Memories of Valhalla glory let us dare to dream again
#justsayin...
TEN years on, my ‘Louisville Slugger’ baseball bat glows a healthy mahogany. It’s had one careful owner and it’s never been swung in anger, or even in fun for that matter.
Hand-crafted from maple, it’s adorned with my signature, the date it was manufactured, August 5, 2014, and the logo of the 2014 PGA Championship, Valhalla.
Back then, the event was branded as ‘Glory’s Last Shot’ as it was the final major of the year, usually played in baking August heat.
A decade ago, it was my first major on US turf. At 52, I was as giddy as a sandboy.
Before reaching the point late on the Sunday night where Rory McIlroy lifted the hefty Wanamaker Trophy to a backdrop of purple skies and flashlights, it was a week of firsts. The connecting flight from JFK to Louisville was delayed for several hours and, even when we boarded, there was one last hiatus.
A high-ranking military man needed to get back to Fort Knox, near Louisville, and someone had to give up their seat to accommodate him.
The first offer, as called out by a flight attendant, was $1,000 credit on your credit card, plus hotel accommodation and a flight to Louisville the next morning. It drew silence. ‘You gotta do better than that,’ said a guy behind me.
The next bid $1,500 also got no takers. When it hit $2,000, a voice said: ‘Ah heck, I’ll do it. My wife will appreciate the present I get to buy for her now.’
It was well after midnight when I arrived in Louisville, the birthplace of Muhammad Ali and his resting place, too, along with Colonel Sanders, founder of KFC. After a few hours’ kip, I boarded a media shuttle bus early the next morning for the 20-minute spin to Valhalla.
It should have been straightforward but it wasn’t as we were shunted from behind by a massive dumpster truck which led to state troopers being called in, and medics.
While we were being checked out, at least two more media shuttles sped past.
I was one of only two pressmen on the bus and news of the incident appeared to have reached the media centre, as I was fussed over no end when I arrived.
Would Mister Quinn like a neck cushion? Or a massage? Does Mister Quinn require a doctor?
All Mister Quinn needed was some Advil and space. A US colleague berated me for not putting in a claim against the USPGA for damages. ‘They’ll cough up right away,’ he said.
Maybe they would have. I don’t know, but I was there to cover golf not worry about the pain in my neck, which was gone after a couple of days.
It didn’t prevent me from attending a press trip to the historic Louisville Slugger Museum before the championship began, where we were all presented with a gleaming baseball bat – a treasured memento.
That week, the Jack Nicklaus design was softened by torrential downpours which repeatedly held up play.
It suited a slugger like McIlroy, who biffed shots out of the ball park. Wee Rory scored home runs every day on the par fives.
On Thursday morning, I followed a glam three-ball: Pádraig Harrington, Tiger Woods and Phil Mickelson, only one of whom would make the cut, Lefty.
Playing behind them were Graeme McDowell, Brandt Snedeker and a big-hitting broadshouldered Floridian with a loping walk, Brooks Koepka.
Rory was out late-early and after rounds of 66-67, he led by one stroke on nine under. He was on top of his game and buzzing with confidence.
On Saturday, following Rory’s match, I noticed a marshal with a prosthetic leg. He told me he’d lost it on active service in Iraq.
It didn’t stop him from playing a decent game, he said, or ensuring everyone stood where they were supposed to. He kindly made sure I had a bird’s eye view of the action.
The Sunday, when the final day finally got going after a suspension, became a shoot-out of the great and the good.
Ernie Els, Jim Furyk, Henrik Stenson, Rickie Fowler and Mickelson, the crowd-puller himself, all took aim at McIlroy, who was in the last match with Bernd Wiesberger, or Burnt Cheesburger as I heard him called.
At one point, Rory trailed by three shots but he was a different animal then. Nothing fazed him.
An eagle three on the 10th where he mis-hit five wood off the fairway, quail-high, ended up snug to the pin. It was a turning point.
When Mickelson bogeyed the 16th to open the door, McIlroy slammed it back in his face with a birdie on the 17th. The long 18th was farcical as the last two matches drove off together to try and beat the light.
McIlroy nearly found water off his drive. Then, he found a greenside bunker in two. In gathering gloom, he got out safely and courageously took two putts from 25 feet to win by a stroke.
As he hoisted the huge trophy skywards, the lid toppled off, but
McIlroy caught it before it hit the turf, to great applause.
By then, the report had been filed. And, even though it was close to 1.45am at home, most editions of the paper carried Rory’s regal triumph.
McIlroy became the first golfer since Harrington in 2008 to win successive majors. By coincidence, Harrington had won the same two, the Open and the US PGA.
He was the fourth-youngest to win four majors after Tom Morris jnr, Nicklaus and Woods.
‘I didn’t think in my wildest dreams I’d have a summer like this. I think I showed a lot of guts out there to get the job done,’ he said in his moment of triumph.
At 25, he was so damn finger lickin’ good. He was a bouncy kid with moxie who Nicklaus predicted would overhaul his all-time record of 18 majors.
Had anyone then dared project a fallow decade for McIlroy, they’d have been incarcerated in the Fort Knox slammer.
On his return to Valhalla this week for the 2024 US PGA Championship, McIlroy needs his inner ‘Louisville Slugger’ to resurface.
He’s been waiting too long for another winning shot at glory.
‘WEE RORY SCORED HOME RUNS EVERY DAY ON THE PAR FIVES’