Some Random and Scattered Thoughts from the CP Women’s Open

-First and foremost, fair play to C.P. for realizing that this is the “Canadian Open” and not the “Greater Toronto Open”. Ya, ya, spare me the reasons. That company makes 12 billion dollars a year.

-Rather than park in the designated lots off Uplands Road, south of the Hunt Club, I instead opted to park in a nearby residential neighbourhood and uber in, which cost me less than the fee to park in, what my friend described as, an “overgrown, bumpy, and muddy field”. He also mentioned that the school bus, which transported him from the lot to the course, took a weirdly circuitous route.  

-Although not the largest venue, there is still enough space on site, specifically around the clubhouse, to comfortably accommodate all of the amenities and merch tents and such that are needed to host an event of this magnitude. The selection of food, at least in the main food area, near the range, was varied and solid: St-Hubert, The Keg, some kind Asian Noodle joint, and another one that I couldn’t make out at the far end. As I walked by in the mid-afternoon, however, there were only a handful of people in line. 

-The food selection at the various tents scattered around the course, on the other hand, was quite appalling. Chips, peanuts, and cookies—no sandwiches, nor dogs, nor the like. The only beer on selection was from Sleemans: original, 2.0.,and clear, all of which cost about 14$ for a tall can. There were also some vodka-water and vodka-soda options, as well as an Ace Hill Raspberry thing. I prefer to stay away from consuming diabetes in a can form, so I helped myself to a couple of Original Draughts.

-For the most part, I thought the infrastructure was tasteful and well located. The Hunt’s routing isn’t the easiest to get around, but the bottlenecks were minimal, and walking the routing wasn’t too arduous. 

-The concentration level of the pros never fails to impress me, as someone who plays competitive amateur golf. Being in their shoes, I would constantly be backing off, telling people to quiet down, to stop moving, or to back up. But, for the most part, they simply go about their routines, hit the shot, and walk off, as if entirely undisturbed by the stream of folks walking by not more than 15 feet away, or an out-house door shutting, or plates clanking in the hospitality area.

-What possesses a grown adult to wear a hockey jersey to a golf event? Or to queue in line to have another grown adult smear his autograph all over a thing you bought? 

-Along this line of thinking, am I the only person who finds the rink entirely ridiculous and, frankly, imbecile. And I am not someone who is, in any way, anti-hockey; in fact, the total opposite. It’s a golf tournament, this is the sport of golf, and aren’t we, as Canadians, able to simply enjoy it, as it is, as a separate amenity? Why do we need to hear people slamming their fists against a hockey board from three holes over?

-I thought the Hunt played nicely, at least before the rain that fell overnight. The course is way too green for my liking, but I mean, whaddaya expect?

– Tempo town: Nelly Korda’s is as silky in person as on T.V. and social media. I followed her two-ball, with Lexi Thompson, for their back 9. The crowd was decent, but not overwhelming. 

-Is there a worse sport to watch live than golf? At least in terms of if you want to follow what is transpiring during the event, especially on Sunday when the crowds gain. I much prefer to go early in the week, or for a practice round, and then watch it unfold on TV on Sunday.

-I also followed a group of three professionals whom, I must confess, I had never of prior: Lindy Duncan, Kris Tamulis, and Kelly Tan. I was the only person following their group. Duncan, especially, put on a display, birdieing 4 of the first 6 holes on the South 9. Two sloppy bogeys on 7 and 9 derailed her momentum slightly. Lindy’s accuracy with her short irons and wedges, in particular, is mesmerizing and envy-inducing. 

-Even being on the opposite end of the property, there was no mistaking when Brooke made a birdie.