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19th Hole

What do we make of the Ian Poulter vs. marshal fiasco?

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Perhaps you’ve heard about Ian Poulter’s altercation with a marshal at the Scottish Open? (It was in the Morning 9!)

A first point: The marshal in question wasn’t some mere jabroni. In its discussion of the encounter, the Telegraph refers to Quintin Jardine as a “celebrated crime author.” Now, he’s not topping the bestseller lists here in the States, but he is an established author.

This, of course, could work either for or against Mr. Jardine. On the one hand, he’s a perceptive, articulate, respectable fellow. On the other, he has an incentive for self promotion to promote his works…“Did you like my Poulter blog post? You’ll love my latest novel!”

Anyway, here’s the sequence of events.

Jardine posted to his blog (and tweeted a link to) a work of original non-fiction: His account of a run-in with Ian Poulter while working as a Marshal during Saturday’s third round. Poulter had just pulled a drive into a bush near where Jardine was doing his duties.

His blog post read (he’s since deleted the post) in part:

“Mr Poulter…arrived in a shower of expletives and asked me where his ball was,” wrote Jardine. “I told him and said that I had not ventured into the bush for fear of standing on it. I wasn’t expecting thanks, but I wasn’t expecting aggression either.

“He told me in essence that I should have, his reasoning being that if I stood on the ball it was a free drop, whereas if he did it was a penalty… He (later) came back at me and said again that next time … I should go straight in there feet first.”

The implication, of course, is that Jardine believed Poulter was asking him to stomp around in the bush for the ball, suggesting that if he (the marshal) were to dislodge it, Poults would be entitled to a free drop.

This was not Poulter’s recollection of events, and he took to Twitter to respond, disputing the insinuation that he was trying to cheat and more.

A point of note: What Poulter said to Jardine at the time may be another issue, but he is correct in tweeting that if the ball was kicked or stepped on during he search, he’s entitled to replace it (per Rule 18-4), which is certainly not the same thing as a free drop. He would seem to be incorrect in saying he’d be penalized, however, as a search was underway…however, an overly zealous reading of the rule could have left Poulter in hot water, had he moved the ball, so it would have been an easier situation to deal with had a fan or marshal accidentally contacted the projectile.

The crime author deleted his original blog post and posted a follow up July 15 that says in part.

“Seems that Mr Poulter has disputed my account of our exchange yesterday. Now I’m having email abuse from pond life and bottom feeders. I don’t need that.”

“The only way I can get rid of it is by deleting the original post. In retrospect I should probably have kept the dispute private, but it’s out of the box now, and I must rely on the Tour to make a judgement.”

“Mr Poulter has gone public to his two million Twitter followers with his version of events. All I can say is that I stand by mine and at no time did I ever utter the words ‘OK thanks.’”

What do you think about this he-said, he-said, GolfWRX members?

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24 Comments

24 Comments

  1. MikeyB

    Jul 16, 2018 at 10:02 pm

    With war, famine, disease and general mayhem enveloping the planet, can I provide a little perspective? I couldn’t give a flying f*ck about what Ian Poulter allegedly chirped to a course official about a ball in a f*ckin’ Scottish bush.
    Let’s move on to more important sh*t like some miracle swing program that requires no effort, no practice, no athletic skills, sells for a mere $79.95 and guarantees me 120 mph club head speed!

  2. John B

    Jul 16, 2018 at 9:19 pm

    I have witnessed Poulter on several occasions treat people poorly at PGA events. Why would the marshall fabricate this story if Poulter didn’t treat him poorly?

  3. Art Williams

    Jul 16, 2018 at 8:23 pm

    I’m sure the guy knew Ian well enough to know he sometimes has has a short fuse and should have just told Ian or his caddie where the ball was. He injected himself into the action. Yes Ian could have ignored him and went about his busimess. Both sides are telling their side and there’s probably another scenario somewhere in the middle. I still think the marshall was more at fault trying to inject himself into the action on that hole.

  4. Bob Jones

    Jul 16, 2018 at 5:51 pm

    First of all, what is this obsession with putting everything social media??!! Jardine should have just let it go in that regard. Did he not expect it to blow up in his face? As for Poulter, since when is it the marshal’s job to look for his ball? The marshal works for the tournament, not the players. All the marshal needs to do is to point to where he last saw the ballad let the player and his caddy take over. As for the author of this piece who wrote, in this somewhat fractured and silly sentence, “On the other, he has an incentive for self promotion to promote his works…“Did you like my Poulter blog post? You’ll love my latest novel!”, good grief! Does he think every one has an agenda? This kind of thinking is what is poisoning political conversation in the country today. Enough, already! All three of these people need to press the rewind button and try again. End of rant.

  5. Dave r

    Jul 16, 2018 at 5:06 pm

    That’s golf get over it so he was mad so what. We are not all perfect angles are we!

  6. HDTVMAN

    Jul 16, 2018 at 4:35 pm

    Poulter is arrogant…PERIOD. I’ll side with the marshal.

  7. Jim McPherson

    Jul 16, 2018 at 1:52 pm

    Poulter will have grown up in another 30 years. And I suspect he’ll act like an adult when he does. Until then, we will get his childish outbursts and tantrums.

  8. Ted Bishop

    Jul 16, 2018 at 12:23 pm

    Hey Poulter, quit acting like a little girl.

    • GolfGolfGolf

      Jul 16, 2018 at 6:44 pm

      ????

    • GolfGolfGolf

      Jul 16, 2018 at 6:46 pm

      My reply was a “thumbs up” and this website translated that into “???”

      Love the response

  9. Moo

    Jul 16, 2018 at 12:04 pm

    The marshal being an “outside agency” the correct rule is 18-1. Result is same as 18-4.

  10. Boyo

    Jul 16, 2018 at 11:48 am

    Poultergeist.

  11. MMW

    Jul 16, 2018 at 11:17 am

    I think the marshal should have kept his mouth shut. I don’t want volunteers, officials, or spectators injecting themselves into a sporting event. “Scene but not heard” should be the rule.

    • Boyo

      Jul 16, 2018 at 11:48 am

      How can you make a scene without being heard?

    • ~j~

      Jul 16, 2018 at 12:09 pm

      Seems DB Poultier would contest your post, he’d prefer volunteers, officials, or spectators march around finding his ball for him after he cranks it into the brush.

    • Ronald Montesano

      Jul 16, 2018 at 3:55 pm

      Poulter abuses the apostrophe in Twitter, MMW abuses homonyms, why can’t oui awl jest gut along?

    • Adkskibum

      Jul 16, 2018 at 6:17 pm

      As in making a scene? 😉

  12. GolfGolfGolf

    Jul 16, 2018 at 11:05 am

    I would think the saying “where there’s smoke, there’s fire” would apply to Poulter. It always seems there is some incident where his interactions with a person has resulted in that other person claiming he’s an a**hole. Not a fan of his and never will be. Best thing about him is his ability to fold hard on the last 1-2 days of a tourney and not win.

  13. Tourgrinder

    Jul 16, 2018 at 10:57 am

    I’ve attended enough PGA Tour events through the years and personally witnessed Ian Poulter’s antics firsthand to have what I believe is a valid opinion: Ian Poulter is still a jerk after all these years. That said, I will also say I believe he’s mellowed a bit over the years since moving himself and his family to Florida. He seems to have become much more amenable to other people, including people he considers “beneath him.” I enjoy checking his Instagram every once in a while, but after reading about this incident, I have no doubt that Mr. Jardine’s recall of the encounter is more accurate than Poulter’s. For some reason, Poulter still believes, after all these years, that he plays best when taking advantage of the field and walking (and talking) with the largest chip on his shoulder he can tolerate. Same with Sergio Garcia before he decided to grow up.

  14. Shu

    Jul 16, 2018 at 10:53 am

    Believe the marshall 99% just because I’ve seen Poulter in person.

  15. SCOTT

    Jul 16, 2018 at 10:50 am

    Poulter has always been a D BAG!

  16. stinkingcedar

    Jul 16, 2018 at 10:42 am

    Poulter doing Poulter things. Typical

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19th Hole

The DailyWRX (9/22/2020): Tiger, JT lifting the left heel?

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Rory’s distance is even more fascinating looking at this picture….

I love this! Bummed he’s leaving the USGA but stoked to play “hell day” at a Mike Davis track. 

At least 5…15….no more than 1,000.

I’ve been lifting my left heel all day. It’s off the ground as we speak. Typing speed went way up. Who knew?

Hi, Binny!

DM @johnny_wunder

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19th Hole

Rory McIlroy reveals his love for….Domino’s Pizza!?

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The Payne’s Valley Cup on Tuesday provided plenty of entertaining moments, but one thing golf fans perhaps weren’t bargaining on hearing was a Rory McIlroy deep dive into his current favorite pizza joint.

While his partner Rose was preparing to putt, McIlroy revealed that he was on a ‘big Domino’s kick’ at the moment, and it elicited a pretty hilarious reaction from Justin Thomas.

The Ulsterman justified his choice by claiming that when you don’t know the good local spots, then Domino’s Pizza is ‘solid’. When asked by JT what toppings he goes for, McIlroy responded that his go-to order is the ‘Deluxe’, which according to google consists of ‘green peppers, black olives, and meats like pepperoni, ham, and Italian sausage.’

So there you have it, Rory McIlroy is a self-confessed lover of Domino’s Pizza!

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19th Hole

A hacker plays the big ones: Pt. 4

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“A Hacker Plays The Big Ones” is a short story authored by Steven R. Roberts. The short story, written two months following the trip, tells the tale of Roberts and his friend, Bob Blackman’s, golf odyssey around Scotland in the 1970s where the two played four of most historic courses in the game: St. Andrews, Carnoustie, Muirfield and Gleneagles.

We have broken the short story into a four-parter and here is the final part.

Read Part 1 here.

Read Part 2 here.

Read Part 3 here.

The final day of competition was at Muirfield Golf Club near Scotland’s southern border. It’s officially known as the “Company of Honorable Gentlemen from Edinburg”, and it was the only private club we attempted to play. We arrived to find only one car in the parking lot.

“Could you direct us to the Pro Shop?” I asked the club secretary.

“Muirfield da noot hoov a pru ship,” (or a pro for that matter), he said. “Ya kin buy bells un tees if ya moost.” There you have the Scottish disdain for things commercial. There were no souvenir shirts, hats, gloves or bag tags for sale at Muirfield. One imagines any money prize awarded at the Open Championship to be held in 1980 will be slipped under the winner’s door in a plain white envelope.

Standing in front of the clubhouse, you can see across the rugged links course to the sea. Some 40 miles north across the Firth of Forth lies yesterday’s winner, St. Andrews, and another 40 miles north across the Tay River is the rugged Carnoustie.
Just a word about the course. Bob and I decided it would be tough on a calm day, but the gales blow off the sea without relief. Muirfield members say if there was a day without wind, they wouldn’t know what to lean against.

The rough is knee-high everywhere you look except for the thin strips of the fairways. Some players think there may be whole families living in the tall grass. Nicklaus used his driver only four times per round in winning in 1966. But as tough as the course was tee to green, the greens were tougher. On the third hole, my caddie, another of the weathered veteran survivors of the sea breezes, spent some time telling me exactly how my uphill 30-footer broke. I steadied myself over the ball and took a stroke which traveled to the crest of the break and stopped. As I took a step forward, the ball turned, slowly rolling back down the hill coming to rest at my feet. My caddie turned to look out at the sea. He didn’t bother to read my putts again for the rest of the round.
Moving on, the 17th hole, a 530-yard par 5, was going to provide an appropriate climactic stage for the finishing moments of the scheduled 1980 Open. Bob’s caddie advised that in some wind conditions the par five is reachable in two. On my second shot, I swung a three wood with both feet off the ground and was able to reach the front of the green. Bob got lucky and put his second shot within 100 feet from the pin. He two-putted for a birdie. I won’t bore you with the details, but I managed to sink a two-footer for my six.

Finishing off the round with two pars, we took some comfort in the fact that Gary Player took a double bogie six on the final hole to win the Open Championship in 1958.

We packed up our wet gear and said goodbye to four days of soaking in the adventure of Scottish golf. On the drive home that afternoon and evening, Bob and I played the “if only” game, a favorite of all golfers. This technique allowed us to imagine away five or six shots a round. Looking back over the four rounds, each course had the devil buried inside its character. Carnoustie was a weathered Scottish seaman’s face; Gleneagles was a soft, classy lassie with curves in the right places; St. Andrews was the ceremonial lord of the manor with understated British strength and style; and Muirfield was a wicked woman with her fringed skirt flapping in the breeze – aggravating because you suspect she’s easy for some but not for you.

We also distributed the prizes on the drive home. Bob beat me two rounds, and we tied for two, so he won ten pounds and six golf balls. He had six birdies during the week compared to my four, so Bandit Bob won another 40 pence. Luckily, he didn’t have any eagles or holes in one.

I was driving when we passed the Nottingham Forest exit about halfway home. I slowed down to let a sheriff’s car pass me in hot pursuit. I supposed he was looking for Robin Hood. The sheriff would be well advised, I thought, to check out the sandy-haired hood sitting in the dark, chuckling quietly in the passenger seat of my car.

I was also smiling. If Bob doesn’t play again for a week, he is going to have a real surprise. Before we loaded up at Muirfield, I found a city of termites under the woodwork in the hotel. I’d spent half the night collecting the squiggly little termite biters, and I was able to poke the putter shaft through the bag and slide it down the shaft, finally securing the bag to the shaft midway with tape. In a week Bob will find only a clubhead, grip and a pile of sawdust after the little beasties have a go at that tasty shaft.

But alas, Bob and I have had a week of living out a dream. We have walked the same fairways and greens that have been walked for centuries of golfers, from the founding fathers of the game to the stars of recent years. No other sport provides its fans such an opportunity to so closely assimilate the physical challenges of its major championships. The average amateur baseball player is not permitted to walk to the pitcher’s mound in Yankee Stadium and pitch three innings, and the weekend football nut cannot play running back at Heinz Field stadium facing the Pittsburgh Steelers. But we stood on the same spot on the 17th fairway at St. Andrews and faced the same wind off the Forth of Firth that has humbled the greats of the game for centuries. All the more is the hacker’s thrill if he somehow carries his ball over the trap and keeps it from bouncing over the green onto the road.

So, that’s my story from a week in the middle of October 1979. Having read this only slightly-exaggerated report on our trip, you are exempt from listening to my telling of the story in the event we run into each other at a cocktail party somewhere down the road. But if after a few drinks the conversation turns again to lifelong dreams, my answer will be the same. There are many more courses out there to be concurred. But, do me a favor. Bob is still raw over the mysterious pulverizing of his wooden shaft. If he’s around, just don’t say anything about another trip.

Author’s note: This story was originally written two months after the trip. I sent a copy to my former teammate at college and attached is a reproduction of his response. He finished second to Tom Watson at Muirfield in 1980. I should have been on the bag and helped him read those tricky greens

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