WAS glued to my sofa during the Ryder Cup.
The boy had been a bit sloppy making his Airfix model again. But I was happy to stay there as one of the great sporting occasions unfolded. So many different aspects make it such: the camaraderie between team-mates; the intense but largely good-natured rivalry between opponents; the raucous atmosphere in the stands; the ridiculous clothing. And of course some exceptional sport, with players holing monster putts, chipping in from fairways and bunkers and nailing massive drives straight down the middle. It all adds up to one of the most-eagerly anticipated events in the sporting calendar.
But it is not golf as I and many others know it. For there can be few sports where the gap between elite and amateur level is so vast. You can wander by a Sunday League football game and see a tricky winger skin his opponent with mesmerising skill, or watch a 60-something tennis player serve the most audacious of aces. In golf, however, the chasm between the professionals and those chopping their way round public courses is so large as to be of Grand Canyon proportions.
There are those for whom golf is less a sport and more a five-hour lesson in anger management. I consider myself among their number. It is to the evident relief of my family, GP and long-suffering psychiatrist that, for the time being, my outings on a golf course are restricted to fewer than a handful a year. This is due to a) a lack of time, b) a lack of talent and c) the council's child protection service frowning on the use of two-year-olds as caddies.
Playing golf more than once is like a woman choosing to have a second child. The initial experience tends to be fairly horrific, yet there is still a willingness to go through it all again, as if some sort of amnesia has set in and wiped out the memories of the previous ordeal.
Whenever there is a rare free day in my calendar and the sun is shining, then the first reaction is always to dig out the equipment and go and have another crack. At golf, I mean. Not the other thing.
There are two courses near my house. The respected private one has freshly-trimmed fairways, pristine greens and a stately clubhouse. The other is a public course with none of those things. Naturally, I tend to gravitate towards the latter.
It is built on a hill so steep it requires the help of a Sherpa and a pair of pack mules to reach its summit. The bunkers have no sand in them. A water hazard is when you reach the top of the hill and suddenly need to pee. The second hole is a blind par 3, something which over the years has offered great scope for entertainment.
As kids we would wait until someone had teed off, grab their ball and put it in the hole. We would wait in the bushes until they approached the green in disbelief and started celebrating. We would then jump out to point and laugh. It was great fun, although you probably had to be there to fully appreciate the subtlety of the humour.
At private clubs there is etiquette to be observed, a requirement to wear collar and slacks, for example. On public courses it is obligatory only to obey the local "taps aff" ruling that comes into effect in the summer months. During one recent round there was a fellow behind us who was topless and wearing jeans and trainers. He was still driving the ball about 100 yards longer than us and a lot straighter, too.
The Ryder Cup was played with a lot of spirit. On a municipal course the game is played with a lot of spirits; whisky, vodka and gin mostly, judging by the empties inside the bin on every tee. Those with a nasty snap-hook tend to find they can hit it as straight as an arrow after a few drinks.
At Gleneagles there were hazards the world's best golfers had to try to avoid. It is slightly different at my course as my mate Dave discovered on his maiden round. A veteran of Ayrshire links (and bacon, eggs and tattie scones, too), he strode confidently down the first to face something of a dilemma ahead of his approach to the green. Namely, there was no ball there. A dog had wandered on to the course from the nearby park and made off with it. Rory McIlroy never has to put up with anything like that.
After another easy European victory, it might be time to shake up the Ryder Cup format. Playing it on a public course ought to make things interesting again. Taps would be optional, of course.
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