The gentle genius of Raymond Burns
LAST Wednesday at the K Club, while chatting with Matt Doyle over coffee in the clubhouse, my attention was drawn to the three large photographs that dominate the pro-shop bar. To the left, the club's resident touring professional, Paul McGinley. To the right, the unmistakable features of Darren Clarke, who was formerly attached to the club. But the one that really caught my attention was the portrait in the corner. 'We meet again,' I thought, 'Raymond Burns.'
You see, I've been bumping into Raymie quite a lot these past few weeks. On a recent visit to Baltray, after another, soul-destroying round of 105, I was drowning my sorrows in the clubhouse when I noticed that the members had framed him twice for his exploits in the 'East'. In Mullingar you'll find him pinned to the Wall-of-Fame with those other great talents who have won The Scratch Cup.
And just last week, while shooting the breeze with a spectator at the Irish Open, a long conversation about David Higgins, Richie Coughlan and the travails of turning pro, ended with the inevitable reference to Burns. "By Jesus, Raymie could play," my fairway companion observed. "What's he doing now?"
Raymie's story is probably one you have read before. Brilliant amateurs have been failing to make the grade as professionals for years. He was not unlucky. There was no hideous twist. It happens in every sport and always will. And yet, those who know golf insist that Raymie was different. This really was a special talent. This really was the real deal.
He was born in Banbridge, Co Down, in October of 1973 and played his first round of golf at the age of nine, a year after Ronan Rafferty's debut at the Walker Cup. Rafferty, who was nine years older and who lived just across the Mournes in Warrenpoint, was his boyhood idol and Raymie was soon blazing a trail in pursuit. Same coach, Don Patterson, the same ambition to be the best, and the same phenomenal talent.
In 1992, having captured all of the boy's provincial championships in the same year, he travelled south to Baltray and recorded his first triumph in the East of Ireland Championship, lowering Pat Mulcare's 21-year-old tournament record of 271, by two strokes. A year later, he shaved another stroke off the record and won again. 1992 was also the year of his one, and only, appearance in the Mullingar Scratch Cup.
Joe Healy, the club's centenary captain, has studied all of our finest amateurs Carr, Rafferty, Smyth, Walton, McHenry, McGinley, Clarke, Harrington in the tournament over the years but none has ever impressed as much as Raymie.
"Of all the amateurs that came through here," he recalls, "there was no one I was ever more fond of. And no one who ever had as much potential. I remember he shot 64 in the third round on a really windy day. And he had such a lovely way about him, always smiling, always chirpy. He was a breath of fresh air."
In 1993, Burns turned professional after losing 4 and 3 to Justin Leonard in the Walker Cup ("I thought I was good," he said, "until I met this guy") but failed to secure his card at the Qualifying School. The following season he opted to play on the Challenge Tour and had won twice, banked £43,000 and copper-fastened his right to play with the big boys by his 21st birthday in October.
In 1995, he began his new life as a touring professional with a high-profile attachment to the K Club. It was all there in front of him, everything he had ever dreamed of, and when he finished eighth on his debut at the Desert Classic in Dubai, no one was surprised.
But it's a cruel game this golf, flying you high in April, cutting you down in May, and its Gods can be very mischievous. They're never that generous when they are handing out talents; no one ever gets it all, they always hold something back and with Raymie, the bit that they withheld was application. He didn't know how to extract the most from his talent, was too easily distracted from practice on the range.
After a brilliant start, he started missing cuts and convinced himself, almost overnight, that he couldn't putt and that the only solution was a switch to the broom-handled putter. It didn't work.
There were a couple of reasonable finishes (7th in the BMW International, 8th in Dubai, 13th in the French Open, 17th in the Irish Open) but slowly, over the next three years, his game went into decline. And the slide was terminal.
Six weeks ago, I was following another story at a Pro-Am in Wexford, when I caught sight of his familiar stride, bounding up an adjoining fairway. He is a 'club' professional now, the assistant pro at Newlands, and had been drawn to play in the event with three lady members from the club. As I approached to shake his hand, I couldn't help but reflect on the contrast with his former life.
"They've not done you too many favours with the draw," I suggested.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"These women don't look great."
But Raymie, being Raymie, wouldn't entertain it. "Och no," he insisted, "three absolutely lovely ladies. I'd prefer to play with women. The men can be right pains sometimes."
I stood and watched him drive from the next tee. He launched an absolute rocket that split the fairway and we began chatting as he walked off the tee. In many ways he was the same old Raymie, the same cheery disposition, the same down-to-earth way but I quickly got a sense that the game had wounded him deeply. And that the scars were still fresh.
When I phoned him on Thursday and informed him I was writing a piece about him this week, he was adamant that he wasn't going to contribute. He hadn't checked the latest scores from the K Club, had no intention of visiting the tournament this week and wasn't going to be interviewed.
"I'm happy with my life now and I just want to move on," he said. "That was another life."
And it is easy to empathise with his position. But there is one small detail he would do well to remember. No golf club in history has ever honoured failure. Every year, for decades to come, thousands of golfers will pass through the corridors of Baltray and Mullingar and the K Club and marvel at the prints and portraits. And every year for decades to come, he will be right up there with the best of them.
"Look at this one ... Raymond Burns ... By God he could play." And that's not a bad epitaph, now is it?
- PAUL KIMMAGE
