Caddies, as Lee Trevino used to observe, are a breed of their own. “If you shoot 66, they say ‘man, we shot 66’,” reflected Trevino back in the day. “But go out and shoot 77, and they say, ‘hell, he shot 77’.”
There’s not much time to draw breath when you’re hurtling up the world rankings.
YOU can keep The Open away from Turnberry but you can’t take the memories away.
YOU can keep The Open away from Turnberry but you can’t take the memories away.
TALK about a Great Triumvirate. And, no, that’s not Vardon, Taylor and Braid.
Did you know that Alan Tait once played with Tiger Woods? Why, of course you did. Tait’s Tiger tale is so renowned in domestic circles it should actually be housed in its own display cabinet at the British Golf Museum.
BY plenty of accounts, the surge of interest in golf during this most bothersome year has been broadly equivalent to the scenes you’d see in an Attenborough documentary about the mass migration of the wildebeest.
What-ifs, maybes and might-have-beens? Golf is full of them. Whether you’re lamenting that little tiddler that birled round the cup and stayed out or cursing that 7-iron that came up short when you knew “it should’ve been a bloody six”, this fickle old game never ceases to tease and torment.
Amid all the head-shaking, nail-nibbling, teeth-grinding, hair-tugging, fist-clenching, vein-throbbing and general self-loathing that goes into coaxing a small, dimpled ball into a hole, it’s hardly surprising that someone once said that golf can best be described as an endless series of tragedies obscured by the occasional miracle. Funnily enough, that’s what some of my readers often say about the Tuesday column.
EVERY cloud has a silver lining. Let’s face it, 2020 has hardly been a vintage year but, as she gets set for her final Ladies European Tour event of a disrupted campaign, Kylie Henry continues to look on the bright side.
