Joanne "Allie" Williams
posted on June 13, 2010 12:29
England’s latest Rose made victory smell so sweet. Justin Rose was due and came to The Memorial in Dublin, Ohio to collect this past weekend. Three camps developed in the gallery, diluting the oohs and the ahs; one for Tiger, one for Phil & one for Rickie Fowler. Justin Rose took full advantage of the gallery’s divided affections during the 4th round. So Mr. Rose, whose very name signifies love, played nearly unnoticed and undisturbed, by the fans, until the 14th hole. That’s when he made the birdies sing & I heard the siren’s song.
I love the game. Even though I’ve been away for awhile I felt myself slip back into the comfort of its embrace. Golfers are mostly monogamous-faithful to their chosen sport- with the occasional slips that happen at a company softball game or neighborly tennis match and naturally we watch football & basketball, etc. However, it’s just meaningless sports since other sports involving a ball mean nothing to us. Watching them on TV reminds us that we can only be “armchair participants”, completely unfulfilling. As golfers, we can be players for most of our lives. Perhaps it’s our experience of being player/fans that explains our devotion to the PGA stars. We can relate to the mercurial properties of golf. Our slumps, hooks and embarrassing moments on the course are merely annoyances but to a pro they can be career enders.
Hence, the cast of characters on the tour is ever changing. Yet the game is still essentially that which came out of the kingdom; ‘where men and women are merely players’. Standing in the gallery, at Muirfield Village, I began to feel the fascination “fer the game”, again. I was falling in love, again, but fully aware that it’s a dangerous love. Some shots can thrill and excite and another one may break a heart? Ah, love and golf- where fools rush in.