AWAKENING recently to the sounds of a city stirring, I couldn't help but be impressed by the variety of sirens, horns and car alarms which combine these days to form the rich tapestry of life as we've come to know it. There are times when, such is the diversity of sound around us, it is surprising, on venturing forth, to find so many buildings still standing and so many citizens going about unhospitalised or unjailed. It is all a far cry from my own experience of public services, when, s
Judged by the standards of today, that bell probably didn't amount to much, but then it didn't have much competition. Musselburgh, though it could turn on the style when it liked, was hardly Las Vegas and, apart from the clatter of trams and the yell
s of the odd rag-and-bone man, there wasn't a lot of noise about. No doubt the solemn tolling which accompanied my passage on that dark and fateful night was marked by ashen-faced townspeople as they huddled behind drawn curtains and prayed that they weren't next for the chop.
It doesn't seem that long ago when measures to control noise pollution were introduced and yet I get the distinct impression that things have never been noisier. The incessant babble into mobile phones provides a chatty background for the blast from cars as they pass with open windows through which musical titbits of the day are played at headsplitting volume. Even on the golf course, where in days gone by you could usually be assured of a bit of peace and quiet, there have been disturbing signs. It's all relative, of course, and golf having always been, in the main, a hushed sort of affair, it doesn't take much to get the hackles rising.
The niggles don't have to be major. A squeaky caddie cart wheel will do the business and often does. It's not a thing you'd want to get uptight about and, if all goes well, you don't. But in moments of stress or depression, it becomes impossible to shrug it off. I've noticed that people with squeaky carts tend to make a point of arriving late at scenes of action. That's probably a harsh judgment, but that's the way it seems and things get worse the longer a round goes on.
For instance, let's say one of a fourball, having reached the point at which his drive landed, begins to consider his second shot. Then, even as he bends his mind to the task and the cords are starting to twitch about on the forehead, the squeak will insinuate itself – faintly at first and then increasing in intensity as the squeaker approaches, until a point is reached at which violence is but an axe-blade away. I used to play regularly with such a squeaker and I can now reveal that there were times when he walked on very thin ice.
Another source of distraction on the links is the sound of the golfers themselves. Perhaps because of their constant battle with the increased levels of sound around them in the outside world, as it were, many, when on the golf course, seem to feel obliged to talk at volumes which would get them apprehended by stewards at a football match. Voices – even well-modulated ones – tend to carry on golf courses and often for quite a long way. If somebody is actually letting rip in an unrestrained manner about some subject on which he or she is particularly keen, it can be like one of these tannoy announcements often to be heard at school sports days.
I have played with a golfer who, having made a mess of a tee-shot, claimed his concentration had been disturbed as he was playing by an exchange which had been taking place between two players on an adjoining fairway. He had, in spite of himself, become intrigued by what the two were saying and had, in fact, been straining to catch what appeared to be the conclusion of the conversation at the very moment he was supposed to be hitting the ball. As excuses for bad shots go, it was, I suppose, fairly original, but it didn't get much of a hearing from the company that day.
It's not all bad news on the noise front, though. Waterproofs have improved beyond belief over the years and golfers should be deeply grateful they don't have to put up with the grim khaki specimens once considered state-of-the-art. Quite apart from the fact they didn't keep out the water, they creaked like old doors. They were a gamesman's delight. An unscrupulous golfer need only cross his legs to produce the equivalent of a small electrical storm. Play in such a person's vicinity became practically impossible.
The trousers creased badly when folded away wet and eventually cracked along the crease. Many a golfer of that era had to report ruefully that he'd just broken his waterproofs.
CLICHE CORNER
The form book goes out of the windowTHIS phrase usually gets an airing in the build-up to the big football derbies. In fact, the BBC even gave it visual representation during a preview of the last Old Firm derby. The presenter sat in a car with a book marked in giant letters "FORM BOOK", opened the window and threw it out. Great stuff. The reality, of course, is that even in the heat of a passionate derby, the 'form book' more often than not is vindicated – just ask the bookies.
CULT HERO
Daniel ProdanCOMMONLY cited as the worst value transfer deal in the history of Scottish football, Daniel Prodan's time at Rangers was nothing but misery for the player.
Signed from Atlético Madrid in the summer of 1998 for a fee of £2.2 million the Romanian centre-half never played a single game for the Ibrox club due to a niggling knee injury. Rangers claim Atlético knew of the injury before the sale and eventually off-loaded the player in 2001 to Rocar Bucharest – for free.
IN A move more amusing than anything his namesake has come up with on Strictly recently, 'Brucie' (aka Sunderland manager Steve Bruce) surprised everyone by naming David Beckham man of the match against Belarus last Wednesday.
"I don't know how I got that," grinned the bearded Becks after his second-half cameo. "Thanks, Brucie. I played with him, of course."
Bookies had taken large sums on two-goal Peter Crouch to get the honour and England coach Fabio Capello was also bamboozled. "Yes, I was a bit surprised," he said. "I thought it was like Obama getting the Nobel Peace Prize after eight months as President."
GOLDEN OLDIES
THE World Masters Games ended in Sydney at the weekend having shown age is no obstacle to enjoying sport, with a 100-year-old female shot put champion, a 101-year-old lawn bowler, a prince and Santa Claus taking part.
Over 28,000 participants from 95 countries, aged 25 to 101, converged on Sydney to compete the world's largest multi-sports event.
The death of an Argentine man aged in his late 40s of an apparent heart attack while taking part in a 21 km canoe marathon was the only incident to dampen the otherwise high spirits at Sydney Olympic Park, home of the 2000 Summer Olympics. A star of the games, which began in Toronto in 1985, was 100-year-old Ruth Frith, a great-grandmother from Brisbane.
She broke the world record in the over 100s age group for the shot put, and also took home three other gold medals. Frith, pictured right, put her fitness and longevity down to training five days a week and not drinking, smoking or eating vegetables.
Another competitor in the spotlight was a Sydney man in his 80s called Santa Claus who ran the 10 km roadrace and 100-metre race barefoot, with his long white beard blowing in the wind. Denmark's Crown Prince Frederik competed in the open 35-years-plus Tasar sailing event but capsised, hitting his head in the process. Frederik met his Edinburgh-born Australian wife, Mary Donaldson, while competing at the 2000 Sydney Olympics.
HOW LOW CAN YOU GO?
STAYING Down Under, Australian horse racing officials have been slammed for holding a dwarf racing competition called the "Midget Cup" at a meeting in Melbourne to promote Victoria state's annual carnival.
The race at the Cranbourne Cup Sunday involved three men charging down a 50-metres course with dwarfs dressed in jockey silks riding piggyback, and has been denounced by government officials and advocacy groups.
"There's often a fine line between a bit of fun and a silly stunt and I think this falls into the latter category," Victorian racing minister Rob Hulls told local radio. "I mean the Midget Cup for goodness sake. It's certainly no way of promoting this great carnival right around the world."
