As many readers will know, these days I have virtually no interest in, or knowledge of Sport. I made a post on ATW blog regarding a sector of Olympic endeavour which rang very badly with many who do know about this particular sector, and I was more than happy to remove the post, and thus take the pressure off the owner, who was getting a lot of stick for something I had written. So when I do write about a sport, I have to be more than careful in what I say!
Having laid the ground, I would like to state that, of possibly all so-called sporting activities, the one I least understand or have sympathy for, is golf. Not for nothing is it described as a long walk spoiled by a few sticks and a ball. But it has its’ addicts, its’ fans and of course, it has its’ stars.
I met a golfing genius when I spoke to Gary Player many years ago, and I was amazed that this unassuming little man could blast a small ball down the fairway the way he did, seemingly without any effort at all. His often-quoted saying, ‘The harder I practice, the luckier I get’ has gone down into golfing lore. He was a thoroughly nice man to meet, and he has never let any of his multitude of fans down over his long playing lifetime.
Similarly, when Phil Mickelson lashed his ball out of a pile of pine needles, between two trees, on to the green on the 13th at Augusta, he made the ending, where he shrugged on the winner’s Green Jacket, almost an anti-climax.
He walked forward after his triumph and hugged a small blonde lady as though she was made of both glass and of stainless steel. This same lady, his wife Amy, has been battling breast cancer, and got to the course on the final day seemingly by will power alone. Mickelson has proved that he is not only a great golfer, but a nice guy who deserves all the adulation and applause he garners as he effortlessly shows his mastery of the game; unlike another, who also came to Augusta, but for very different reasons.