Column by Anand Datla
Every sport has its cathedral and golf is no exception. As golfers start cranking up their tools this weekend at the St. Andrews in Scotland, the Gods of golf will circle the links course dancing to the hymns of the high priests and practitioners of the glorious game. As water and wind combine to make life humid and heavy for the golfers, the unruly wild bushes make navigation extremely hard.
They will descend in droves to feast on the sounds, sighs and sights that will greet their hungry gaze. There will be gasps of joy and guffaws of disbelief – for once commoners and royals, the physical and metaphysical will all collide into the space, helplessly drawn by the aura and aroma that makes Andrews the most special golfing real estate on the planet.
Gordon McKie, the blessed greenskeeper at the Old Course, has been toiling since October last year. McKie and his team will have put in hundreds of hours tending the Parish Blue grass that is set to greet the golfers when they start arriving this weekend.
Every sport has its cathedral and golf is no exception
The fairways may seem like the pathways to heaven, the sandy bunkers and little puddles of water serving to decorate the golfers’ voyage into the depths of their own soul. It is far from a smooth walk though, for all the beauty that fills the moist eyes.
The wickedly undulating contours of the path, the thick raucous bushes work with the wind and water to create a cacophony that is constantly battering golfers into submission. It does not matter to them evil forces that hard working men are out in St Andrews to pay obeisance to the home of their loving game.
Challenges make the spiritual quest to lay hands on the
Claret Jug ever so meaningful
The infamous Hell Bunker at the 14th hole is just one example of the many wicked forces that populate the most hallowed stretch of golfing ground. At its deepest end, the bunker is high enough to swallow a human being, all six feet of him. Treacherous.
And then the conversation has to veer away to the miserable 17th hole. A par-4 that measures 490 yards, but weighs like a mountain on the weary minds of battle scarred golfers. A cavernous bunker, the gravel road and thick wild weed that has grown uncomfortably tall wait like hungry monsters, eager to swallow signature golf balls and mutilate hastily scribbled scorecards.
But then, all that pain is just a part of this great journey through the most revered patch of land. It is these challenges that make this spiritual quest to lay hands on the Claret Jug ever so meaningful.
The Open – a tryst with immortality
On the 19th of July, the last man standing will have the pleasure of an audience with everything divine and a sip of elixir that makes his existence eternal. Make no mistake, every man that owns the Claret Jug on a Sunday evening has written their name into an immortal corridor of golf.
Follow Us: Twitter.com/GolfingIndian
Join Us: Facebook.com/GolfingIndian
Download Our APP Here
