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?

HOLYROOD OR HOLLYWOOD? - By Jim Black

BY JIM BLACK

I can’t make up my mind which was worse: the sight of Scotland’s First Minister – minus shades and pink beret, it should be stressed – shamelessly high-jacking the Ryder Cup for political ends or the cast of dozens of public relations gurus turning the grand pile that is Gleneagles Hotel into a scene resembling Sauchiehall Street on the morning of the Boxing Day sales.

Not even the 101 Dalmatians could have caused quite such a stir as the rich and famous weaved their way through the madding crowd in an effort to check in before, I suspect, giving careful consideration to checking straight back out.

Most of us are by now all too familiar with what Alex Salmond is about. Less clear, in my mind at least, is the role of the P.R. – if indeed the majority actually serve a useful purpose.

I shudder at the thought of what the cost to the tax-payer is supporting the Holyrood hordes.

On this occasion marking  a “Year To Go” before the over-hyped, over-inflated, over-the-top Ryder Cup returns to Scotland for the first time for more than 40 years, an independent P.R. agency had also been employed to oversee the operation in addition to the usual suspects.

If their purpose was to keep the assembled media informed and attend to the basic requirements of the scribes – a workplace and a power point – they largely failed in their task.

They same cannot be said of the European Tour’s media department. That handful of efficient souls were, as always, on the ball.

Just as well. Otherwise Tom Watson, the bemused and bewildered American Ryder Cup captain might well have turned on his heels and headed straight back out of town on the specially commissioned Choo-Choo that delivered him to a waking hell of press briefings, stage shows and glad-handing.

The last time the links legend captained a Ryder Cup team – in 1993 – it was just a game.

Regrettably, in the years since the biennial match has grown into an ugly monster of commercialism and a sporting event of exaggerated importance.

Sure, as sporting occasions go, the Ryder Cup is up there with the best of them. But do we really need to turn a three-day event every 24 months into a circus?

With apologies to a valued colleague for stealing his line, next year’s match is being played on the fourth best course in Auchterarder!

But money is always the game changer and no matter how hard the First Minister endeavours to highjack the Ryder Cup, he will ultimately play second fiddle to commercialism and the tens of millions of pounds the event generates.

But at least we are assured of one thing, Europe and the United States have chosen wisely in appointing Paul McGinley and Tom Watson to captain the respective teams.

Both are articulate, knowledgeable and gracious with a rare awareness of the need to have the world’s media onboard.

They will also ensure that the event is conducted in a true sporting manner.

Personally, I am already relishing the sight of 24 golfing Gladiators slugging it out in the mist and rain of late September in the Glen of Eagles.

No matter that the decision-makers could hardly have chosen a more inhospitable venue, given that even on a summer’s day it can feel like winter in that part of rural Perthshire, for one week at least, Hollywood is coming to Gleneagles in even larger numbers than the usual A-list of celebrities who regularly “slum it” in five star luxury.

Regrettably, Holyrood is coming as well.

But, with luck, we won’t notice the unimportant important people.

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.