| TALES FROM THE BOX
South African
Sojourn
Television commentator Julian Tutt wraps up another month on the European Tour at the Africa Open in East London.
F
Daniel Wong, AFP
Katie Aiken, pictured here with her husband Thomas following his victory at last year’s Avantha Masters, was on the bag for his win at the Africa Open last month. 40
HK GOLFER・MAR 2014
e b r u a r y 14 t h . A s I w r i t e , sweethearts around the world are avowing their undying love. In East London, where the Africa Open is taking place, our hotel is bedecked in red and white as rabid commercialism hijacks yet another festival. The luckier golfers are accompanied by their loved ones, but for many on the tour merry-go-round it’s a lonely night. Such is the life of the touring professional. How quickly the early glamour disappears when girlfriends, wives and children start praying on the absent mind. It’s been intriguing over the past 25 years of following golf to observe how triumphs and disasters on the course coincide so remarkably with the peaks and troughs of marital and emotional harmony and disharmony off it. The two graphs are almost invariably closely intertwined. A few wives and girlfriends have overcome the separation problem by taking up (paid?) employment, carrying the bag for their other halves. Generally, and unsurprisingly when you consider the pressures involved, those arrangements have lasted less time than the average pro/caddie relationship. Sometimes, though, a change works rather well, as evidenced by Thomas Aiken here. His beautiful wife Katie is a hockey player and skier, but knows little about professional golf. Carrying her husband’s bag for the first time, she contrived to look glamorous, awkward and nervous at the same time. Aiken, who looked out of sorts when surrendering the lead the week before at the Joburg Open has been relaxed and focused here, happy to combine the role of golfer and caddie, save of course for actually carrying his own bag. How well it worked as he drained a 20-foot birdie
putt on the first hole of a sudden death play-off against England’s Oliver Fisher to record his third European Tour win. What a great investment that brand new red, black and white Titleist carry bag has been; a Valentine’s gift for Kate. No doubt she got something a little more romantic too. Unfortunately we on-course commentators have no pack horses to ca rr y t he heav y equipment it’s necessary for us to carry, if our riveting words of wisdom are to make it out of the valley and across the globe. It was whilst tending to my sore back that the physiotherapist Kate revealed that the caddie Kate had kept her thoughts to herself except to venture to hubby, going into the final round, that whilst everyone else had shot their low rounds, his was yet to come. The excellent physiotherapist could yet become a handy psychotherapist! In the event he didn’t have to go particularly low after the overnight leader Emiliano Grillo hacked and scrambled his way to a mind-numbing nine on the first hole, a par-4. Having looked a broken man, he then rallied to birdie the last five holes to finish tied fifth, in what must rank as one of the most remarkable final rounds ever. My week in East London concluded with a trip to play golf at Fish River Sun near Port Alfred, an hour’s drive away. It was a lovely coastal journey on a delightfully uncluttered road, beneath a classic South African “high sky”. We were doing a reasonably legal 70 miles per hour when we turned a bend to find a large convoy of heavy trucks approaching us, with barely a 9-iron separating any of them. That was unfortunate because a seriously underpowered jalopy had HKGOLFER.COM
decided to try and overtake all of them. Closing at about 140 mph a full-frontal meeting looked a distinct possibility. Whilst applying maximum pressure to the brake pedal, my suddenly alert mind was weighing up the options (which were distinctly limited) when the probably equally surprised driver of the suicide vehicle swerved onto the grass verge on my side of the road, giving us a free passage. Being South Africa, I decided that I would leave them to it and continue on our way. How fortunate, though, that we had not both decided to take the same avoiding action at the same instant! It was hugely impressive that my friend and colleague Dominik Holyer, who was sitting in the passenger seat, showed no sign of alarm or panic and merely continued to describe the delights of his home club, Hockley, near Winchester in the English Home Counties. The somewhat ungrateful fellow then proceeded to thrash me on the Gary Player-designed layout, using a particularly manky set of hire clubs, whilst I had my own finely tuned set with me. Not my best day. As a fascinating build-up to September’s Ryder Cup in Scotland, I thought I would recount a few memories of the 12 previous editions that I have covered for various different organisations. Unlike American golf coverage (actually unlike most of their sporting coverage) it seems sensible to do this in chronological order, hence some recollections of Kiawah Island in 1991. I had attended the 1989 Cup at The Belfry, but really only as an observer for BBC Radio. In The Deep South I was being allowed out on my own as one of three “lead” commentators on the course. Each of us had an expert with us. Mine was the former Ryder Cup star Tommy Horton, who mucked in with great relish. It was the first time that full coverage on the radio had ever been attempted from America. To do it using the now normal satellite network would have been hugely expensive so the decision had been taken to do day-long, “ball by ball” coverage on a single ISDN telephone line. It was a huge gamble but it worked perfectly throughout. It did however involve somebody carrying an even heavier and more awkward backpack than the contraptions we carry now. Fortunately we had persuaded some American students to undertake the role of packman, which they appeared to love as they got an up close and personal view of their golfing heroes. Mine was a chap called Cary, who was inevitably dubbed “Cary the Pack”. Unfortunately, halfway through the second day of searing heat and high humidity, Cary needed a bathroom break. Temporarily handing the equipment to Tommy Horton he dashed to the nearest Portaloo, promising to catch us up at the HKGOLFER.COM
The luckier golfers are accompanied by their loved ones, but for many on the tour merry-go-round it’s a lonely night. How quickly the early glamour disappears when girlfriends, wives and children start praying on the absent mind. next tee. Cary was never seen again, and Tommy insisted on assuming the load for the remainder of the day. The whole experience at Kiawah was totally memorable, not least because it was unlike anything most of us had ever encountered before. Journeying through the old Deep South Plantations to this remote new complex was like visiting an alien world. My colleagues were the renowned football commentator Alan Green from Northern Ireland, and the late “whispering” George Bailey, a lifetime County golfer from Newcastle, who was one of golf and life’s great enthusiasts. By then though he was not in the first flush of youth, and the gruelling environment was taking its toll. By the Saturday night he was exhausted, and at dinner that evening, he sat with arms folded, gently nodding off. George was renowned for his hairpiece and his flat cap. Remarkably both always seemed to stay in place even in the strongest wind. However that night we all sat mesmerised as his head gradually slid forward over his bowl of soup. Would the wig end up in the mulligatawny? Or would he just do a face plant? In the end sadly it was neither, but it caused huge mirth. I got my comeuppance big time the next day. After watching the querulous Mark Calcavecchia surrender a dormie four lead to the only slightly less nervejangled rookie Colin Montgomerie, I eventually dropped back to see the conclusion of the Hale Irwin/Bernhard Langer encounter. The atmosphere was electric, with Irwin showing signs of needing a better psychologist than Calcavecchia’s. On the 16th Langer had a putt of six feet or so to win the hole. I knew the situation, but I heard Alan Green telling our producer on talkback that if Langer missed, that was it, game over. After a very long week, I stupidly believed what I heard in my ear. Langer missed and I went into the full “that’s it, Irwin wins, and with it the United States regain the Ryder Cup, what drama, what emotion …” There was a long pause and then Tony Adamson and Renton Laidlaw (who had already lost most of their notes in the strong wind blowing through their tower behind the 18th) calmly picked up: “So the final match is all square with everything to play for …” There wasn’t a hole deep enough for me to bury myself in. We later read that thousands of motorists listening on their car radios back in Britain had pulled in to the side of the road, all the more to enjoy the drama. They must have loved that! Afterwards, I vividly remember the late Payne Stewart’s floods of joyful tears and later, the terrific performances of Ian Woosnam and Sam Torrance on the table tops of the tented public bars. The Americans loved it. So did we. Of course all the wives were present for that one. HK GOLFER・MAR 2014
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