The Crying Game

I would like to begin this fortnight by grappling with an issue of great controversy. I will raise the cudgel, grasp the nettle, take the bull by the horns, seize the hour. Or not, as the case may be. It’s to do with golf, and Irish golfers in particular.

For some time now, Foul Play has been puzzled by radio sports reports which lead off with the latest news on how Irish golfers are faring in distant lands.

It tends to go something like this: “Paul McGinley was the best of the Irish in the opening round of the Madagascar Open. He shot a one-over-par 72, placing him six shots behind the tournament leader, Jaime Jiminez of Spain. Darren Clarke is four shots behind McGinley, while it was a disappointing day for Philip Walton, who shot 82.”

Hmmm, this is all very interesting. I’m sure that certain folk want to hear these mildly depressing tales from around the world, but do they need to know them? Many listeners might be under the impression, for example, that Paul McGinley, Darren Clarke and Philip Walton are not representing “Ireland” as such, but are representing Paul McGinley, Darren Clarke and Philip Walton, respectively. And good luck to them, because they obviously need heaps of it.

Then you hear that one of our heroes has hired an expensive coach to re-build his swing, and tell him what he is doing wrong. They learn how to become more “focused”.

It sounds distinctly Californian, this kind of “therapy”. I mean, do you need to pay someone to tell you to “focus” on getting the ball into the hole more efficaciously than has been your wont?

Still, our boys in the spiky shoes tend to endure their traumas with slightly more composure than Mr Alexander “Hurricane” Higgins, embattled maestro of the green baize.

“Hurricane” had a row with a referee recently during the qualifying tournament for the Embassy World Championship, but that is not news. “Hurricane” not having a row with a referee would be news.

He complained that the official was obstructing his line of vision, or something, and asked him to move, a request which the referee refused. As he bent down to address his shot, he appeared to pause a couple of times, and the spectators noticed that he was, in fact, weeping.

Now this is a problem for a top professional snooker ace. No doubt they often feel like weeping after a shot, when they mis-cue, and leave their opponent in for a simple clearance.

Weeping before a shot is another matter entirely, and suggests that you are definitely not “focused”, or at least not focused on snooker.

Golf can be hard on the old nerves as well, with players getting the “yips”, rendering them incapable of putting. But they don’t actually weep while they’re addressing the ball.

One would rarely see a report that “Seve Ballesteros today broke down and cried on the 15th green at the Taiwan Open, as he lined up a tricky 7-foot putt. Meanwhile, Paul McGinley had a disappointing day, dropping down the leader-board after taking 8 shots at the notorious 9th hole, while Darren Clarke and Philip Walton missed the cut. All four were said to be suffering from depression, and the legendary Spaniard again broke down and wept at a Press Conference, admitting that he had become a chronic bedwetter.”

Wailing and gnashing of teeth are also the order of the day for super-jockey Richard Dunwoody, stood down by the Stewards for a month for bringing elements of stock-car racing to the National Hunt scene, deliberately trying to run an opponent off the track.

Racing is increasingly becoming a contact sport, with jockeys being suspended for over-use of the whip, and not necessarily just on their horses.

Last year, a jockey was suspended for appearing to drag a rival jockey out of the saddle at the end of a competitive encounter, and for further fisticuffs in the weigh-room.

Over-use of the whip is a tricky business, because while conspicuous cruelty to animals is an affront to all right-thinking people, in a driving finish, a jockey who resorts to under-use of the whip may have good grounds to fear cruelty being meted out to himself by demented punters who feel that he could have tried just a little bit harder. Jockeys complain that they are up shit creek one way or the other.

But at least they don’t play for The Arsenal. Georgie Graham’s red-and-white army must greet each new day in the manner of Hurricane Higgins about to pot a difficult yellow.

George still has to explain his precise relationship to a brown paper bag containing some £350,000, Millwall knocked them out of the Cup, and Paul Merson wept openly at a Press Conference held in honour of his treatment for spending all his money on horses, drink and cocaine – and presumably wasting the rest.

Devoted readers may recall that Foul Play confidently predicted that Arsenal would win the Carling Premiership this season, with, as they say in racing circles, “a bit in hand”.

This kind of astute recognition from such an unimpeachable source clearly freaked The Gunners out big-time, and they cracked horribly under the pressure. Faced with the horror of letting Foul Play down, they went a-drinkin’ and a-snortin’, and a-fussin’ and a-fightin’. They went apeshit.

Foul Play has that effect on people.