JaJa99. No 70. Monday 9th December 2019

The chances of my finishing this in one sitting are extremely remote as it is now 1.30 pm and I arrived at Gatwick Airport this morning at 5.15 after a largely sleepless twelve hour flight from Mauritius, courtesy of “The World’s Favourite Airline”, as it used to tag itself, although that has become such a source of derision they have wisely shelved that particular slogan. “The World’s Most Expensive Low Cost Airline” might be more appropriate.

After weeks of thought, I failed miserably to make any sort of statement during my last ever broadcast for European Tour Propaganda, sorry Productions (ETP), on Sunday. In the end, I just left with silence as the final round went into a play-off and there was a danger I might miss my flight.

I was right……it’s now Tuesday. I’ve met a few people recently who have suffered from septicaemia, a potentially fatal and very nasty condition. I have just fallen victim to Septicseeya, which is equally terminal, in a business sense and for which there is no known cure. (An understanding of cockney rhyming slang will help here). For nearly thirty years I have been commentating on The European Tour. This is a Tour made up of all the individual European countries. The clue is in the title really. Whilst we may have a common currency and a common market, we are not yet a United States of Europe. Thankfully. The member states all maintain their wonderful variety of culture, diet, and customs. You won’t find sauerkraut on sale in Le Maison du Jacques,  Smorgersbord for brekky in Berlin or ghoulash being doled out in Madrid. Many other nationalities also come and play on the European Tour, from Aussies to South Africans and Asians to South Americans. For this reason our commentary is taken by numerous countries all around the world and we have always tried to bear that in mind and cater for all cultures. However, what we all know is that America and Americans do everything bigger and better than us, so it should come as no surprise that when highly paid executives from across the pond are brought in to show us how to run things, they will want to re-create the operation in their own, McDonalds and Dunkin’ Donuts,  image. There is no question that the best golfers in the world play mostly on the PGA Tour in America, where there are up to five networks who share out the televising spoils between them. The game is taken incredibly seriously, just as the players and commentators take themselves incredibly seriously. It is about as witty and entertaining  as a Pinter play transcribed into Russian. So it is that European Tour Propaganda is now more concerned with mentioning all the sponsors names fifteen times an hour, telling the World how absolutely fab and wonderful everything and everybody is and avoiding any inconvenient truths.

For folk of my generation and many more besides, Peter Allis has been the doyen of golf commentators for decades. He is still broadcasting at eighty eight; an astonishing career. People in Britain love Peter because he’s brought the joy of golf to the masses, who are not necessarily dedicated followers of the game. He combines great insight with a unique wit and a rare human touch. Typically, commentators work to their Producers and Directors. But the BBC men in charge of Peter often waited for him to finish a story before moving on to another picture. Sir Nick’s tap in for par could wait. (That’s Faldo for anyone who has had their head in a lavatory bowl for the last thirty years. My apologies for the harsh sarcasm, it’s what happens when the Stasi move in). Peter has an extraordinary ability to see things on the screen that most people miss. His powers of observation, combined with an ability to paint witty pictures with words and to head down a path that even he doesn’t know whither it leads, really are unique. Two ducks and a gaggle of ducklings are a green light for Peter to wax lyrical. At the World Matchplay Championship at Wentworth years ago I couldn’t speak for a full five minutes after he started talking about jam; it was just hysterical. Recognising his genius, ABC recruited him to commentate in America, which Peter was very happy to do because broadcasters over there get paid ludicrous sums of money, especially men of Peter’s calibre. But they rarely allowed him to do the thing he did best; entertain. A blindfolded monkey can say “Tiger Woods on the 6th Tee with a driver”, but for the most part that was as much as he was given time for. It is these same men and their tutees who are now waving their magic wands over ETP.

We lesser mortals can only stand back and admire their work. The new breed are “changing  the face of commentary…..”