Hibari yako? Which all you Kenyan ex-pats will know is Swahili for “How are you?” My question is prompted because I am currently in the Tamarind Hotel in the Karen suburb of Nairobi, having journeyed here yesterday on “My Least Favourite Airline”, if not the World’s. Nothing much happened on the flight from London Heathrow to Nairobi to deflect my opinion, although I confess that it was marginally less awful that I have known in the past. The Tamarind is a comfortable establishment only fifteen minutes drive from the Karen Golf and Country Club, which this week stages the Magical Kenya Open. It’s too early to say just how magical it is and I’ve yet to find out who Magical are; or is. I shall report as soon as I know, because I’m aware you will be waiting with bated breath for this important information. Our hotel sports an attractive bar and cafe called the Dawa Lounge. Dawa is Swahili for “medicine” (I now know four words in the local lingo) and there will undoubtedly be many members of our TV crew who will be partaking at the bar, purely for medicinal purposes; although doctors of a conventional and witch variety may question the value of the fourteenth pint of Amstel. I can confirm that the cafe latte supplied in Dawa will not be the cause of my surrendering my season ticket to Barley Sugar, Blackwater Road, Eastbourne, although I have tasted worse. It’s only very late in life that I have come to realise the complexities of making a really good cup of coffee, to which I am indebted to Barley’s Barista.
I’m now in my thirtieth year as a golf commentator on both radio and television. Inevitably, with the passing of the years, fresh talent arrives on the scene and the old farts are gently wheeled off in their Bath chairs to reflect upon life’s trivialities from the comfort of the old people’s home. If you’re very lucky and I hope I am, the chair’s arrival occurs in stages, allowing the veteran broadcaster a few final laps of the circuit before submerging completely under the blanket. This week is a classic example. Whilst the world’s golfing eyes (or I suppose more correctly the eyes of the golfing world) are focused on Sawgrass in Florida for what’s often known as the Fifth Major, The Players’ Championship, we humble backwaterists are trying to recognise who the hell is playing in this delightful, but somewhat minor European Tour tournament, which is being played for the first time. The good news is that it’s a charming old-fashioned course at a really lovely old Colonial country club with wonderful facilities, where everyone is most welcoming and friendly, the sky is blue, the sun hot and with a bit of luck my bank balance will reflect a successful week, albeit not quite to the same extent as the eventual winner.
I started my golf broadcasting career commentating on BBC Radio. Radio might sound a strange medium for golf, but there have been many occasions where the drama has been intense, not least at The Ryder Cup. My first Ryder Cup in America was at Kiawah Island in South Carolina in 1991. It was the first time that a full all-day Outside Broadcast had been attempted on a telephone line, albeit an enhanced quality one. Amazingly it worked without a hitch and such was the drama on Sunday evening that cars were apparently stopping all over the UK, the better to appreciate what was happening. It concluded with Bernhard Langer’s infamous six foot missed putt that gave the Trophy to the USA. I was green side only a few feet behind Langer, who had battled so intensely against a severely choking Hale Irwin. I don’t say that critically, merely as a matter of fact. For anyone who has not experienced that intensity of competition, with so much on the line, it’s impossible to know just how difficult it is or how one would react. Irwin and Langer have both gone on to enjoy incredibly successful senior careers and Langer is still a prolific winner on the Champions Tour in America at the age of 61, an extraordinary character.
In a perfect world I would sign off with auf wiedersehn or ya tebya looblyoo in perfect Swahili, but thus far that is a bridge too far. By tomorrow I’m sure I’ll have it cracked though.
ADayInTheStrifeOf 