FACT: JULY AND THE JOYS OF GOLF

Golf has never seemed more exciting or demanding than it has of late.  Take the last month with two of the four majors of the year squish-squashed into July to allow us the freedom of being able to watch the return of golf to the Olympic 2016 platform after a 112 year absence.  August would have been promising for golf but for two “slight” problems: the world top ranking golfers took a raincheck from Olympic golf, eschewing the Zika virus and the security issues that required you to name your next of kin and your dentist as a matter of course before you even departed for Rio; and that old chestnut which has blighted sports from Armstrong on his bike to the scandals at Sochi is now threatening to turn the summer Olympics into a withered winter of discontent as the international federation and Bach fail to tackle the debacle of those athletes who use performance enhancing drugs.  Much though golf may need all the help it can get to promote it on the world stage, the question has to be asked: does golf really need to be associated with an event that is replete with cheating participants?  Keep golf clean and away from Rio.  Simple fact.

But now, let’s backtrack to the beginning of July when Royal Troon was the talk of the town and our thanks must go to Phil and Henrik for the most amazing show of golf since the 1977 Open on the Ailsa Course at Turnberry, Scotland when vintage Watson won by one stroke over veteran Nicklaus in what came to be known as the “Duel in the Sun”.  Before he and Stenson even got to battling positions on the two last days of Troon, Mickelson had us hanging off the edge of our seats as he sought to end the first day on an insurmountable high by making an all-time record course score which would have seen him as the first golfer to make a sixty-two.  Instead, he had to settle for becoming the 28^th player to score 63 in a major and the ninth to do so at The Open.  Amazingly, as that ball - heading for centre stage in the eighteenth hole - lipped out, we all felt the wow-factor sting of a historical moment lost in the “forever” abyss.  Curse on that hole - simple fact yes.

Day three and four of The Open saw the men separate themselves from the boys.  On any other day, Phil Mickelson’s final score of -17 would have seen him a winner of any major but he reckoned without the steel of Stenson.  For those of you who reckon that Troon was too easy, get a grip.  Why, oh why, would the score of the next eleven places added together not exceed the combined score of Stenson and Mickelson’s gladiatorial efforts?  We witnessed history as Sweden’s Henrik Stenson shot a 63 for a four-day total of twenty under par and set the bar for the lowest seventy-two score in The Open history.  Accurate off the tees, faultless on the fairways, precise with his putter, Stenson swung the back nine in a truly astonishing display of links golf.  Even with Phil on form and thrilling to watch, he could not outplay his rival.  The “Amazing Jewel in the Sun” was undoubtedly Stenson.  Cometh the hour, cometh the Iceman – a simply indisputable fact.

The end of July promised us the PGA Championship at Baltusrol, New Jersey.  And it delivered – but mostly rain.  Sheets of it.  Stair rod rain.  Cats and dogs rain, rivalling anything Ireland can produce.  I was washed out waiting by the telly for play to resume.  And when it did, I should have seen Jason Day grip his 2-iron for the second time on the 18^th, having used it off the tee, and close the second shot of 258 yards to within fourteen feet of the pin.  He putted for an eagle but, despite the Day magic that followed in the fabled footsteps of John Daly and Jack Nicklaus, he lost to Jimmy Walker.  I should have seen it as it happened but all I have had is the opportunity to watch the re-runs because I was in fields afar celebrating my daughter’s thirtieth birthday.  No contest.  Simple family fact.

But the real joy of July came in the rotund shape of the aptly named Beef.  That’s beef with a capital B.  A rumbustiously rollicking lad, a fillet of fun, who endeared himself to a army of golf fans with his straight-down-the-line answer as to how he would celebrate his Spanish Open win.  His response skirted nothing and included getting hammered, seeing his mum and brother, and spending time with his North Middlesex GC friends.  Unlikely candidate and not your usual PR-guided profiler, this warm-hearted golfer seems to unite two nations divided by a common language and, miracle though it is, he is universally understood by dwellers east and west of the Atlantic waters. 

So what makes him the great unifier?

Butch Harmon nailed it when he said, “He’s a breath of fresh air”.  He’s Joe Ordinary, the friendly boy from next door who loves his mum and family.  He delights in spectator encouragement from outside the ropes and warmly responds.  He gives hope to every high handicapper that, somehow, the dream is possible and they can emulate this local lad.  He sports a beard that looks like it houses a nest of stray house martins and one of his favourite rappers is twin beardie Scroobious Pip.  Psst, Andrew, who’s Scroobious?  Simple musical fact: rap and me don’t mix, man.

Recently, PETA UK wanted him to rebrand as Tofu.  Give an A* for effort to “People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals UK” but this man is as staunch as the rump of a British bulldog and he’s not for turning.  He has a wedge branded with nine types of beef.  For the butchers and discerning eaters among us, that’s T-bone, ribeye, brisket, sirloin, tri-tip, flank, filet mignon, porterhouse and skirt.

In a real twist of irony, Beef’s nickname has nothing to do with beef.  As a twelve-year-old, his hair was thicker and curlier and it stuck out like an Afro, thanks, in part, to his quarter Jamaican heritage.  Out on the course, an older player had a “Andrew, wot’s up with your hair?" moment and called him Beefhead.  The name stuck and has been with him ever since.  Prophetic in the round simple fact, I think.

And then there’s the chest bump sequence.  At last year’s BMW PGA Championship, he made a hole in one to win a car and he celebrated in Beef style with a fantastic airborne chest-on-chest connection with a mate who was following him. 

He loves his sleep.  Ten hours are requisite to keep him vibrant and he once declined a round of golf with Rickie Fowler because the start time was way too early – 08.30 for those who are interested in this timely fact.  The diehards of golf will be tut-tutting all along the fairways by now.  Tradition dictates you must be on the first tee by cockerel call - otherwise, you can’t be serious.  He’s not, of course: a Christmas tree still lurks at the back of the sofa, home fridge is full of chocolate and beer, he is a comfort eater by his own admission, plays burgers off his practice tees, eats a Caesar salad twice a year as a cap-tip to a healthy diet and rates John Daly as his hero.  Indisputably simple facts.

Summer is his five-year-old niece and she is his number one fan.  She followed him round Troon and proffered hole-by-hole support for her “Uncle Beef”.  He has his heart stolen by her and wallowed in relaxing evenings far from fairway play by indulging in games of “Top Trumps” with her.  Top family fact that.

But make no mistake: this young man is serious about golf. His late father introduced him to the beautiful game at an early age.  He is a joy to watch plugging away on the course and my simple prediction says he will never become a simulacrum of his homely self as fame and fortune grow.  He has already amassed a massive cult following that is undoubtedly deserved and, although he looks like he should be working at the local Tesco, he makes golf appealing.  I suspect his homespun mannerisms will do more for the exposition of golf on the world stage than any inclusion in an Olympic format.  He is a prime cut of Beef.  Fact, pure and simple.