In his Twitter/X bio new Masters Champion Rory MclIroy (Rory! Rory!) says: I hit a little white ball around a field sometimes. Exactly.
Everyone in Britain and Ireland is celebrating McIIroy’s fantastic win at Augusta last night. Now is the time to say to you ladies: if you want to know about men, learn about golf.
My brother plays golf, my son plays golf and my father played golf so I know my bogey from my birdie. I grew up with golfers, one of whom was called Rory although sadly his surname was not McIIroy. I never played the great game despite parental encouragement because it is too slow and I could never see the attraction of ‘hitting a little white ball around the field sometimes.’
However, I have a confession to make. On dark days, deep down, golf brings out the feminist in me. Or the Michael Douglas in the 1993 movie classic Falling Down in me. You know when William Foster finally cracks on the golf course and gives the old guys a lecture, berating them for keeping all this greenery for themselves when it should be for families? That’s me. And then their golf cart ends up in the pond and one of the golfers has a heart attack which means he is going to die ‘wearing that stupid little hat’ I have zero sympathy for that rude golfer. I’m cheering for Foster at this point. Damn, that’s one good movie.
When I drop my son off at my local golf club I see these gents with their little golf bags and buggies. This is how their day goes: they get in their golf buggy, zoom down to the little white ball, slowly ease their way out of their golf buggy with one of their incredibly expensive golf sticks, hit the white ball and then slowly get back into the golf buggy, zooming off once again to find their little white ball to hit with the stick again. This, we are told, is a sport. At this point I AM WILLIAM FOSTER just without the weapons – which is just as well.
After about 4 or 5 hours of this golf buggy, stick and tiny white ball fandango, these men head to the 19th hole for a few hours of eating and drinking. Usually, they watch other men also doing the stick and tiny white ball routine on the TV although admittedly to a much higher level.
Meanwhile there is a wife somewhere doing laundry or minding the children and should she even dare to purchase a handbag for half the price of the stick thing, she gets shamed. At least you can put the little white balls in the handbag. Admittedly there are quite a few ladies down at my son’s golf club but I feel this truth ruins my blog.
My husband does not play golf. The phrase ‘honey can you take the children for 5 hours while I hit 18’ has never been spoken in our house and if it were, it would be for the very last time.
Look, I like watching golf, don’t get me wrong. Sadly, I didn’t stay up last night but my son did with his grandfather and I think it is a memory he will always have. My father informed me that it was the best night of sport he ever witnessed. Ever. And he’s 81. I certainly remember watching Tiger Woods win his first Green Jacket. I have definitely watched a fair few Ryder Cups. But I don’t think my nerves would have held out yesterday so I was happy enough to wake up at 5:30am and find out that Rory missed his final putt at the 18th but clinched it at the play-off. Would I have been able to watch that? Unlikely. Watching Alcaraz beat Djokovic at Wimbledon was tough enough.
I’m still not getting to my point. My point, ladies, is that golf is very instructive on the nature of men. Some men will tell you they can’t possibly meet you for a date or dinner because blah blah blah, yet the very same man will travel for hours to see other men hit a little white ball around a field. You can actually attend the practice session in Augusta National Golf Club, which is right on the border of Georgia and South Carolina! This lad here, can give you advice on what are the best days to go on.
And it is not just that men are willing to travel across about 10 states to watch other men play golf in the flesh, they are also willing to stay up late at night to watch the final round of Masters Sunday on the telly box. This demonstrates that once again that in life everything is a question of priorities.
We all have priorities. My priority was to get up in the middle of the night and feed my newborn. Other people will stay up past midnight to watch the golf. It is not a question of time or energy – it is a question of priorities. Are you as important to your boyfriend as the Masters Sunday? That’s the question you need to ask. Does he look at you the way he looked at Rory sinking that winning putt?
It is also interesting that “cell phones are strictly not allowed at Augusta National during tournament days.” Is that so? Do you think when the men rock up to Augusta and they are told they cannot under any circumstances use their smartphone on tournament days they get into an argument with the staff? Do you think they have to ‘just check their email real quickly’ as Rory was coming up to the 18th? No. No they do not.
These golf spectators did not “absolutely have to take that work call” right before Rory sank that winning put in the play-off. No, Sir. Therefore, if you are out for dinner with your boyfriend and he is on his phone and ‘must take that work call’ then you know where his priorities lie. And it is not in being a civilised boyfriend to you. Deposit him in the local golf shop and never return.
This is just some advice from your old Aunty Laura. I’m just giving you the brutal truth.
Congratulations to Rory McIIroy on hitting the little white ball into the hole in fewer shots than the other guys did. The win of a lifetime, you have made us all proud.