I am not a regular or skilful golfer. I can hit a golf ball, and sometimes a fair distance and occasionally in the right direction. My putting is seriously challenged by the Himalyas putting course at St Andrews and my short game is hit and miss, in about equal proportions.
And I only occasionally watch golf on TV, and even when I do I still puzzle over the camera following a white dot in the sky until it lands in grass some hundred yards away.
But I remember the year Seve Ballesteros won the British Open and that wonderful image of him punching the air, pumping up his adrenaline and grinning with such joy because that small pimpled white sphere had rolled into a metal cup having been tapped with the smooth precision of the practiced genius. The flair and fun and colour he brought to golf made him an exemplar of the entertaining sportsman.
The news that Seve has died leaves the world of sport without one of its courteous enthusiasts and one of the most likeable people who remained unspoilt by fame, celebrity status and sporting success. The word ambassador shouldn't be used indiscriminately, but reserved for those who represent and embody what is best in a sport. Seve was an ambassador for golf, and a fine human being whose struggle these past three years have shown the same qualities of courage, dignity and purposefulness, that made him a great in his sport.
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