Final Word: This sporting life

by Paul Moore

SO Rory (we are all allowed to call him that now as we now all own him) has finally got his grand slam. Like everyone else I am relieved as we will no more have to listen to the wailing and gnashing of teeth which ensued every time he did not get it. It will of course help the economy.

Thousands of deluded golfers will arrive on these shores thinking that if they play the same holes as Himself then they too will be lifting the grand slam at their local club / watering hole. Hundreds will take the game up for the first time and local golf clubs will be inundated with individuals hoping to elevate their status while the board members decide if these applicants are of suitable social standing to be a member of such a fine sporting institution.

Sports shops will sell vast volumes of golf bats, golf balls and questionable clothing and the only losers in all of this are those of us who cannot stand the sport or the sight of it and have to look at style refugees from the 1950s.

While it would seem the whole of the North was waiting to see the last ball drop into the hole, a much more interesting story landed in my email inbox. It emanated from South Africa, a country also renowned for its golf courses and scenery. This sporting achievement did not, however, emerge from the golden uplands of Cape Town but rather from the poverty of Soweto, a deprived district on the outskirts of Johannesburg.

I had the privilege of touring Soweto once when working with the British Council in South Africa and it was memorable for a number of reasons.

Firstly, the tolerance of poverty and the way in which people were being forced to live despite the party of the people, the ANC, being in power. Secondly, the community solidarity which had grown because everyone was existing in the same circumstances. Thirdly, and most strikingly, was the dominance of women in the life of the area, epitomised by the way Winnie Mandela was lionised despite what was known about much of her behaviour. Women clearly ran if not ruled Soweto.

What I did not know then but know now is that much of the child rearing in Soweto is also done by grandmothers either because the parents are trying to find employment or because the children have been abandoned.

The result is that many of these ageing women fall into ill health themselves and there is no health service safety net to support them.

They are also deeply suspicious of doctors and hospitals so it is difficult to get them to look after themselves. Enter Rebecca Ntsanwisi, who decided that the best way to help these women have some health support was to introduce a sport. The sport she selected was soccer and the Grannies World Cup was born. It has grown since its inception in 2007 and now takes place over four days with the grannies, some of whom 87-years-old, playing matches of 30 minutes across two halves. The report on the tournament suggested that the doctors were kept busy although one of the stars, Ms Cheruiyot, said “I feel nimble. This is the lightest I have been since my first child in 1987”.

For others it was the first time they had ever kicked a ball.

I do not know if any of the wealth generated by golf in South Africa finds its way to these communities but if I had to guess I would suggest that I doubt it.

But if I had to watch one of the two sports I am equally certain which one it would be.