I am a dedicated Canadian. I appreciate the whirling ice dervishes named Connor and enjoy watching CFL games more than NFL contests. I am a dedicated member of a fantasy hockey league and have been for decades.
I am also a fan of . I have never met her, but I think I know something about her just by watching her in action on the golf courses of the world and reading or hearing a bit about her on occasion.
Spoiler alert: I’ve never met the Connors either, so it’s equal footing here.
You see, I’m thinking that , even though she currently lives in Florida. She’s originally from small-town Smiths Falls, Ont.
What’s to like?
Her engaging smile and steadfast resolve are one thing to admire.
The fact she has had her older sister, Brittany, as her caddy for a decade on the professional LPGA tour tells me something as well. I mean, I’m sure these are typical sisters. They must get frustrated with one another at times, right? Angry? Stormy? Nope. At least no public outbursts.
Brooke broke into the pro golfing scene as an eager youngster, intent on hammering a golf ball and then coaxing it onto the green with a little flourish, but never being bombastic about it.
She’s in her late 20s now. She even wears eyeglasses—a tip of the hat to the aging process, I guess.
She has won 13 professional tournaments. That’s more than any other Canadian pro golfer, male or female. Some of them have been majors.
She never appears flustered. Any signs of angst or anger may be seen with perhaps a less-than-gentle shove of a golf club into the bag following a shot gone awry. Outburst is not in her repertoire.
On the 16th hole in any tournament, you will see Brooke engage with Brittany, stare ahead, take a tee out of her blonde hair or her hat, and approach the tee box. And if you’ve just tuned into the broadcast, you won’t know if she’s about to card a score of 68 or 73.
That 68 might put her into the top-10 mix for the fourth and final day of the LPGA tournament; a 73 will more than likely place her in the also-ran mix, a tie for 36th with a half-dozen other golfers. In other words, I do believe she still enjoys the game. It’s a game, not always a profession.
That’s mental health, I would think.
She has won millions of dollars and has lucrative sponsorships. I don’t expect to see her at age 55 selling fake Rolex watches on the beach or feeding an addiction habit like a well-used rocker or Hollywood star, selling autographs at a card show.
I think Brooke would happily sign my golf card that I kept with pride, indicating that I had broken 100 for the first time—for free.
I gave up golf (flog and curse) years ago for no apparent reason other than the fact that I was becoming worse at it, not better. I had reached my pinnacle, and it was no Mount Everest, but more like a Qu’Appelle Valley hill.
Brooke may or may not have reached the peak. She hasn’t won a tournament in a couple of years, but I would love to see her hoist one more trophy aloft or be pictured kissing the cup before she resigns and takes up a more domestic pursuit.
I want to see her and Brittany celebrate once more (at least). I would like to see a family portrait because these two women appear to have been raised right. After all, Brooke played hockey as well—and, of course, she was a goalie!
I loved the story that as a five-year-old, she was given a golf club and a ball to hit around the course. Her first impression of the game was that it was a race—not gifted swings and the pursuit of perfection on the greens, but rather a twirling race to see who could finish the hole, finish the round, first!
Kids prefer that. Perfection pursuit can come later.
I don’t see Brooke on TV much anymore because she hasn’t been in that contending group on Saturdays and Sundays lately. But I’m sure that other LPGA golfers, hearing they are being paired with Brooke on any given tournament day, would smile and say to themselves and others, “It’s gonna be a fun five hours of golf. Let’s get at it, girls.”
I watched that magical late August day in 2018 when Brooke, in her uniform golfing gear, marched down the 18th fairway at the Wascana Golf Club in Regina. She was in the lead—the first Canadian woman ready to win the Canadian Open Championship in 45 years.
The crowd, her audience, broke into a rousing if not very musical version of O Canada as she approached the green with a slightly embarrassed smile, a little wave, and then a look of determination, knowing she had a game to complete.
That was a moment we, as Canadians, could have been the proudest of in some time. She was there to represent us, and we knew she would not misspeak. She would not embarrass us or her country of birth.
She would say the right things in the cool, dusky Saskatchewan late afternoon. She would be Canadian as we would like to be represented.
She wouldn’t be political, or brag about her talents, or diss another golfer, or claim something she didn’t deserve or covet.
She would just be Brooke, as we have known her for some time now.
We know her as a talented Canadian who has accomplished a set of lofty goals in the sporting world and carried our banner willingly, carefully, and proudly.
You know, that thing we can call decorum under pressure.
I’d like to see a little more Brooke—maybe at least one more trophy-kissing tournament—just to confirm what I believe to be a fact.
She’s a good kid who has just gotten even gooder, eh?
