There was an air of expectancy surrounding the Irish Open last week. A new, one-off venue that until now had only been visited by some of the professionals more for the craic than the challenge.
The usual pre-tournament questions were being asked. Logistics were a concern. How far is it from Shannon Airport and is there anywhere to stay? The journey from Shannon along a road, yet to see the benefits of EC infrastructural contribution, was the first taste of real Ireland and "the past" for many of the foreign players who have lived the sheltered life of motoring without potholes, tractors and farmers' rickety bicycles.
A fitting introduction to a course nearing its 100th birthday. The sudden appearance of mounds and slopes, the trademark of the links and the vista of the long beach and the Atlantic beyond made most of the newcomers instantly aware of why they were there. To play golf in its purest form. There was the nostalgic feel of the British Open enveloping this coastal venue.
I walked the course early on Tuesday morning before my player arrived. It was exciting to be back on a links where extra care had to be taken of humps, hollows and lines off tees. Already, thinking needed to be altered for the rare challenge of the seaside course. Light changes the image of each hole; look at it in the morning and again in the evening, and perception can differ dramatically. So for the diligent amongst us a ramble at different parts of the day gave us a better idea of how the holes should be played.
When Greg Turner arrived he was as enthusiastic as I have seen him on a practice round. This is the reason he played golf, this is his arena and the challenge that Ballybunion presented brought a smile to his face. On converging tees he hollered to fellow competitors, "You better not leave any of your game in the locker this week .boys". Around the greens he snatched clubs ranging from five-iron to lob wedge trying different pitch shots. His imagination had suddenly come alive, having lay dormant in the bowels of uncreative computerised golf that have been presented to the players in recent times. Suddenly there was a variety of shots that could be used for the desired result and not the same old blast out of thick rough that takes the imagination out of modern golf.
The air in the locker-room was more relaxed than normal, even from early week. s Australians and s Americans trying hopelessly to emulate a generic "Oirish" accent, the customary Irish joke telling and discussions on the merits and pitfalls of drinking that black liquid which of course "tastes different over here" consumed the practice days. Ballybunion had assumed an exotic atmosphere on a balmy summer Tuesday with the panoramic view over an azure Atlantic. If it t wasn't for the heavy local accent breaking the silence you could be forgiven for thinking you were looking out over Montego Bay and not south towards Kerry Head.
So the initial opinions were expressed on completion of practice rounds. Its "It's going to be slow with all the tee shots going over previous greens," Robert Karlsson exclaimed. Roger Chapman thought "the greens were too severe for the length of many of the holes". Others felt that the course was inspiring but had been set up incorrectly.
This was a reference to the universal paranoia of the authorities that someone will shoot low scores and make the course look easy, so they defended the course with thick verdant grass in areas that you would ordinarily not expect to find such grass, Thus denying the nature of the classic links. Rarely did we see players hitting out of the fairway bunkers on the par fives because they were all situated in the rough.
The natural contours of the fairways are supposed to gather the slightly errant drive. This purpose is defeated by growing heavy rough between the fairway and the sand. The PGA recognised this flaw, and cut the rough down by Tuesday night. Aesthetics still govern course setup: it must look good on TV. Paul Eales, the English pro who plays much of his golf in Lytham, was trying to tease the eventual winning score and cut-mark out of a practice green full of Wednesday afternoon time-filling professionals, who don't play in the pro-am but have nothing else to do. In order to kill time they while away the day with practice and intermittent banter. Eight over was a suggested cut in normal wind conditions. Four over to four under was the spread bandied about as the eventual winning score.
I bumped into Christy O'Connor Senior in the main drag in town on Friday evening where the challenge of the craic was taking its toll on the hospitality weary already. We met close to the bronze statue of Bill Clinton. To many of us who have been to the Wentworth course in England, Bill bore a remarkable resemblance to the sculpture of Bernard Gallacher on the first tee of the Burma road course; perhaps Bill had based his swing on the veteran s.professional.
Christy expressed surprise that the cut was a low one of level par. But he warned us with a glint in his eye that level could win by Sunday if the wind blew like it was capable of blowing around here.
The members I came across over the week reminded me that it was an exception to get two consecutive days of such benign weather conditions, let alone a marathon run of five days. The course never got a chance to show its teeth. This exceptional weather, combined with relatively easy pin positions for the first three days, greens kept slow and all four par fives reachable every day, meant that the spectators got to witness an unusual birdie binge at Bally B.
My boss exclaimed with trepidation at the start of the week that the shot-making challenge of this King of Links courses was akin to "delving into an arsenal that had lain dormant for so long that you are not too sure if the guns are still in working order or indeed loaded". When he opened the creaky door of his armoury he was left staring at a few dusty old fire-crackers. His game fell short of the test that Ballybunion presented for an out-of-form player, eventually finishing on nine over par.
Despite the local parish priest's requests during evening Mass on Saturday for a ferocious wind to descend upon the links for the final round (in order to show the links in its true light), the congregation's prayers fell on deaf ears. Or maybe God prefers golfing in calm conditions.
