EXPLOITATION AT THE RYDER CUP: CALLING MR ALEX SALMOND

BY BRYAN COONEY

IT’S possibly injudicious to write about your relatives on a public platform such as this, but lack of judgment seems to form a stout branch of the family tree, so here goes.

Today, I ’m concentrating on what I consider to be exploitation, and also the autumnal madness of my Chicago-based brother- in-law.

Alejandro Gonzales, aka Alex, is a volunteer (one of around 1,800, or so) for this year’s Ryder Cup in September. I’m still wondering whether he has forfeited his wits.

But, before highlighting the plight of the less than privileged key workers at Gleneagles, it’s necessary to paint a picture of a rather incredible and impressive man who, it must be stated, has not uttered one single word of complaint about what’s ahead of him.

At 82 years of age, Alex is a former oil company executive who declares himself quite captivated by the game of golf. As a player, he’s Mr Average in that he’ll never be a reincarnation of Lee Trevino but, there again, he will assuredly never witness the indignity of the number 24 attached to his handicap.

He takes his allegiance to the sport further by dedicating some of his leisure time to the professional game: he’s been a steward at two Ryder Cups, a US Open and quite a few other big tournaments. It allows him, he says, to be close to his heroes. You cannot curb enthusiasm like that, it seems.

But now it’s time to study the exploitative nature of this year’s biennial bun fight between Europe and America. We’ll vote for fairness and start with the one perk afforded volunteers. Most of them work a four-hour shift - and then are permitted to watch the proceedings in their downtime. Now, ain’t that cute?

But prepare yourselves for the negatives. Firstly, workers are expected to pay in the order of £65-70 for their uniforms, which comprise a windcheater, polo shirt and cap.

Surely they are remunerated in other ways? A daily wage, for instance? Er, not so as you would notice. Other than a £15 daily voucher for food and drink, they won’t receive a hillock of beans, far less a hill, for their efforts. Neither, it‘s claimed, are they given an allowance for travelling to Perthshire.

While we’re at it, let’s count the ancillary costs of being a volunteer. Whilst the panjandrums of the competition are firmly ensconced in the luxury of Gleneagles - no doubt contemplating the millions of pounds of profit - the worker ants must scurry around finding their own accommodation. Again, they must pay for this themselves.

To ease this potential burden, Alex originally considered staying at a hotel in nearby Crieff, but was deterred by the prohibitive cost of £200 a night. So, he will stay in Glasgow at approximately £60 a night and make a daily 100-mile round trip in order to perform his duties in the merchandising marquee. Remember, we’re talking about an octogenarian here.

Overall, the cost to his pocket will be equally disturbing: at a conservative estimate, his trip from America will cost him two or three thousand pounds, possibly more.

Now, let me underline again that my brother-in-law’s lips are sealed against recrimination. When I say that the organisers are taking an almighty liberty with willing hands, Alex prefers diplomacy.

“It doesn’t bother me, fortunately,” he responds. “I’m retired and in a (financial) position to do it. Hey, I’m still blessed with the memory of Medinah. Now that came as a complete surprise.

“I’ll always remember that the Europeans were so happy - meanwhile I think the Americans took it in their stride: I didn’t see any confrontations. I don’t think we’ll ever see another ending like that one.”

Alex is not getting off that easily, though. I press him again for a reaction and am rewarded with a token victory. “Oh, I suppose I’d like to see some additional benes (benefits) for the volunteers. We do work hard and try to make it as smooth as possible.”

So what benes would be acceptable? “Oh, okay, the ball swings towards the Ryder Cup group as far as being able to take advantage of myself and others. But, hey, by the same token, if I weren’t there, it would be very easy to fill my shoes. I understand 18,000 people volunteered. That gives you an idea how many people out there want to do this.”

That may be so, but who expects a man to work for nothing in this age of corporate activity and insatiable greed? It is exploitation by any name you can conjure.

There are no firm figures regarding what the European Tour as organisers expect to make from this year’s competition, but I do know that, back in 2006, the K Club in Dublin is said to have cleared £10million after the taxman had deliberated.

They say Gleneagles will generate £100million, so you can take that as around £20 million of clear profit.

Wouldn’t it be nice if each and every one of those volunteers from all over the world went back home with a small but well-earned bonus. Plus a pleasant memory of their time in Scotland?

I’m no actuary, but my instant calculations say it would take just over one and a quarter million pounds to do that. Small potatoes, indeed, considering the crop.

Now, I understand the Scottish Government was highly instrumental in bringing the competition back to Scotland. Perhaps another Alex - the one called Salmond, can supply a rescue package.

Mr Salmond positively thrives on being seen and heard at big events; I also imagine he believes in fairness. What a chance for him to flourish his true mettle.

He could step in and demand justice for the underprivileged of Ryder Cup golf. Surely, it's not beyond him in this year of destiny?

IAN BROADLEY: AN APPRECIATION OF A FINE JOURNALIST

BY JIM BLACK

SCOTTISH sports journalism has lost one of its few remaining characters following Ian Broadley’s sudden death at his home in Aberdeen. He was 72.

Ian, from Dumbarton, was a newspaper man of 50 years standing and, during his time as the Herald’s golf writer, reported on all four major championships as well as the leading European Tour events and local championships.

He was also employed by the Daily Record in Glasgow and the north east as a football writer for more than 20 years after graduating from local newspapers to the news desk of the Scottish Daily Express in the early 1960s.

Immediately prior to joining the Herald, Ian also worked for the ill-fated Sunday Scot newspaper, which closed after just a few months. In more recent years he operated as a freelance sportswriter in his adopted city of Aberdeen, reporting on the Dons for several national newspapers.

During his long and distinguished career, Ian covered Aberdeen’s most successful years under Sir Alex Ferguson and, prior to that, Eddie Turnbull and Billy McNeill.

Know as “Bonesy” or “Broads” to his closest colleagues, Ian was a larger than life character famous for his fiery temperament which brought him into conflict with football players, managers, golfers and colleagues in equal measure. Mercifully, his bark was often worse than his bite and underneath his at times gruff exterior beat a generous heart.

Ian never minded putting himself out to accommodate colleagues visiting Aberdeen and enjoyed sharing a drink and exchanging stories with them. But woe be tide those who crossed him. They were not easily forgiven, if Ian believed he was the victim of injustice.

A man with strong principals, Ian’s spats with various football managers are the stuff of legend and earned him the respect of his colleagues and those involved in the game.

He was once famously challenged by the then Aberdeen manager Eddie Turnbull to settle their differences behind Gleneagles Hotel on the eve of the 1967 Scottish Cup final. There is no record of blows being thrown, but the incident highlighted Ian’s refusal to bow down to those in authority if he felt he had been wronged.

Sir Alex Ferguson recalled: “I had many arguments with him over the years but I could never get angry. I never fell out with him which says a lot when you consider my battles with the press.”

A talented golfer himself with a low single figure handicap at his peak, Ian was a member of Murcar Golf Club.

Paul Lawrie, the former Open champion, said: “I have known Ian for a number of years. He covered golf quite a bit when I first went to America after winning the Open and I got to know him.

“He also played golf at Deeside, where I play with my boys when I am at home, and I used to see him out playing in the evenings. He was a good journalist for a long time so we will miss him.”

Always good company and a man of wit and a rare ability to laugh at himself, Ian was a member of both the Association of Golf Writers and the Scottish Football Writers’ Association.

He had genuine warmth and he was a loyal and supportive colleague and friend, and in an age when new technology has replaced many of the previous working practices, he remained an old school type of reporter with the ability to ask the right questions and elicit a response.

Ian will be sorely missed by all those who knew him. He is survived by his widow Margaret and his sons John and Gavin.

LIBERTY, EQUALITY, FRATERNITY…HYPOCRISY?

BY JIM BLACK

PETER DAWSON, the chief executive of the Royal & Ancient Golf Club of St Andrews, cannot win, it would seem.

No sooner had Dawson announced that the R&A’s 2,400-strong membership will vote on September 18 – Referendum day - to decide whether to admit women members, he was attacked by sections of the left-wing media for failing to issue a decree stating that any single-sex club would in future be excluded from staging the Open Championship.

The “guilty” male-only clubs, Muirfield, Royal Troon and Royal St George’s were quick to respond to the announcement.

Predictably, the Honourable Company of Edinburgh Golfers did not declare a willingness to change. Royal Troon, while stressing that they have no plans to change their membership structure, pointed out that The Ladies Golf Club, Troon – founded in 1882 – pay for the privilege of playing the links and use of all the club’s facilities.

St George’s, meanwhile, issued a statement to the effect that they have been considering their status as a single-sex private members club for some time and when deliberations are concluded, the committee will make a recommendation to the membership.

The fact that the R&A is urging its members to abolish their 260-year-old-male-only policy should be welcomed as a positive step forward, especially as Dawson indicated that there appears to be widespread support for the move, which will require a two-thirds majority.

He also highlighted the necessity to put the needs of the Open high up on the R&A’s list of priorities and the loss of key venues would not seem to be doing that, hence Royal Troon will not be struck off as the venue for the 2016 Championship.

As an aside, Dawson, a first class administrator and a thoroughly decent sort, also revealed that the move to admit women members has been greeted by overwhelming support from within his own household, by his wife and daughter.

The fair-minded and clear-thinking among us welcomed the announcement. Others, many with agendas, in my humble opinion, pronounced themselves far from satisfied.

Some of these same individuals from the media also went on the attack last summer and succeeded in completely overshadowing the Open Championship at Muirfield.

They were assisted in their rants and sense of indignation by the First Minister, Alex Salmond’s decision to boycott golf’s oldest major in protest at Muirfield’s male-only policy.

Yet, this is a man who freely avails himself of the opportunity to play some of the country’s finest golf courses as a courtesy. Is that the whiff of double standards I scent?

Free speech is a right each of us is entitled to and I applaud those with the courage to speak out against what they perceive as injustice. But few of the voices I have heard speak on the issue of single-sex golf clubs have been those of women – other than indignant female journalists from publications such as The Guardian newspaper.

Before I am accused of being an advocate of sex discrimination, let me stress, I am not. Indeed, I am a believer in equality in most walks of life.

But while this is not a case of much ado about nothing, I take the view that the issue of women’s membership of certain golf clubs has been blown out of all proportion and is largely media driven by certain individuals who portray a deep sense of injustice on behalf of others in public, for the benefit of their readers or listeners but who privately couldn’t care less, at least in some instances.

I cannot recall a single female acquaintance expressing strong views on the subject and I have yet to hear any express a wish to seek membership of the R&A, Muifield, Royal Troon or Royal St George’s.

Neither am I aware that there are any female members of the Masonic Order or male members of the Women’s Guild!

Recently, sitting amid the splendour of the R&A clubhouse and more than 200 years of history and tradition following a splendid meal, hosted by a leading committee member, I was given to muse that some traditions are worth preserving.

That comment will cause instant offence among the leftie elements of the press. But do I care? Not a bit of it.

Welcome the ladies by all means, but not necessarily at the expense of all freedom of choice.

STILL on a sporting theme...is there no hope for Leigh Griffiths?

Griffiths is a talented football player - and a complete idiot off the park, it would appear.

The Celtic striker was filmed mocking Hearts Football Club in a pub chant with Hibs fans before the Edinburgh derby.

As a former Hibs player and a fan of the Easter Road club that was perhaps not entirely surprising, given he has history of behaving badly.

Griffiths insisted “it was banter.” I am inclined to the view that it was sheer madness or extreme bravery.

To have done so in a hostelry a mere free-kick’s distance from Tynecastle was taking a chance, to say the least.

I dread to think what would have happened to the 23-year-old had a group of Jambos supporters stumbled on him leading the chants of “Hearts are going bust.”

LYLE DESERVES A TICKET TO RYDE - BUT DON'T LET THE TRAIN TAKE THE STRAIN

By Jim Black

SANDY LYLE has long since given up on his dream of European Ryder Cup captaincy.

The only one of golf’s so-called “Famous Five” – Seve Ballesteros, Bernhard Langer, Ian Woosnam and Nick Faldo are the others – not to be afforded the honour, Lyle must have secretly hoped that he would be in the running when Gleneagles was chosen as the venue for the biennial match.

But the 55-year-old Scot was yet again overlooked. Instead, Paul McGinley was chosen, not altogether surprisingly, given that there was a feeling within the corridors of power that it was appropriate to appoint an Irishman for the first time in view of the success enjoyed by their golfers.

McGinley recently named Scotland’s Sam Torrance and compatriot Des Smyth as two of his vice-captains and will appoint two more once his team is finalised in early September.

That leaves the door open for Lyle, but I suspect the remaining spots will go to current players, with Paul Lawrie, Thomas Bjorn and Jose Maria Olazabal seemingly very much in the frame.

But surely there is a place for Lyle, not as the tea-boy or the JCB driver – roles, he says, he would willingly fill.

An assistant to Ian Woosnam at the K-Club in 2006, when Europe triumphed by a record points margin, the two-time major winner is entitled to believe he is due the courtesy in his homeland.

Lyle lives just 40 minutes from the venue and would walk all the way to Auchterarder to be part of the team.

How about special advisor to the captain? Or why not senior Ryder Cup ambassador with special responsibilities for promoting the event on the global stage?

As Scotland’s most successful post-war golfer, he is generally regarded as one of the game’s good guys, a respected figure popular with his colleagues and the public alike.

If they could give Nick Faldo – I refuse to refer to him as “Sir,” an honour he was unworthy of, in my humble opinion – the job of captain in 2008, when he demeaned the role in a bumbling fashion that had his players and his peers cringing in equal measure, surely his great rival is deserving of far greater acknowledgement.

It would be an opportunity missed if Lyle were to be overlooked and a decision that would reflect badly on those charged with ensuring that the Samuel Ryder trophy remains in European hands.


MEANWHILE, I am once again forced to pose the question: What the hell are ScotRail playing at?

This is not the first time I have visited the subject of weekend rail travel and I fear it will not be the last.

A month after experiencing the loutish behaviour of a section of Aberdeen fans on the Saturday evening “cattle train”, I had the misfortune to encounter Scotland rugby fans behaving every bit as badly, if not actually far more menacingly.

I refer to the 7.50pm train from Edinburgh to Inverness in the wake of Scotland’s defeat by France at Murrayfield.

On they poured at Haymarket, headed for various stopping off points in deepest Fife, it turned out.

I am reliably informed that rugby supporters are a much more civilised breed than their football counterparts; a jolly, lager-swilling lot who refrain from acts of violence and intimidation.

Really? Not this particular bunch of morons who invaded first class as their right despite having purchased second class tickets.

When one unfortunate traveller, who had paid for the privilege, tried to claim his rightful seat he was informed by one of the yobs that he was a “sheep-s......g b.....d” and “who the f..k” did he think he was?

Well, actually he was a bona fide traveller, entitled to the seat he had paid for. But this was a matter of complete indifference to my fellow travellers.

Mercifully, there was no act of physical violence in the wake of the verbal sort, but the atmosphere remained tense, to say the least.

When those same rugby fans departed at Kirkcaldy one of their number, a lady (???) stated sarcastically in a stage whisper, “They’ll be delighted that’s the scum gone” for the benefit of the occupants of the compartment they had invaded.

Yes, madam, you are indeed scum – you and your kind.

But the most worrying aspect was the absence of a ticket collector.

Earlier, having taken one look at the situation, she turned on her heels and fled only to resurface after Perth, when the refreshment trolley also miraculously appeared.

When asked why it had taken two hours for her to check our tickets, she replied that the train had been extremely busy.

I’ll remember that next time I purchase a second class ticket and use the first class facilities!

You really couldn’t make it up.

But ScotRail employees not doing their jobs appears to standard practice these days. 

I wonder what the excuse and justification will be when they carry off some unfortunate traveller in a body bag?

TO TWEET OR NOT TO TWEET?

 BY JIM BLACK

O wad some pow’r the giftie gie us to see oursels as ithers see us! It wad frae mony a blunder free us, an’ foolish notion.

Robert Burns penned these words 227 years ago after noticing an upper class lady in church with a louse roving feely in her bonnet.

The Bard chastises the louse for not realising how important his host is, and then reflects that, to a louse, we are all equal prey, and that we should be disabused of our pretentions if we are to see ourselves through each other’s eyes.

Perhaps certain members of the golf fraternity would do well to familiarise themselves with Burns’ words.

Standards are slipping in the Royal & Ancient game and some who earn a handsome living from the sport are in danger of becoming “twittering wrecks.”

Ian Poulter, inspiration for the miracle of Medinah, was rightly lauded as Europe’s principal Ryder Cup hero 11 months ago.

But why does Poulter feel such an overwhelming need to tweet almost all of his waking thoughts?

Clearly unhappy with his first round performance in the Open and the pin positions, Poulter tweeted that Muirfield’s 18^th hole needed a windmill and a clown’s mouth.

What exactly did he mean by his comment? If he considered the pin position to be nothing short of a joke, why didn’t he just say so in plain speak?

Of course plain speech is not always wise. Steve Elkington caused a furore when he tweeted during the Senior British Open at Royal Birkdale that the host town, Southport was full of fat tattooed guys and girls before adding that the local fast food was s...t.

Had he stopped there, the Australian might have escaped with a slap on the wrist, but he risked prosecution on the grounds of racist behaviour likely to cause offence when he also made several disparaging remarks about members of the local Pakistani community.

So incensed were Poulter and Ryder Cup team-mate Graeme McDowell that they felt a need to respond to Elkington’s rant, adding to the sense of over-importance that was attached to his comments in the first place.

More recently, Lee Westwood became embroiled in several anger twitter exchanges when he reacted badly to criticism of his last round in the USPGA.

The Englishman later conceded that alcohol had helped fuel his reaction.

Poulter, Elkington and Westwood are not alone in looking like twits.

But why do so many modern sportsmen and women feel such an overwhelming desire to tweet?

Is it the case that they believe the world will be a much poorer place without their particular take on life or is it ego-driven by the need to constantly hog the limelight? 

But Scotland’s Marc Warren may have sparked a new trend away from twitter after announcing that he will no longer be engaging in regular social exchanges

Warren, a self-confessed Rangers fan, was sickened by a stream of vile bile and has decided to de-clutter his life.

What are the chances of any of Warren’s sporting counterparts in the world of football following suit?

Don’t hold your breath. I confidently predict that we’ll go on being bombarded with a daily diet of tripe and nonsense that fuels the worst excesses of those who feed off such largely worthless tosh.

Moreover, it appears that football clubs and sport large is incapable of applying constraints. So, too, the government, it would seem.

Twitter, Facebook, Linkedin and the various other social media websites are here to stay, but at what price?

Even a single youngster taking their life as a consequence of cyberspace attacks by trolls is one too many.