Was Rory 'stupid' to do his Thursday interview?
Gerry Buckley
A few coincidences in recent days contributed to a particularly nostalgic viewing of one of my favourite annual sporting treats i.e. four leisurely nights watching Sky’s coverage of the US Masters.
Two young children of a friend of mine in Dublin were on an aeroplane for the first time the weekend before last. Understandably, it reminded me of my first such experience back in the summer of 1967, when my late uncle, a priest in the diocese of Liverpool, paid the fares for my excited brother and even more excited ten-year-old me to spend a memorable time with him.
A vivid recollection from 56 years ago was being glued to BBC’s black and white coverage of the Open Championship, which was being played nearby at Hoylake, also known as Royal Liverpool. Remarkably, it was to be another 37 years before the prestigious tournament was played there again.
Tiger Woods won it in 2006 and Irishman Graeme McDowell led the field after round one. Tiger seemed to win all the Majors in those halcyon days, but his grand total of 15 (second only to the imperious Jack Nicklaus) seems highly unlikely to increase due to age and injury.
However, in 1967, the Claret Jug was lifted by a one-off Major champion, the very popular Roberto De Vicenzo of Argentina. And it was quite a coincidence when Mr Google informed me that he would have turned 100 next Friday (April 14). He died in 2017.
My detailed memories of the 1967 Open include recalling that a largely-unsung Irish golfer, Hugh Boyle, had tied for eighth place. In the 1950s and 1960s, Christy O’Connor Snr (or ‘Himself’ as he was popularly known) was a regular challenger for the Claret Jug, without ever quite ‘getting the cigar’.
Sadly, my uncle died suddenly when visiting his native Mullingar the following March, after coming home to attend the consecration of Bishop John McCormack. In coincidence number two, the wonderful news of the appointment of another Mullingar man, Fr Paul Connell, whom I have known since St Finian’s schooldays, as bishop-elect of Ardagh and Clonmacnoise brought back the sad memories from 1968.
Now on to the Masters! A few weeks after my uncle’s untimely passing, De Vicenzo came very close to landing his second Major in Augusta. However, on the par-4 17th hole, he made a birdie, but his playing partner Tommy Aaron inadvertently entered a 4 instead of 3 on the scorecard. He did not check the scorecard for the error before signing it, and according to the rules of golf the higher score had to stand and be counted. If not for this mistake, De Vicenzo would have tied for first place with Bob Goalby, and the two would have met in an 18-hole play-off the next day. His quote after the traumatic Masters of 1968, in a limited command of the English language, became legendary for its poignancy: “What a stupid I am!”
Jon Rahm may have felt a little stupid after shooting an astonishing double bogey on the first of the 72 holes last Thursday, but far from stupid as he tried on the famous green jacket on Sunday night last after a comfortable four-stroke victory. The vagaries of the Georgian weather made for a topsy-turvy championship (and forced this scribe to frustratedly turn to The Late Late Show on Friday night!), but thankfully it appears that nobody was hurt when a huge tree collapsed on the course. And delighted to report also that my each-way bet in this tournament at 28/1 on eighth-placed Cameron Young yielded a nice return, albeit the win part of the bet never looked in contention on the final day.
The ‘will Rory finally make a career Grand Slam this week?’ question was answered much too quickly, the Holywood maestro never remotely looking like he would come close to adding the Masters to his four pre-2015 wins in the other three Majors. Father Time is still on his side, but he was just a pale shadow of himself over two frustrating days. The disappointment for his legions of fans was palpable. It reminded me of the vibe I experienced as a spectator in Portrush in 2019 when their big local hero also failed to make the cut.
His 2011 fourth round collapse is legendary, albeit he was just 21. Indeed, Rory seems to disappoint most when the pressure is on, but for the life of me, I couldn’t fathom the logic of agreeing to a live interview while he was playing his round on Thursday. From my extremely limited experience of witnessing run-of-the-mill golf, a 20-handicapper would be sufficiently focused on his Sunday morning game to avoid unnecessary chatting. It is all fine and dandy picking up enormous trophies with camel and sword designs, and the accompanying mega-buck prize money, but Majors are the real currency for the top pro golfers. And Rory is hugely underachieving in this regard.
And, as ever, the only thing I utterly dread in the otherwise-blissful experience of armchair viewing of a Major surfaced again i.e. the guys who roar “in the hole” after every tee shot.
I know where I would love to kick them!