Back in control

He's back! And guess what, he doesn't appear much different to my eye. Yes, Tiger walked amongst us again yesterday. Then he talked amongst us, his first major press conference since his perfect world hit a fire hydrant and all hell broke loose.

Few interviews have garnered such interest. They had 120 seats here and several hundred journalists anxious to sit in them. The lucky ones were filtered trough the system and issued with a ticket. Mine for some reason was 316. I didn't only want to listen, I wanted to ask a question. But despite raising my hand until the blood ran straight down to the floor, the guy running the interview refused to call me into action.

What was more annoying was that he kept looking at me and nodding to confirm he'd seen me and that, yes, he would come to me next. He didn't. It wasn;t that great a question but it might have elicited something from Woods. What I wanted to ask him was: You were a world-class control freak before. Are you going to be even more of a control freak now?

To be fair, maybe Tiger was in control of the whole interview session and had intimated to the officials that he wasn't under any circumstances prepared to answer a question from yours truly.

Those questions he did answer he did so in the manner of someone who has just exited rehab. All the usual guff about no longer lying to yourself and so on. Ho, flipping, hum.

At least it's done now. He can get back to trying to win big golf titles and we can get back to ignoring his press conferences when he says quite a lot and reveals practically nothing. Just like this one in fact. Meanwhile, it is hot here, way hotter than usual.

The temp is now building towards something in the nineties while the pollen is dusted everywhere so that you leave footprints on the veranda floor around the clubhouse. This is the hottest it's been since 1988 which in turn was the hottest it had been since 1972.

What I also know is that it will be hot at Rae's Coastal Café when I make my way there this evening for some food, probably quite a lot of wine and the chance to cast a vote for the March Golfer of the Month.

Sadly, my two companions from the mag will not be there but at least they have arrived safely. I discovered that last night when I returned home late to be greeted by a discarded pair of sneakers in the middle of the lounge floor, an abandoned wallet on a side-table and, the biggest clue of all, a 60 degree wedge delicately placed against the wall. Some things never change...  

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