Canadian and Irish Golfers
If you are not an avid
golfer, go fish. But
for those of us who
have been hooked on
golf, in Canada and
Ireland for many years,
the rise to the top
of Mike Weir, the lefty
from Canada, and of
Padraig Harrington in
Ireland, necessitates
a rewrite in this, the
month of March, of a
popular song.
When Irish/Canadian
hearts are happy,
All the world seems
bright and gay.
And when Irish/Canadian
eyes are smiling,
Sure they'd steal
your heart away.
Mike Weir has started
off the year 2003 like
a cyclone, winning two
major titles on the
American P.G.A. tour,
both times coming from
behind in the final
round, and one of them
in a two-hole playoff.
Padraig Harrington, the
peripatetic Padraig
Harrington, has proven
himself a champion in
more countries than
you could shake a one-iron
at, and a popular one
at that, never mind
that sports commentators
call him anything from
Padraig to Pauric to
Paddy.
Both have had the distinction
of winning against the
premier golfer in the
world, Tiger Woods.
Both are a credit to
their countries. If
you are operating a
web site linking Canada
and Ireland, when either
wins it a cause for
elation.
They can be an inspiration
to young and old. "If
they can do it, so can
I!"
Actually I did it once.
It was a magical round
for someone who once
had a fourteen handicap.
It started on the tenth
hole, a par five, 610
yards long. Normally
a par six, or more,
on this particular day
I was just short of
the green in two, and
my chip to the green-yes-found
the hole! An eagle!
Fired up, a six-iron
found the green, ten,
maybe twelve feet from
the pin, on the eleventh,
a par three.
Try to follow an eagle
with a birdie! Talk
about pressure on a
weekend player! Somehow
the putt reached the
brink of the hole, seemed
to hesitate, and after
an agonizing moment,
dropped in.
When I bent over to pick
the ball out of the
cup I had a good look
at it. It was as good
as new. Not a mark on
it. Usually I would
have left a crease,
even a small cut on
it after finishing the
first nine holes. But
this one was unmarked,
without a blemish. I
can see it today. A
Wilson Staff. There
is absolutely no reason
for me to mention that
fact.
I have played many kinds
of golf balls, the old
Dunlop 67 when it was
smaller than the ones
used in the States,
the new Titleist when
it made its debut, and
the old reliable Club
Special sold in every
clubhouse shop. I haven't
a clue where I picked
up the Wilson Staff.
Maybe I found it as
lost ball in the rough,
put it in my bag, and
pulled it out that day
without thinking anything
about it.
I could go on and on.
The twelfth was also
a par five. On in three,
and two putts. The thirteenth,
a treacherous dogleg
to the right, trees
on either side. Again
a par. The fourteenth,
a long par four. My
drive seemed to fly
for ever, my approach
perfect, four feet shot
of the flag stick, and
again the putt dropped.
I was four under heading
into the fifteenth.
I had never had such
a run. Everything was
going my way.
Then I woke up. It was
February in Ottawa.
There was a foot of
snow on the ground.
Snow on the trees, snow
on the roads, snow on
the fences, snow everywhere.
And there was frost
on the windows of the
cars and the houses.
Still, it was the best
round of golf I ever
played, even though
I don't know how it
finished.
Mike Weir, Padraig Harrington,
even Tiger Woods, can
rest easy. I won't be
challenging them any
time soon.
As the Tailor was wont
to say, "Take life
easy and life will take
you easy."
(from
"The Tailor and
Antsy" by Eric
Cross.)
--30--
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