You know, it’s a funny old game, golf. One minute you’re contemplating the vast emptiness after a quadruple bogey, the next you’re channeling your inner Buddha on the 18th green. Zack Swanwick, with all the best intentions, seems to have figured out this whole "vast emptiness" thing. After a Thursday start that felt like tripping down a flight of stairs in slow motion – four over through six, ouch – he didn’t exactly weep into his golf towel. Instead, he apparently decided to channel the spirit of a kiwi bird discovering a particularly juicy grub. He birdied his last three holes, escaping that opening day like a cat burglar from a very poorly guarded museum. For the rest of his 45 holes, he’s played with the kind of quiet competence that makes you wonder if he’s secretly got a tiny golf guru whispering sweet nothings in his ear. Three bogeys in three days? That’s practically saintly in this sport. He’s now sitting pretty with a two-shot lead, looking like he might just pull off a win for New Zealand, a feat that, I’m told, is rarer than a perfectly struck seven-iron from yours truly.
Meanwhile, defending champ Fifa Laopakdee decided to give us all a masterclass in how not to hold a lead. He was cruising, then, poof! Gone. Like a magician’s rabbit, but with more sand and less applause. A three-putt that would make your grandma wince, a bunker shot that looked suspiciously like he was trying to dig a new hole, and a wedge that went so far left it probably ended up in Fiji. It was a magnificent implosion, a sporting car crash you couldn’t look away from. His putter, which had been hotter than a two-dollar pistol earlier in the week, apparently decided to take a siesta. A final-round 73? With the best of intentions, the pressure of repeating must be about as fun as a root canal performed by a badger. Swanwick, meanwhile, is just out there playing golf, probably humming a jaunty tune, while Laopakdee is left wondering where it all went so, so wrong.