Thought for the Day
Experience is the thing you have left when everything else is gone
Tiger’s woes
After a little calm reflection following that superb Masters, it becomes increasingly obvious that, despite most observers dissecting Tiger’s swing as if they were pathologists conducting a post-mortem, his real problems are on the greens. Woods and Westwood probably played from tee to green better than anyone else all week but in both cases they were eventually stymied by their inability to get the ball in the hole. In Lee’s case this is an old problem but for Tiger it’s something new – as exemplified on the 15th on the last day, when he hit a 6-iron to five feet, setting up an eagle chance but had to settle for birdie. The old Tiger would never have missed that putt. You may remember the 2008 US Open at Torrey Pines, the one that Mr Woods won on one leg. On the 72nd hole he and Lee both had putts of a similar distance to force a playoff with Rocco Mediate. When Westwood stood over the ball you hoped he would make it; when Tiger did the same, you knew he would.
That used to be the difference.
It reminds me of Nick Faldo. During the first part of his pro career, when he had the long, loose, flowing swing that he was forced to tighten up in order to win majors, he was a naturally gifted putter with a smooth, unhurried stroke that always seemed to propel the ball into the back of the hole. But then, during two years of rebuilding his swing, he neglected the part of his game on which he had always been able to depend and it took him a long while to get it back. It is even arguable that he never quite returned to his best on the greens. And so it is, I think, with Tiger. He has expended so much time and effort trying to develop a swing that will keep the ball in play that once he gets to the putting surface his ability to will the ball into the hole, like Seve Ballesteros before him, seems to have disappeared.
Where does it go?
We know, from bitter experience, that golf has the potential to create more mental health problems than redundancy, recession and an unfaithful wife combined – a lesson that was brought home to me very starkly last week during a couple of rounds in Kent. Every year the R&A invites the Association of Golf Writers to the Open Championship venue, in order that we may experience the layout for ourselves so that, when we come to write our Open preview pieces, we speak from experience. The association always tries to include at least one other quality course during the trip so last Sunday and Monday we had the privilege of playing Royal Cinque Ports and then Royal St George’s. During the first round I marked the card of the association’s chairman, Bill Elliott. I’ve had the pleasure of playing with Bill several times and he is always, as Kipling urges, able to treat those twin imposters of triumph and disaster just the same but such was his play that even his good humour and legendary sang froid were put severely to the test. We were playing a Stableford competition and after 11 holes he had one point. You will be familiar with the phenomenon, even if you have not quite shared the depths of Bill’s woes.
But the reason for mentioning it is not to heap scorn on his head or even to solicit your sympathy but to report that, the very next day, over one of the toughest layouts in the British Isles, he scored 35 points and won the competition in which we all battled.
I have played many sports down the years, from tennis, squash and badminton to cricket but in none of them did I find that form and the ability to compete could change so dramatically from day-to-day. Golf, like no other activity I have tried, can make you go from chump to champ in a matter of hours – even during the same round – and I have no idea why.
Ingenious
Some of you will not be aware that in my spare time I like to tinker in the workshop in order to invent things – such as my famous weed-cutting golf club (it has a strimmer built into the clubhead) and solar powered torch. A few weeks ago I went to a manufacturer to see if they would produce some of my inventions.
They rejected my folding bottle, which I call a Fottle; and also turned down my folding cart – the Farton.
So I grabbed my stuff and walked out and now they’ll never get the chance to make my folding bucket.
Quote of the Week
Any time a golfer hits a ball perfectly straight with a big club it is, in my view, a fluke
Jack Nicklaus