Tommy Fleetwood Announced as England Golf Ambassador

By England Golf

Above: Tommy Fleetwood at the English Men’s Amateur championship in 2010

Tommy Fleetwood has been appointed an ambassador for England Golf, the amateur governing body which gave the 31-year-old the platform to become a Ryder Cup star, a British Olympian and a five-time winner on the DP World Tour.

Fleetwood joins LPGA Tour winner and former English Women’s Amateur champion, Bronte Law, as an England Golf ambassador, with the pair keen to see as many people as possible - from elite amateur players to beginners of all ages - participating in the game they love.

The Englishman is incredibly proud of his amateur background and the role England Golf played in helping him achieve his goal of becoming one of the best players in the world.

He already plays a huge role in promoting and developing golf in his hometown of Southport, having opened the Tommy Fleetwood Academy at Formby Hall in 2019. To date, almost 600 kids have taken part at the Academy.

“I’m coming into that part of my life where I want to, and I’m in the fortunate position of being able to, give something back to the game,” said Fleetwood.

“I’m doing that already with my own academy, but I have such a long and happy association with the English Golf Union, as it was known when I played, that I wanted to get more involved.

“I feel a great affinity to England Golf because of the times I enjoyed as an amateur.

“I got to travel the world, make friends for life, and represent my country. I see becoming an ambassador as a chance to be a part of it again and help others to enjoy what I did as a younger golfer.”

As a team player at amateur level, Fleetwood was an outstanding success with England in the Home Internationals for both boys’ and men’s squads - as well as winning a European Team title with England in 2010.

Individually, Fleetwood is as proud of his victory in the 2010 English Men’s Amateur Championship and his ascent to number one on the World Amateur Golf Rankings as he is of any of his professional wins.

As an ambassador for England Golf, Tommy will use his profile to help the governing body spread positive messages about the game to a wide and diverse audience as well as lend his support and knowledge to England national teams.

“Coming on board with England Golf to help promote the game in whatever way I can is just pretty cool,” smiled Fleetwood.

“Even now on Tour, whenever I come across players from my England amateur days, we always have that connection and bond, so to be able to impart any help I can to the young English players will be something I think I will really enjoy.

“Golf is now what I do for a living and allows me to provide for my family, but you don’t have to be one of the best players in the world for golf to make you feel good.

“If you are five or 95 there’s something in it for everyone.”

Jeremy Tomlinson, chief executive of England Golf, is thrilled to have Tommy’s full backing as the governing body steps up its drive to encourage more and more people to get into golf.

He said: “For us, it’s an honour that Tommy has decided to become one of our ambassadors and help current and future generations of golfers develop their love of the game.

“Tommy plays the game with a smile on his face – but has that inner steel possessed by all great winners.

“It’s exciting for England Golf to be able to work alongside a man and golfer of his calibre and to have him play a part in amplifying the message that golf is a sport for anyone and everyone.

“Every golfer – from a beginner to those at England squad level – can only be inspired by what Tommy does, both inside and outside the ropes, as a true champion of the game.”

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The life of Di

A monthly column by Di Wade, the author of ‘A Year In Verse’

DASHING BACK TO THE CURLING

Sport’s a dangerous business and no mistake – and that’s just when you’re watching. Dashing back to the curling recently, I tripped over a corner of the rug, sending myself sprawling, and my lunch into orbit – before a distant thud indicated the latter’s crash to earth like one of our speedskaters, somewhere across the room: So while on screen, our curling guys swept and hollered their way through their latest Olympic round robin match, that was me down on my hands and knees for the next hour and a half, scraping cheese and tomato pizza off the carpet, and all but blowing a gasket. Well it was even more maddening than our defeat by Scotland at Murrayfield t’other week – and so much for the quiet Sunday afternoon with the Winter Olympics. I couldn’t even relax on finally calling it a day as, with my meagre eyesight, and zero sense of smell, who knew if there weren’t still strings of cheese, and splodges of tomato sauce embedding themselves deeper and deeper into my unhelpfully beige floor covering.

But then my Winter Olympics were already going not dissimilarly to the summer. True there was no accompanying racket of a bunch of premature workmen on the roof this time, whose presence also put paid to any ideas of lolling around in my nightie till midday – even if I’d been up till the wee small hours watching triathlon relays and the like. I had however again taken the relevant time off work, been looking forward to it for weeks, and had ideas only of copious games-watching punctuated by the odd invigorating walk, and all enjoyed in pure unadulterated relaxation – so that bit at least hadn’t quite gone according to plan.

With the abandonment of the Covid plan B, I’d naturally been delighted in one respect, but deeply troubled in another: Working from home had not merely achieved the desired social distancing, but been a revelation from my point of view - guess there’s just no accounting for the relief of not having to worry about taxis to work dropping one in entirely the wrong place, or driving ceaselessly round and round one’s work complex, the driver getting madder and madder ,and oneself getting more and more frazzled. The arguments! And the discomfiture as my painstakingly procured directions fell on resolutely uncomprehending ears, and people who didn’t know me from Eve were rudely stopped and asked if they knew where I worked. And that was just the journey TO work. T’other way, there were long cold waits in the dark while again the driver took himself all round China - or equally impatiently waited – several miles from where I was.

Well anyway, after 21 happy months without such shenanigans, I was as keen to return to them as an escaped zebra to the lion’s den. So I’d taken a leaf out of a fellow disabled colleague’s book, and applied to work from home permanently. He’d been successful, and my own case had more for it than against it - but different manager, different department, so who knew. Except I likely WOULD be knowing soon. So every day saw me checking the post with trepidation, before breathing more easily again once it was clearly just the usual detritus of utility bills, and Fred Olsen brochures - and returning my focus to ski-jumping, big air, and Nordic combined, like you do. Till the next day.

Meanwhile, the weather was typical half-term. My parents and I cut short a nice walk up at Nott-End one day as a bunch of onrushing black clouds threatened all sorts if we didn’t, and we’d already been half-drowned twice that week.

On the other hand, and another day, we went to Lytham Hall, where twice the rain emptied onto us wouldn’t have dampened my enthusiasm as I finally got to see the snowdrops I’d been trying and failing to for years. True they might have looked even better in a bit of sunshine, but here they were nonetheless, in an already enchanting setting, to which we vowed to return in the summer.

Nearly four weeks on, with the Winter Olympics sadly over, and the work thing as yet unresolved, I’m still chuffed to bits at having got to see them – and next up, crocuses, daffodils, Easter eggs, and a shedload of other sport – provided I can avoid tripping over anything and missing it.