When golf reduces us to tears

Sport has a never-ending capacity to thrill us, to reduce us to tears, to frustrate us, to fill us with joy, to frustrate us and to make us want to throw something at the TV.

For very different reasons, I was an emotional wreck last week after first watching Alex Fitzpatrick claim the Hero Indian Open and then, later in the day, Gary Woodland claim a gut-wrenching victory at the Houston Open.

Fitzpatrick has lived in the shadow of his older brother, Matt, for years. While Matt has won multiple titles on the DP World Tour, is a former US Open champion, Ryder Cup player and winner on the PGA Tour, it has been a long struggle for Alex. He has often shown signs of his potential but had never been able to close the deal. 

And it had looked like he was going to be the bridesmaid once again in India - that was until an extraordinary run of birdies on the back nine when it mattered most.

He grabbed the tournament by the scruff of the neck and could even finish with a seven and still win. After the final putt went in, the emotions poured out. He spoke of idolising Matt, of his brother being his inspiration. But this was something he had done for himself. It was little wonder that the waterworks were switched on. And I sat at home with tears rolling down my cheeks too.

And then, hours later, it all happened again when Woodland won. You will no doubt be aware that he had been diagnosed with a brain tumour and had undergone successful surgery. He returned to the PGA Tour and all seemed well but at The Players Championship he revealed that he has been suffering from PTSD. There had been times when he wanted to walk off the golf course. But he battled on.

After revealing his condition, Woodland admitted that a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders and, just two weeks later, he turned up at Houston and played arguably the best golf of his life. He was cheered every step of the way by an adoring gallery, desperate to see him pick up another trophy.

He coasted to victory and then, like Fitzpatrick, it all proved too much. I watched, crying like a baby.

Golf has reduced me to tears many times, of course. 

I went through the full gamut of emotions when Rory McIlroy won The Masters in 2025. There was the cry of frustration when he missed his par putt on the final green in regulation play. I wa utterly convinced that Justin Rose would win the playoff. And then there was the roar when McIlroy hit his approach to three feet in the playoff and holed the putt. He cried, I cried, most onlookers cried. And through it all, Rose handled himself like the outstanding human being he is.

I cried when Jack Nicklaus won The Masters as a 46-year-old, I cried again when a 59-year-old Tom Watson lost The Open to Stewart Cink in a playoff at Turnberry. I screamed at the TV when Colin Montgomerie took six blows at the final hole to somehow throw away the US Open in 2006. I remember him changing clubs and shouting: "No!"

I have suffered every possible emotion on Tommy Fleetwood’s long and painful journey to his maiden PGA Tour success. I have met Fleetwood and I can assure you that he is one of the most genuinely nice guys out there. Nobody has a bad word to say about him. The fans love him, his fellow players love him - and that is why watching him choke so many times was so painful. So you can imagine my feelings when he finally won the Tour Championship in 2025.

I attended the 1999 Open Championship at Carnoustie and remember watching in disbelief as Jean van de Velde, with a two-shot lead and needing only a double-bogey six to claim the Claret Jug, reached for his driver on the final hole. I remember saying to a colleague: "Why on earth isn’t he just hitting a three-wood or a long iron." The rest is history. He took seven and lost in a playoff.

Then there was the 1995 Open. Italy’s Costantino Rocca came to the final hole at St Andrews needing a birdie to tie John Daly. He hit a good drive up the left side and left himself a simple pitch to the green. But with the eyes of the world on him, he chunked it. It was a shot that an 18-handicapper would have been embarrassed to play. 

He then reached for his putter and drained a monstrous putt to force his way into the playoff. I jumped out of my skin when the ball disappeared. Rocca’s reaction was to fall to the ground and pummel the grass. It was an astonishing moment but I knew then and there that his race was run, that he had given his all and had nothing left - and that is exactly how it turned out.

As a Scot, sport has put me through every emotion in the book. 

There has been World Cup heartbreak galore. And then, finally, there was Scotland 4 Denmark 2. There was Scott McTominay’s incredible bicycle kick goal. It was a game that Scotland had to win and when the Danes got it back to 2-2 it looked like it was all over for us once again. But then Kieran Tierney and Kenny McLean scored two outrageous stoppage-time goals. We had finally done to somebody what has been done to us time without number. We had come back from the dead, broken Danish hearts and qualified for the World Cup for the first time in 28 years.

The Six Nations Championship put me through every emotion there is. It all started off horribly as we lost to Italy of all teams on a rain-sodden swamp in Rome. But then we beat England, scraped home in thrilling fashion against Wales and, unbelievably, put FIFTY points past France before losing to Ireland.

Somewhere I also seem to recall leaping through the ceiling when Andy Murray won his first Wimbledon title. I honestly never thought that I would live to see a British tennis player win the men's title at SW19.

And so this week we turn our attention to The Masters at Augusta and the question I have is this: "Who is going to reduce me to tears this time?"