Monday, 21 June, 2010 - the shortest day of the year in South Africa; the longest at home!
Good morning Irish sports lovers everywhere!
A big thank you to the Road House hotel in Nelspruit, the first place on my travels where I could go on the internet without having to pay extra and go through the usual bureaucracy.
And to my Producer, Colm Magee, for staying with me to the bitter end at 3.35am Nelspruit time as we danced and shouted our heads off when that final putt went in!
And the biggest thank you of all has to go to that man with the funny accent, that Global Villager Extraordinaire, GMac, who came home to his roots, sorted out his life and can now call himself a 'Major Winner!' - how sweet that sounds to all you golfaholics out there - people just like Colm and me.
I am getting ahead of myself a little here. It's early in the morning. My head is pounding a little, more from the lack of sleep than the effects of the fabulous South African wine we were drinking last night. (This piece is dedicated to Dr Hunter S. Thompson, gonzo journalist extraordinaire - inspiration comes from a healthy combination of sleep deprivation and the consumption of just the right amount of stimulants!)
For most people just being here following the World Cup would be enough.
Just making the journey from our home base in Pretoria across the Highveld, through the rolling farmland on the N4 to Maputo in Mozambique, past the towns of Middleburg and Belfast (Belfast of all places!), taking the magnificent spur up and over this beautiful country on the road to Schoemannskloof and into the inner sanctum of the Mbombela stadium - for most people that would be enough.
And then having the opportunity to see the world champions join the long line of European teams in trouble at this World Cup, that would be enough.
To see New Zealand, a country with a similar population and sporting situation as Ireland, remind us all of what it felt like in 1988, 1990, 1994 and 2002 to rub shoulders with the big guys and get surprise results, that would be enough.
In one crazy day that will never be forgotten as long as I shall live, that still wasn't enough.
Maybe it was the quality of the wine and company over dinner, the Bayerskloof lable, the fine food, the conversation with Colm, Matt Holland and our driver Joseph, maybe all that has inspired part of this story of how we could share one of the greatest wins ever by an Irishman on foreign fields and just be so happy for him and all of the golfaholics we know, the hundreds of thousands up and down our precious little island that have given and continue to give opportunities to youngsters that turns them, in one magnificent circle, from callow youths into champions.
This is the story of how important it is to live every day like it’s your last; of why it is that we middle-aged old farts want to keep our competitive juices going well past the age when our bodies have given up on more physical pursuits; of how sport can lift us to new heights – and continue to kindle the desire for more.
As the leader of RTÉ’s team working at the Ryder Cup in the K Club four years ago, I had the very good fortune to meet Graeme McDowell. I remember a conversation with his then manager, Chubby Chandler, while walking down a Beijing street, the conversation that cemented the deal for Graeme to join our expert team. He was just the person for the job: he knew all the players; he had been to college in the States and knew their golfing system intimately; most of all he had the gift of the gab, that precious Irish ability to communicate.
Back then his career – that started in such impressive fashion with a win in one of his first European Tour events – was unfulfilled. He always knew he was good enough to win. He spoke back then of how walking the fairways doing live commentary for BBC Radio Five Live and then analysing the day’s play with us in RTÉ in our highlights programmes had inspired him to want this level of the game.
He changed his way of doing things, went back to his Irish roots, and never lost an ounce of that optimism and positivity that makes all champions. Within two years he was a Ryder Cup player and now he has become the third Irish Major winner – how good does that sound to all of us connected to the game.
That will inspire boys and girls all over our island in the 430+ golf clubs in every corner of the island, to get out and try that little bit harder to be the best they can. Only a precious few will ‘make it’ and become like our major winners, champions.
The rest, the 99.9%, will find their level and always have a game that they can pursue to old age, a game that forms the bedrock of the massive golfing community in the four provinces of Ireland. From Ballymoney to Ballybunion and from Fanad to Faithlegg – wherever the game is played on our green and temperate land - let’s hope that the champions of tomorrow are inspired by the exploits of GMac.
He certainly made last night and this morning a day that Colm (from Dunloy, very close to McDowell’s home place) and I will always cherish. We can’t wait to get home and see if we can become the best golfers we can – but not until this World Cup has run its course.
And as if that wasn’t enough for one long and incredible day, today is another as we drive back to Jo’burg, from lowveld to Highveld, from Mpumalanga to Ghauteng, heading west in pursuit of more inspiration.
