Poulter's cooking up a storm
Posted on 10/04/2010Ian Poulter has earned more headlines for his crazy dress sense than his golf over the years, but there is a different look to the Briton at Augusta, a look that may just lead to a new jacket being added to his wardrobe writes Oliver Brown in the Telegraph...
Ian Poulter might be a fully paid-up member of American golf's expat elite, but he toasted his inspired first round of 68 at the Masters with a meal that was quintessentially English and followed that with another four-under-par score.“Just sat down for my dinner, steak and ale pie, couple of spuds, get in there,” he wrote on a Twitter page that has acquired almost a million followers. You can take the boy out of Stevenage...
But then this fast-talking, curry-loving Arsenal supporter has always had a touch of the 'cor blimeys’ about him, whatever his peculiar line in pink clothing suggests. Shortly after he propelled himself into the American consciousness by winning this year’s World Matchplay in Arizona, he was portrayed by the CBS sports network as “the cockney cockatiel”.
Poulter is feted here for the boldness and brashness of his self-exposure. Indeed, sometimes it seems all you have to do in this country to be passed off as an endearing Brit is to feign a few Estuary glottal stops and don a pair of Union Jack trousers. Poulter can assume whatever affectations he likes, though, if he has the game to lead the Masters.
Just as he liked it, he was pursued by vast crowds yesterday as the Tiger Woods circus gathered intensity behind him. He had come up with a clipped reply late on Thursday when asked how it was being the warm-up act to the Tiger show: “Fine”.He appeared equally unruffled in his second round, despite the return of mischievous aircraft pilots circling overhead, this time baiting Woods’s caddie, Steve Williams, with such banner messages as “You knew, Stevie, you knew.”
Poulter would probably regard the sight of his name written in the skies as a status symbol. He was assuredly making a name for himself on the course, carving a flawless path through the first 13 holes with four birdies to advance to eight under par, two behind friend and countryman Lee Westwood. The British were back in charge in Georgia, for the first time since the Declaration of Independence.
All week Poulter has carried an air so relaxed you would have thought a Masters triumph was predestined. He savoured every moment of Wednesday’s par-three competition, employing his two children as caddies in a gesture that helped soften his public image – when he tousled the hair of his son, Luke, who had just drained a 20-foot putt, the pictures made headline news
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It is plain from Poulter’s record that he is at his best for a break, and his decision to remove himself from the circuit after a torrid tournament at Doral last month is beginning to look like a masterstroke. His fortnight’s work at Augusta, gauging the vicissitudes of every green, the demands of all conditions, has proved invaluable. “You have to be patient on this golf course,” he explained.“You don’t want to be caught up by the wind, so you just have to wait for the right time. If it’s blowing, make sure you trust it, and keep hitting the shots that you’ve chosen. A few people are going to get caught out there.”
Not Poulter, not on the evidence. The 34 year-old, clad in pastel pink below the waist and a faintly nausea-inducing shade of yellow above it, was a man in a bubble as he chased his dream.
Poulter can ask his resident chef to rustle up as many steak and ale pies as he likes. He is the one cooking up a storm.