Jack Nicklaus, Ben Hogan, Byron Nelson and Walter Hagen top the list. In fact, since Harry Vardon won his sixth and last Open championship in 1914, the only Europeans to have even threatened this US supremacy have been Seve Ballesteros and Nick Faldo (Tony Jacklin’s star burned brightly but for too short a time and Henry Cotton’s successes were all on this side of the pond). And just to underline the point, only five players in history have won the grand slam of all four Majors in their career – four Americans, Woods, Nicklaus, Hogan and Gene Saracen, and Gary Player, who is from South Africa (although I do like to also include Bobby Jones in that list, as he won the amateur and Open titles on both sides of the Atlantic in 1930 which, as an amateur, was the only Grand Slam for which he was eligible).
So to wake up in the aftermath of the WGC World Matchplay, the final of which, for the second year in succession, was contested between two Europeans, and discover that our continent now boasts the best four players in the world – new number one Martin Kaymer, Lee Westwood at two, Luke Donald third and Graeme McDowell fourth – is particularly satisfying. And it doesn’t hurt that Paul Casey and Rory McIlroy are sitting at seventh and eighth respectively.
Kaymer’s performance last week, where he sailed his apparently effortless and serene course to the final, where sadly he was a bit off his game, had all the ruthlessly efficient expertise that has characterised his remarkable career. But even that was knocked into a cocked hat by Donald, who was absolutely peerless and it was the overpowering nature of his wins that caught the eye. He beat Charley Hoffman (despatched 6&5); Edoardo Molinari (2&1); Matteo Manassero (3&2); Ryan Moore (5&4) and Matt Kuchar, who he saw off by 6&5. By the time he reached the final, Donald had played 73 holes and was 23-under par; and not once during the week was he behind in any match, and all of his victories came before the 18th hole.
Quite remarkable.
Playing blind
For reasons far too depressing to recite at any length, my home course, Letham Grange near Arbroath in Fife, has closed down and will not re-open until legal wranglings over its ownership are decided by M’lud in the High Court. But because my subs are paid until the end of March and I therefore feel I have a moral, if not legal right to carry on playing (and once the grass starts growing there will be no possibility of treading the fairways), I have continued to tee it up every week. Unfortunately, at the time the course closed we were on temporary greens, so I’m obliged to still play to them, but without flagsticks and wouldn’t you know it, my ball-striking has never been better. I used to think that I knew pretty much where all the temporary greens were located but when you stand in a fairway, 150-yards or so from your target, with no visual clues as to its exact location, its whereabouts are a matter of supposition and guesswork.
Perversely, I think this is the reason why I’m playing so well. With no specific, defined target, I am simply thinking about swinging the club as well as I can, and am not too concerned about where the ball goes, because even if I hit exactly the shot I intend, it could still come to rest 20 or 30 yards away from the hole. In consequence, I like to delude myself that the once spasmodic, arhythmical lunge that used to typify my effort to launch a Srixon has become a free-flowing exercise of grace and beauty. It certainly feels that way. I have no idea how this knowledge may help your game other than to suggest that, once you have addressed the ball, forget about the target entirely.
Quote of the Week
Of all the games man has devised, supposedly for his enjoyment, golf is in a class by itself in the anguish it inflicts
Herbert Warren Wind