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The Open and Watching Clouds |
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Written by Sara Woodward
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Tuesday, 27 July 2010 10:21 |
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 Sometimes it’s hard to guess what is written in the stars. And sometimes its best not to know what lies ahead. Some days it is possible to fill the unforgiving minute and fight against a headwind and running tide. Sometimes it’s good enough to make it through to another day.
It had been a week many would never forget, as Mother Nature intervened and blew away the hopes, dreams and balls of the fairway walkers at St. Andrews for the 150th Open championship. The Tourist Board were not impressed as the Galvins and umbrellas were beamed around the globe and Scotland tried to outdo Ireland and Wales in the adverse weather stakes of summer.
The locals saw it as nae but a stiff breeze, but the Rules officials watched the oscillating balls and made a different call. Play was suspended for the second round. It meant late finishes and early alarm calls for Pros who barely had time to dry their socks and blowdry their hair. Daly entertained with his slimmer figure and kaleidoscope pants and Poults kept on his shades and stayed in the shade. Woods realized new relationships are not without their pitfalls, binned the new putter and went back to his Scotty Cameron.
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The Spaniards and the Man From Savannah |
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Written by Sara Woodward
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Monday, 19 July 2010 13:05 |
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It was a Spanish Summer.
Alvaro Quiros won the Spanish Open in May, followed by the honed Nadal in white at Wimbledon, who swept away the pretenders to his crown on centre court.
The Spanish young guns took centre stage in South Africa and found the back of the net with the swerving round ball. They kept the red and yellow on their flags. Unlike the Dutch, whose orange was tinged with tears and yellow cards. And a splash of red.
The Spanish returned home champions of the world, with their cup and stud marks, to plazas painted red and yellow. From Madrid to Malaga. From Santiago del Compostela to Barcelona, the Spanish hombres and senoras partied late into the night. Quiros, Garcia, Jiminez , Seve and Dino went to bed and dreamed about the world cup and Spanish gold. The Dutch went to bed early and blamed the ref.
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Written by Sara Woodward
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Monday, 12 July 2010 09:17 |
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Summer days slipped by, blue skies and long warm evenings. The Royal Regatta at Henley had been a riot of silk and linen dresses and public school ties. Straw hats and riverside picnics.
Arcane rules and blazers ruled the day and the river, as the mercury rose with the midday sun. Women and jackets were kept firmly in their place. Rules, going back 171 years, were not easily broken. Unlike the hearts and spirit of Matt and Marcus, world cup winners, beaten hollow by the French in the double sculls. Americans, Kiwis and Brits slugged it out on the river. Honed- toned bodies, watched by ladies in floral dresses and men in boaters.
Picnic hampers, pimms and crustless cucumber sandwiches. And when the blankets and hampers were packed away, another Blazered Brigade prepared to take centre stage at St. Andrews for The British Open, 2010. The date was ring fenced in the diary. Four days of uninterrupted golf.
It was time to work on a different aspect of the game. I searched the internet and found the e-book on Amazon. The words wouldn’t go on the Ipod. I tried clicking. Double clicking and dragging between in clicks. In the end I cursed.
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