Well, we are back, if subject to a few restrictions On Wednesday morning, I thought the golfing gods were taking the mickey with the weather, and it has to be said that the weather was definitely better in the days leading up to Level 2 rather than following it, but it is Spring, the weather will be topsy-turvy and the weather will no doubt improve. I was a little unsure what to witter on about this week; the good lady pharmacist, her indoors and I watched a program on 9/11 last night, and it brought back some of the harrowing feelings of shock when I watched the unfathomable action unfold from my kitchen in the UK. Twenty years later, and the images still have a devastating effect, and our thoughts go out to all of those affected, both of that event and the effects that cascaded from it. On a more optimistic note, this week my son turned ten, and it got me to thinking about whether the focus of kid's birthdays might be slightly skewed. Really, in my humble opinion, it should be the parents who are celebrated for surviving another year with their child. Why is it that the offspring get the presents and the cake? What have they done to deserve any of the hullabaloo? Eat, sleep, play, moan, whinge, demand, irritate, annoy, pester, obfuscate, dally (and dilly), procrastinate, eat sleep and demand. As parents, we have had to deal with all of that, on top of which, the government seem to feel that locking us in the same sodding building for three weeks is necessary for the greater good. Then again, maybe I am just miffed that the little sod keeps beating me at my beloved sport. Getting to the sporting world, where a remarkable 18 year old in only her second major tournament has just won the US Open, and a cheque for over $3.5million NZD. Of course, were she to win this in New Zealand, she'd be very disappointed to find out that she couldn't cash that cheque anymore. Congrats to the very British Emma Raducanu (born in Canada, Romanian father, Chinese Mother, moved to the UK when she was 2 - as British as a stick of Blackpool Rock) Back in the golfing world, and earlier this week the Solheim Cup was retained by Europe (woohoo!), against the odds. The European Team proving once again that the power of a properly good team will always outperform a bunch of individuals. Tomorrow will see the finalised line-up for the Ryder Cup which takes place later this month, when I will be chewing my nails to the quicks following every shot while trying to remember that breathing is both a basic, and necessary, human function. Team sports have a power that solo sports don't quite match. While we can marvel at individual achievements, and be inspired by them, when a group comes together with a stated goal all work towards, then they transcend sport, showing what, as a species we can do. Of course, you Kiwis have the All Blacks to demonstrate this on a regular basis, but the reverse of that coin is that every team is reliant on the "weakest" member within it - I point you towards the England Cricket Team as a prime example. Of course, this frailty makes the successes that much more glorious, and so it is only natural that we get more invested in teams, perhaps an instinctive harking back to the days when teams of hunter-gatherers went out to get food for their group. After all, sending an individual out to pick up a mammoth from the frozen plains would have led to the end of the species pretty quick, sending out all the hunters to go after the same mammoth would have had a far better chance of success. I do wonder whether they hunters would ever have had spectators, maybe cheerleaders, to egg them on. Probably not, it would have spoilt the element of surprise a bit. That instinct to back your team has though, has continued throughout history - one notable example that turned into a bit of a major disaster was when Boudica (the tribal Queen of the Iceni in Roman Britain) rose up against the Romans, burnt London down, and generally kicked them around the countryside for a while, before the the final showdown. There, the vastly outnumbered Romans ended up "trapped" in a steep sided valley with no way out behind them. The Ancient Brits were gleeful at the prospect of the victory to come, and their wagon train, made up of wives, girlfriends, kids and the like, swarmed up onto the hills to watch the fun. Unfortunately, the funnel meant that the Brits had to approach along a concentrated front against the legendary Shield Wall and the Romans cut them to pieces while the spectators watched dumbfounded. To make matters worse, when the Brits broke, the wagon train trapped them in return, and thus the massacre was complete, and the long held English tradition of watching their mighty heroes come unstuck at the critical moment was begun. What on earth am I on about? Who knows, it's been an emotional week, maybe next time I'll beat the little so-and-so, and the England cricket team will work out how to bat under pressure. Doubtful on both fronts, I'm afraid Stay safe, hunker down, and play well Steve |