Peter Alliss dies

 Peter Alliss dies.

For almost 60 years Peter Alliss was the voice of golf. After retiring from the sport he so clearly loved, Alliss was entrusted with the responsibility of commentating on the sport for the BBC. It was a task he carried out with both a rich distinction and unfailing attention to detail. Both radio and TV commentators have come and gone but Alliss was steadfast, loyal to the cause and warmly complimentary about every aspect of a game that enthralled its followers and enthusiasts before retiring to the clubhouse at the end of the day for a vintage drop of wine from the finest vineyards. 

 Alliss's educated and informative views on the players he'd been privileged enough to see over the years and wry observations he'd made throughout the day were a treat to the ear and eye. He gave us a thorough insight into the lucrative world of those top, highly ranked golfers who trod their weary way around some of the most magnificently manicured courses, horticultural works of art that always looked picturesque regardless of the time of the year. 

Alliss was the quiet one, the courteous one, the gentlemanly one, a consummate professional to his driving wrists from the first hole, a man who respected the feats of the greats, lionised the legends with thousands of kind words and then told his BBC audience that Jack Nicklaus, Gary Player, Tom Watson, Bernhard Langer, Arnold Palmer, Lee Trevino and Seve Ballesteros had been such a pleasure to watch. Truth to be told Alliss adored the brilliance and character of those players who always played to the gallery. 

Throughout the 1960s and beyond, Alliss and the great Henry Longhurst combined to whisper their way discreetly around the fairways and bunkers of most golf courses around the world. As the leaders of the British Open walked through the rough of those broad, sweeping acres, the voices of Alliss and Longhurst would lower their tonsils deliberately if only to convey the intensity and drama of the moment. But then Allliss would take us on a metaphorical journey into the land of language and grammar. 

As the 18th hole loomed on the last day of the British Open, Alliss would give us a highly articulate opinion of his very personal overview of the game. He would tell us about the strength of a blustery wind, the boats on the horizon, the cormorants swooping and dancing across a cloudy, summery day at St Andrews. He would giggle and chuckle at the players latest fashion statements, comment amusingly on their choice of socks and then laugh at the gaggle of fans who were trudging around the course with a beautifully coloured umbrella. 

Because Alliss was cool and composed, a deeply analytical figure whose whispering voice and understated delivery with a microphone fitted the mood of the nation on all occasions. You felt sure that here was a man with an encyclopaedic knowledge of his sport, a vast array of facts and figures at his disposal and then launch into a homage about every sportsman or woman he'd ever seen. 

And then we came to the greens of the 18th hole and Alliss would embrace the occasion as if it were a royal coronation or wedding. The words were measured and sweet, simple but appropriate. There was a quirkiness about some of his descriptions that was nothing less than memorable. He would chuckle again whole-heartedly at the shortcomings of the local transport network, the Canadian geese who refused to listen to warnings from the marshals dotted around the fairways and then swore that he'd never seen such sublime golf in his life. 

You find yourselves thinking quite what Alliss would have thought of the great American author Mark Twain's less than flattering reference to golf being a good walk spoiled. How dare Twain make wounding and derogatory remarks about the one sport which required extraordinary levels of skill, concentration and the application of a shrewd, calculating mind. He would have been offended if you'd suggested to him that golf was boring, dull and about as interesting as watching paint dry. 

And so it is that we mourn the passing of Peter Alliss, a golfing connoisseur, a man who admired professionalism at every level of sport as well as his game of golf. There was a hint of sarcasm and facetiousness about his commentaries but that could only be considered as part of his charm offensive. There were the sharp criticisms and burbling witticisms, the humorous touches and then an almost offhand word or two reserved for the money-grabbing mercenaries who were threatening to kill off golf. 

But Alliss was a fastidious perfectionist. He was still teaching and coaching the next generation of golfers, still showing the youngsters how to address the ball from the driving green, the position of the hips and shoulders in relation to the ball, the manner in which body and head should always be held at all times and then the decisive swing with that smooth follow-through. He would never look for perfection for such qualities were elusive but this once Ryder Cup player knew all about the game's wrinkles and finer points.

Now that most of the gorgeous sports broadcasting voices have now sadly passed, we may come to look back on the career of Peter Alliss as one of the finest of all time. Cricket gave us the literary exquisiteness of John Arlott and Brian Johnson, football, the knowledgeable excellence of Barry Davies and John Motson while tennis was graced by the softly soothing tones of Dan Maskell but Peter Alliss cared about his sport passionately, marvelled at its dramatic unpredictability and never lost interest in its mesmeric fascination. We shall miss Peter Alliss because he was the one who always seemed to have the right word at the right time. The world of golf will never see or hear his like again.