Sport's Defining Moments 10: Golf, really
Golf, really? Perhaps it's been too long. I was a little reticent to accept golf's place as a worldwide global sport - I'd still rather it was an enjoyable, esoteric pastime, as it deserves to be. But the rich Americans got hold of it, so we're meant to not find it ridiculous that pudgy charisma-free chumps in sponsored caps and garish polo shirts can earn $5 million for what actually amounts to about 8 minutes of athletic activity over a 4 day period.
Though I love golf, don't get me wrong. All my life, it's had the capacity to utterly grip me, whether it's the Open, the Masters or, of course, the Ryder Cup, one of the most beautifully honed sporting contests in the world. But if I was going to talk about a moment in golf that is a Defining Moment in Sport over the last 30 years, it'd be utterly faulty for it not to be about Tiger Woods, and, damn, I've tried hard not to see Tiger Woods as one of the world's great sportspeople.
He's certainly one of it's biggest stars - probably the most bankable of all, on average, over the last 15 years, And the statistics that have emerged about the effect his absence has on viewing figures are shocking. Really, this guy? You tune in for this grumpy, sullen guy.
I expect my view of Woods has been tainted by his scandal, though that's a little hypocritical of me, as I know what it's like for a favourite sportsman to turn out to be a dirty rat. I think I rooted for him reasonably before that. And he was astonishing. He would just always win whenever he was in a position to win. Always.
But I think golf's attitude to him bothered me. I don't mean the scandalous incidents of racism which he has ridden with class and dignity. Yes, they bother me, but, you know, hardly surprising ... it's almost the other side of it that bothers me. The fact that they think they've got a real trailblazer, another Muhammad Ali. The fact that one guy realised that a professional sport deserved a professional athlete's attention to detail and that revolutionized the game. Wow, he works out! Amazing. Maybe the rest of us should do that ... The fact that golf writers would say you're either a Phil man or a Tiger man as if there was really, in the scheme of things, a massive difference between the two and they weren't actually just two rich, privileged, driven, selfish, bland, corporate Californians.
And he was rubbish in the Ryder Cup, that bothered me. Repeatedly rubbish. What was with that? But, look, saying all that, I'd be a fool of fools not to recognise that Woods' grabbing and reshaping of golf wasn't one of the most significant events in the tale that will be told of the sport of our age.
14 Majors, and the one that stands out is, of course, the first one, the 1997 Masters, which he won by a quite nonsensical 12 shots. I didn't see it, but perhaps it's global impact can be measured by the fact I knew about it. It was when I was in Kenya, without TV or radio, just buying the occasional local newspaper - well, Woods at the Masters was a story that carried in abundance to Kenya's newspaper, that's for sure.
In fact, it's the 1996 and 97 Masters that tell the story of golf of the last 30 years. Post Nicklaus/Player/Trevino/Watson, there were fewer Titans of the game, but a couple. There was Seve, the genuinely charismatic golfer, and his impact is vast, because he made Europe America's equal. He made the Ryder Cup a real contest, and he led the wave of quality guys like Bernhard Langer, Jose-Maria Olazabal (my favourite golfer, for what it's worth), Sandy Lyle, Ian Woosnam and Nick Faldo. And though Seve is more of a "legend" it's Faldo who's actually the marginally more successful, with 6 Majors to Seve's 5.
People didn't like Faldo. I could tell at the time. The commentators were sniffy and churlish about him, even when he was on top. But I liked him, and there are two of his Major triumphs which are most important to me.
The second of them was the 1996 Masters, where, if you will, he well and truly won the contest as to who was the Golfer of his Era. Because the leader going into the final day was Greg Norman, the Australian and much more of a fan's favourite. Some people used to say Norman was the better player even though he only had two Majors. Norman led by 6, but then, on the last day, he folded while Faldo charged, winning in the end by 5 (an 11 stroke swing). No one could ever, after being so conclusively whooped mano e mano, put Norman above Faldo again.
That 1996 Masters was Faldo's last hurrah - he missed the cut in Woods' triumph the next year and never seriously contended at a Major again.
Still, he was the best of his time, the best pre-Woods and despite his reputation for lonerism, a great Ryder Cup player. Also his finest weekend of all is certainly my defining experience of golf.
This was the 1990 Open Championship, at St Andrews, the "home of golf", and the home of David McGaughey 1997-2001. The two are not unconnected. That 1990 Championship, of which I watched every second of coverage I could, was my first experience of St Andrews and it stuck with me. They so romanticised it, and the tournament itself lived up to that romanticisation.
I remember the Road Hole, the famous 17th, one of the hardest holes in golf, and the damage it did to various competitors (I would live about 100m from the Road Hole in 97-98). I remember Jack Nicklaus making the cut, Arnold Palmer almost making the cut, Faldo in his sleeveless cardies relentlessly grinding out a lead before holding off the charge of the plus-foured American Payne Stewart on the last day. It seemed special to me and, there is no argument, though not in a golfing sense, that it had a profound effect on the direction my life took. "That's a magical, beautiful place" I thought. And I was right.
But then, I think, if I want a real defining moment of sporting competition which does not involve Woods or Faldo, a little trip across the Firth of Tay, and nine years forward, will do the trick.
The 1999 Open Championship, at a wild and windy Carnoustie, was won by the Scotsman Paul Lawrie, but that's almost forgotten. One man's name is associated with that event, in a way that, for me, exemplifies the very best thing about golf, which is that, above pretty much all other sports, it indefinably separates the wheat from the chaff, the champs from the also-rans.
It was a weird tournament, where the wind and the rough put paid to many top players' chances, and a man found himself at the top whom you wouldn't expect to be there, a handsome, slightly comical Frenchman, Jean Van de Velde. He kept on going though, even though it just didn't seem possible that he could win. But, suddenly, teeing up on the 18th, he had a 3 stroke lead. The title was his, barring impossible calamity. Improbable calamity, rather. The kind of calamity that involves balls bouncing off stands, flying into streams, socks and shoes coming off, bunker shots ... you know, that kind of calamity. A 7 for Van de Velde, when a 6 would have won him the title outright. Jeez, you felt for him, but, the thing is, you got the impression he never really believed he would win.
In golf, there are champs and also-rans. It is possible to bridge across, Phil Mickelson looked like a brilliant also-ran for years, but once he became a champ, he really stayed one, but, then, you've the likes of Colin Montgomerie and Lee Westwood. Nothing would make me happier than Lee Westwood winning a major but one of golf's most regular images is Lee Westwood missing a 12 foot putt for a birdie. The putts that Tiger Woods and other champions make. Lee Westwood is a fantastic golfer, who's won several minor tournaments, who's been World Number 1, who's been in the Top 10 of more than 10 Majors, and been in position to win several of those. But never has ... just because.
That's golf. A great thing about golf, actually. That self-doubt that must creep into Westwood's putting stroke, taking it an inch off line, which just didn't creep into Woods'. That horrible hook that invaded Van de Velde and Montgomerie's swing when they were within spitting distance of a Major triumph.
I do love my sport with sweat and exhaustion and confrontation and blood and thunder, all of which golf lacks, but it sure has something else, something about the mettle of its competitors, which does, after all, make it great sport.
Though I love golf, don't get me wrong. All my life, it's had the capacity to utterly grip me, whether it's the Open, the Masters or, of course, the Ryder Cup, one of the most beautifully honed sporting contests in the world. But if I was going to talk about a moment in golf that is a Defining Moment in Sport over the last 30 years, it'd be utterly faulty for it not to be about Tiger Woods, and, damn, I've tried hard not to see Tiger Woods as one of the world's great sportspeople.
He's certainly one of it's biggest stars - probably the most bankable of all, on average, over the last 15 years, And the statistics that have emerged about the effect his absence has on viewing figures are shocking. Really, this guy? You tune in for this grumpy, sullen guy.
I expect my view of Woods has been tainted by his scandal, though that's a little hypocritical of me, as I know what it's like for a favourite sportsman to turn out to be a dirty rat. I think I rooted for him reasonably before that. And he was astonishing. He would just always win whenever he was in a position to win. Always.
But I think golf's attitude to him bothered me. I don't mean the scandalous incidents of racism which he has ridden with class and dignity. Yes, they bother me, but, you know, hardly surprising ... it's almost the other side of it that bothers me. The fact that they think they've got a real trailblazer, another Muhammad Ali. The fact that one guy realised that a professional sport deserved a professional athlete's attention to detail and that revolutionized the game. Wow, he works out! Amazing. Maybe the rest of us should do that ... The fact that golf writers would say you're either a Phil man or a Tiger man as if there was really, in the scheme of things, a massive difference between the two and they weren't actually just two rich, privileged, driven, selfish, bland, corporate Californians.
And he was rubbish in the Ryder Cup, that bothered me. Repeatedly rubbish. What was with that? But, look, saying all that, I'd be a fool of fools not to recognise that Woods' grabbing and reshaping of golf wasn't one of the most significant events in the tale that will be told of the sport of our age.
14 Majors, and the one that stands out is, of course, the first one, the 1997 Masters, which he won by a quite nonsensical 12 shots. I didn't see it, but perhaps it's global impact can be measured by the fact I knew about it. It was when I was in Kenya, without TV or radio, just buying the occasional local newspaper - well, Woods at the Masters was a story that carried in abundance to Kenya's newspaper, that's for sure.
In fact, it's the 1996 and 97 Masters that tell the story of golf of the last 30 years. Post Nicklaus/Player/Trevino/Watson, there were fewer Titans of the game, but a couple. There was Seve, the genuinely charismatic golfer, and his impact is vast, because he made Europe America's equal. He made the Ryder Cup a real contest, and he led the wave of quality guys like Bernhard Langer, Jose-Maria Olazabal (my favourite golfer, for what it's worth), Sandy Lyle, Ian Woosnam and Nick Faldo. And though Seve is more of a "legend" it's Faldo who's actually the marginally more successful, with 6 Majors to Seve's 5.
People didn't like Faldo. I could tell at the time. The commentators were sniffy and churlish about him, even when he was on top. But I liked him, and there are two of his Major triumphs which are most important to me.
The second of them was the 1996 Masters, where, if you will, he well and truly won the contest as to who was the Golfer of his Era. Because the leader going into the final day was Greg Norman, the Australian and much more of a fan's favourite. Some people used to say Norman was the better player even though he only had two Majors. Norman led by 6, but then, on the last day, he folded while Faldo charged, winning in the end by 5 (an 11 stroke swing). No one could ever, after being so conclusively whooped mano e mano, put Norman above Faldo again.
That 1996 Masters was Faldo's last hurrah - he missed the cut in Woods' triumph the next year and never seriously contended at a Major again.
Still, he was the best of his time, the best pre-Woods and despite his reputation for lonerism, a great Ryder Cup player. Also his finest weekend of all is certainly my defining experience of golf.
This was the 1990 Open Championship, at St Andrews, the "home of golf", and the home of David McGaughey 1997-2001. The two are not unconnected. That 1990 Championship, of which I watched every second of coverage I could, was my first experience of St Andrews and it stuck with me. They so romanticised it, and the tournament itself lived up to that romanticisation.
I remember the Road Hole, the famous 17th, one of the hardest holes in golf, and the damage it did to various competitors (I would live about 100m from the Road Hole in 97-98). I remember Jack Nicklaus making the cut, Arnold Palmer almost making the cut, Faldo in his sleeveless cardies relentlessly grinding out a lead before holding off the charge of the plus-foured American Payne Stewart on the last day. It seemed special to me and, there is no argument, though not in a golfing sense, that it had a profound effect on the direction my life took. "That's a magical, beautiful place" I thought. And I was right.
But then, I think, if I want a real defining moment of sporting competition which does not involve Woods or Faldo, a little trip across the Firth of Tay, and nine years forward, will do the trick.
The 1999 Open Championship, at a wild and windy Carnoustie, was won by the Scotsman Paul Lawrie, but that's almost forgotten. One man's name is associated with that event, in a way that, for me, exemplifies the very best thing about golf, which is that, above pretty much all other sports, it indefinably separates the wheat from the chaff, the champs from the also-rans.
It was a weird tournament, where the wind and the rough put paid to many top players' chances, and a man found himself at the top whom you wouldn't expect to be there, a handsome, slightly comical Frenchman, Jean Van de Velde. He kept on going though, even though it just didn't seem possible that he could win. But, suddenly, teeing up on the 18th, he had a 3 stroke lead. The title was his, barring impossible calamity. Improbable calamity, rather. The kind of calamity that involves balls bouncing off stands, flying into streams, socks and shoes coming off, bunker shots ... you know, that kind of calamity. A 7 for Van de Velde, when a 6 would have won him the title outright. Jeez, you felt for him, but, the thing is, you got the impression he never really believed he would win.
In golf, there are champs and also-rans. It is possible to bridge across, Phil Mickelson looked like a brilliant also-ran for years, but once he became a champ, he really stayed one, but, then, you've the likes of Colin Montgomerie and Lee Westwood. Nothing would make me happier than Lee Westwood winning a major but one of golf's most regular images is Lee Westwood missing a 12 foot putt for a birdie. The putts that Tiger Woods and other champions make. Lee Westwood is a fantastic golfer, who's won several minor tournaments, who's been World Number 1, who's been in the Top 10 of more than 10 Majors, and been in position to win several of those. But never has ... just because.
That's golf. A great thing about golf, actually. That self-doubt that must creep into Westwood's putting stroke, taking it an inch off line, which just didn't creep into Woods'. That horrible hook that invaded Van de Velde and Montgomerie's swing when they were within spitting distance of a Major triumph.
I do love my sport with sweat and exhaustion and confrontation and blood and thunder, all of which golf lacks, but it sure has something else, something about the mettle of its competitors, which does, after all, make it great sport.
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