Great Moments In Sport

It shows how long it has been since the Pig was last in contention for even a piddling little prize that he felt the nerves when he teed it up as leader in the Dunmore Shield at Bull Bay on Wednesday. I had accumulated a meagre two point advantage over the opening three days and, after some intervening drama, I had by the end increased this to nine. It had been down to just one after eleven holes but an unlikely long putt on the twelfth kept the lead intact and turned out to be the turning point. Now it has to be conceded that I beat Big Willy with his chronic bad back, and the Boy Bacon who was incubating a strong cold, and that ViperJohn had been prevented by ill health from even turning up. But still - the Pig won.

Ynys Mon proved a fine host to our mature high jinks. I doubt that we will return to St. Deiniol any time soon, but The Anglesey was a pleasing new experience and cracking value for money at twenty-five pounds per head. The best was kept for the final two rounds however - Holyhead was as good as first impressions had intimated those few years ago; and Bull Bay which hosted the finale was, as ever, a quality venue. Worth every bit of the forty pound green fee.

Holyhead Golf Club

This festival of inept sporting endeavour was made all the better by food at the Tavern on the Bay and a gargantuan takeaway from The Talent House. Where to next year?

18th at Bull Bay - scene of the Pig's triumph

 

Fever Pitch

The Dunmore Shield is under way and the shock news is that Big Fat Pig is the leader after two rounds of patchy golf. Mind you the weighted points system we are using means that the opening skirmishes are of far less importance than the remaining two challenges - Holyhead today and Bull Bay tomorrow.

Day one saw all three of us (ViperJohn is hors de combat and resting up at home - we miss you mate) struggle at St Deiniol, Bangor. I think it fair to say that this course will not be appearing on anyone's list of favourite venues. Technically speaking we would have to descibe it as bloody hilly (this is something of an understatement) and the Pig, as he usually does, carrying his bag (the other two were in a buggy) was well knackered at the end. The scoring was dire but the Pig took a slim lead. You get a feel of the terrain from the photo below. Trust me it's all like that. The day was however brought to a fine conclusion by the beer and curry consumed by the Pig and the Boy Bacon - Big Willy had returned to his new digs in Criccieth but is now part of the full party camping at Plas Piggy.

Day two's venue received far more favourable reviews. We were at The Anglesey, the island's only true links. Big Willy (who knows a thing or two about golf courses) said it put him in mind of Westward Ho! A fllattish piece of duneland with rumpled fairways, it was well-received by all competitors.The Pig's long-game deficiencies were papered-over by a stellar putting display and a marginal improvement in his lead was garnered. A good day was made yet better by fish and chips from the Golden Fry in Benllech.

The Anglesey

Today it will be Holyhead Golf Club followed by a meal at the Sea Shanty, Bring it on.

'We Are Penn State', Other Sporting Triumphs, And A Significant Anniversary

Number nineteen ranked Penn State travelled to number twelve Wisconsin and won 16-10 with a glorious defensive performance. After last year's near disastrous record, things look better for the Nittany Lions. We are Penn State.

While the cosseted stars of the PGA Tour spent their weekend chasing the obscene $15m prize at their Tour Championship, the better spectacle was to be found in Toledo, Ohio where the women of America and Europe battled it out without recompense for the Solheim Cup. For once the often anodyne Iain Carter gets it spot on - Solheim Triumph 

Can you remember what you were doing fifty years ago today? As it happens I can - 7 September 1971 was one of the very best days of my fortunate life. On that date I started at King Edward VI Aston School. Not a day goes by without me being grateful for the companionship and learning that School gave me. Long live the name of Edward, our founder and our king. Silly but you've got to love it.

The Kipling Test

When Donald Trump expressed his 'America First' doctrine, the sane world winced at the moral inadequacy and the cowardice of it all. Now Joe Biden unapologetically takes a page from the Donald's book and oversees a quite craven retreat from Afghanistan. 

I will not enunciate the Kipling Test because its terminology would cause proper offence. However there is, beneath a racist carapace, a method in Kipling's entreaty to America. Or to put it in the phrasing of a more modern fable, Spiderman, 'With great power comes great responsibility'. 

The word 'Taliban' apparently derives from the terms for 'students' or 'seekers'. That which they seek is a perverted Islamic fundamentalism that relegates women to enslavement and condemns music as unholy. Is the world safe with these people in charge of Afganistan? Of course it isn't. Being the 'Home of the Brave' ought to have meaning beyond the confines of America. And as America discharges its burden, so ought we.   

Beware The Injured Pig

When last we spoke, Big Fat Pig was looking forward to his trip to the refined golfing environment that is Woburn. He was still looking forward to it when he went for a run on the day before his departure. He was still looking forward to it as he rounded a corner at the two-thirds mark of his 5k route. Then he stumbled. He inclined forward but hoped he might be able to rescue his balance. He was wrong and he still has the vivid recollection of that moment in time when he started assessing how least injuriously to land. In the end he favoured his left side and took particular care to avoid hitting his head on the dwarf wall. Outcome - bloodied left knee; bloodied left shoulder; bloodied left hand; grazed right hand. All of this he can live with, can even deal with the lack of dignity associated with these mishaps (a nice lady walking her dog enquired after the Pig's well-being) but the real damage has been to the Pig's ribs. Not to put too fine a point on it, they're bloody painful. The Pig forgot himself yesterday and allowed a sneeze. The effect is rather akin to how one imagines it might feel to be stabbed.

The Pig was not to be put-off his trip to Woburn. And he was right to soldier on. The healing powers of Ibuprofen and the quality of the company combined to make this another memorable trip. At the root of all the fun was the stellar hospitality of VB and MB. Alcohol should not be underestimated as an anaesthetic. WM and ViperJohn joined the Pig as guests.

I have written about Woburn before but I must say that, if anything, I was even more impressed this time. We played the Marquess on Thursday and the Duke's on Friday. I had, in particular, forgotten just how fabulous a course is the latter. This despite a mildly grumpy starter on the Duke's who gave me a very dodgy look as my sore ribs and I duffed two drives (I played a provisional) into the trees on the right. Out of his caustic sight I played tolerably well and ViperJohn and I wiped the floor with WM and MB. All a far cry from Royal Pype Hayes but linked by the joy of a game played in good company. I had to cry-off Pype Hayes on Monday as the ribs took their full revenge on my daring to play at Woburn. The picture is of the fourth hole on the Duke's - arguably the most stunning hole on the property.     

The Craven Reimagining Of Cricket

Pop will eat itself. Here I go again.

As if Twenty20 cricket was not craven enough with its elevation of pub cricket (and don't get me wrong there's nothing wrong with that in its place) into something somehow godly, now we have the utterly detestable Hundred. A sub-seventeen over thrash for professional cricketers, a game devised by marketing men who hate cricket. It is served up to us by commentators who have swallowed the grim lie that this is the greatest thing ever invented and that it will 'save' the game. If this is the price then this precious sport is not worth saving. Nothing sums things up so much as the televised enthusiasm of that great talent, Kevin Pietersen - a man who sees no harm in selling the soul of the sport he graced for a mess of pottage.

Thus yesterday we had the pitiful and meaningless Hundred sharing attention with a Test match which really did what great sport can do - that is to say, expose the fallibilities and the potentials of participants. As it happens the fallibility was all English and the potential all Indian.

Pop will eat itself. God, I feel old! 

Hats And American Noir

A scathing review has it that Ed Norton optioned the source novel for Motherless Brooklyn with a cynical view to picking himself up an Oscar for portraying the central afflicted character - the disabilty in question being Tourette's Syndrome. That may or not be true but, whatever, he didn't get the award and the performance is nonetheless a tour de force shot through with humour and compassion. Norton also adapted, produced and directed so this stands as a fairly formidable cinematic achievement. Yes, the film is too long and relies overly on exposition in its dialogue. But the nods to film noir are pleasing and the necessary hats are fabulous. For those with an eye to less-than-subtle nuance there is even a bit of Trump bashing in Alec Baldwin's portrayal of the villainous property developer. Not, then, a great film but a very good one. 71/100.