So it’s goodbye to Jay Haas and hello to Freddy Jacobson. Terrific. Superb. First class - as Monty might say. Hardly in the form of his life is he, but as he invited me round for drinks at his house with Jesper and Per Ulrik last year, talks like a slightly comical Scandinavian version of Terminator you’ll have to forgive the editorial bias.
Never been round Tino Schuster’s place (surely only a matter of time) and Brad Faxon’s invitation for his barbecue is still in the post. You have to take your Titleist visor off to The Mad Faxer (embryonic GP cartoon idea still ‘in production’) for making the effort to turn up for qualifying. What a palaver, that is. Four billion people competing for just three places in another competition with a nice jug as first prize.
Two of Our Men Against The World got through to final qualifying – Mark Fairhall carded two solid rounds at Scotscraig of 71 and 72 to miss out by just a few and there were big hopes for James Heath after an opening 66, only for him to miss out after a second round 74, dammit.
The GP tour bus sets off for St Andrews tonight, with an army of lunatics on board. Big Dan’s off and running around in search of helium, sleeping bags and 260 yards of computer cable. If you want to organise a welcoming committee, get to The Gin House in St Andrews around 7am. Bring deodorant… King Of Wales
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