“Sche er appears to have a reassuringly simple take on life, never mind golf ”
Well, that was The Masters ’24. Some bloke called Scottie Scheffler arrived at the old jousting field as a scaldingly hot favourite, his betting odds so low even JP Mcmanus might have ignored him. I certainly did.
After an adult lifetime largely spent studying The Masters as if aiming for a PHD on the history of garden centres, I know about these things, know favourites rarely live up to expectations, know Augusta National is a botoxed minefield of risk and reward, know also that nerves fray in the heat of a Sunday rumble.
Turns out I know nothing. If AI ever produces the perfect model of a golfer destined to win a Green Jacket it will, indeed, be called Scottie. Technically terrific but no more so than at least half a dozen others, Scheffler’s superpower appears to be a mind so devoid of negativity that he ambles around golf courses as though out for a Sunday stroll.
He makes mistakes and remains calm, focused and blandly serene. Playing against him must be the most irritating challenge in a sport that traditionally offers jeopardy on every shot. Yet when inevitable errors do occur, nothing changes. The quiet amble continues for a man who seems to have fewer facial expressions than even Ryan Gosling brings to the acting game.
It’s a huge problem for more obviously passionate competitors when they come up against this apparently immovable 27-year-old who seems to be nudging premature middle-age. It’s also a challenge for those of us who watch him strolling forward.
The applause, the cheers that greet this birdie or that eagle are absorbed by this extraordinary golfer with all the obvious appreciation of someone who appears to choose to neither see nor hear. There too often appears a near-total disconnect between player and fans, whether on the course or staring at a TV screen.
This insularity, this absence too often of any acknowledgement that we are strolling with him is, in my experience, all but unique and detracts from the brilliance of his game. As one of my sons said, “I have never known any truly gifted sportsman who is less exciting to watch – it is extraordinary.”
Of course, this won’t matter to Scheffler. Clearly a decent bloke, he appears to have a reassuringly simple take on life, never mind golf, and this natural approach to everything obviously works in his favour. He is rightly more excited about the imminent arrival of his first child than any Green Jacket but, please, Scottie, let a little bit spill over in our direction.
That said, it was a one-off sort of Masters. The early rounds were mostly about survival for the players and us. Bryson Dechambeau, so impressively controlled at the beginning, then unveiled his truly mad scientist to drift away and Rory never got going as he sloppily wilted in the long, cruel shadow of Scheffler’s brilliance over the first 36 holes.
Meanwhile Ludvig Aberg further confirmed his youthfully mature brilliance while Tommy Fleetwood suggested he might, just might, win this while Rory is trying hard not to find a green cat to kick.
There are others worthy of applause, especially the Augusta National greenkeepers who rolled out another jewel of a course for this 88th Masters that briefly brought golf back together again, even if we viewers had to absorb too much syrupy commentary.
Scheffler, however, takes the big biscuit as well as his second jacket. Outstanding doesn’t quite capture his quiet dominance at present. Maybe his upcoming introduction into how to successfully change a baby’s nappy will affect him in the remaining Majors. Maybe not, but at least his facial expression should change while going through the learning process, although, again, we won’t see such a private expression of panic.
Brilliantly well played, sir. We assume that you really, really enjoyed yourself.