Pitchmarks #55 - 14th July 2024 - "Triumph and Disaster"

Or, “The Drama of the Open Road”

A very special prize…

The brief is 1,500 words, on the Open rota courses. There are ten as it stands now, so 150 words on each. Or split the data another way and look at all 151 Championships, and the task becomes even more daunting. I grapple with different ways to “rank” these sacred temples of our game, and though hours of contemplation pass, they pass with the same intoxicated feeling that I have when watching the Open unfold live, a summer ritual of mine since Sandy dropped to his knees in 1985. That’s 39 years; 38 Opens. And already 98 words.

Life is full of opposites; it’s the way language works. Yin and yang; amateur and professional. Open and closed. For every winner, at least one loser, or in the case of the Open, 155 losers. If you extend it to Open qualifying, it’s more like two and a half thousand. In the heart of battle, these gladiators flirt with Lady Luck and those glorious links, and we watch history in the making, every July feeling part of something larger than ourselves.

And somehow the courses - the stage for each “Triumph and Disaster” - are the silent stars of this ancient roadshow. We cannot fathom how much care and attention goes into planning the surfaces, perfecting the fescue boards on which our heroes tread. But just as fortune will impact them - the wind and rain; the luck of the draw; the bunkers, and bounces, and broken bottles - so will the elements define that edition’s timeless stories. So I have come to realise that the beauty of The Open and the reputation of its venues rests in the stories they create.

Most discussions of drama must of course begin at Turnberry, in 1977. Watson and Nicklaus, head to head on the scorched turf; their sportsmanship shining as brightly as their golf. Jack would win three Opens, but this was one of seven second places, as extraordinary a statistic as Watson’s five triumphs. It is rare in strokeplay to have two gladiators in such form playing down the stretch, but at Royal Troon in 2016, even “The Duel in the Sun” was eclipsed. Mickelson was at the height of his powers, pushing Stenson all the way, but the Swede shot a staggering 63, including, as his rival put it in the scoring tent, “ten f*ing birdies”, as well as two 3-putts. 

Streaks of superlative play are not unknown at Troon, where Greg Norman started his 1989 final round charge with six straight birdies to roar into contention. His putter cooled off from there, but a 64 left him in a play-off with Mark Calcavecchia, who’d been staring down a top 16 finish until a slam-dunk pitch from the top of a mighty dune sparked momentum. In such moments, careers change course, but Norman was by now familiar with the cruel twists of major championship fate.

Four years later, at Royal St George’s, another closing 64 would secure his second Open, though that year was also notable for the pedigree of the players chasing Norman down, which included Ernie Els, Nick Faldo and Corey Pavin. At the 14th - “Suez” - Bernhard Langer would change his well-rehearsed game plan and hit driver instead of 3-wood, and his ball would come to rest on the turf of Prince’s, last involved in an Open in 1932. The winner that year, Gene Sarazen, was present at 91, and later called it “the greatest championship in all my 70 years in golf”. Langer would term Norman’s golf “invincible”, and so it was, that week at least.

Royal St George’s breeds drama, it seems. In 1949, Harry Bradshaw’s ball came to rest against a discarded bottle, and the Irishman - unaware of his right to a drop - could only shift the ball a few yards, effectively wasting a stroke. After 72 holes he would finish in a tie, and lose the subsequent play-off to Bobby Locke, but the memory of that incident would haunt Bradshaw. 

Ten years on from the Norman conquest, Ben Curtis would lift the claret jug in Sandwich, on his first appearance in a major, but not before a devastating collapse from Thomas Bjorn, who dropped four between the 15th and 17th. And spare a thought for Mark Roe, who along with Jasper Parnevik forgot to swap cards and was promptly disqualified. Roe would have played alongside Tiger Woods for that final round, tied 3rd overnight. 

Rules have also been a dramatic factor at Royal Lytham. Alongside the murky business of a ball search and an improved lie for 1974’s winner, Gary Player, it was also at Lytham in 2001 that Ian Woosnam’s caddie spotted a spare driver in the bag on the 2nd tee. Woosie’s opening birdie became a bogey, and despite a spirited charge, he never caught David Duval.

Eleven years later, Adam Scott seemed destined to lift a first major trophy, after a flawless first 68 holes. But four straight bogeys would leave a shell-shocked Scott behind Ernie Els, the last name on a list of great champions at Royal Lytham. We often think of Seve, starting and finishing his haul of five majors in front of the clubhouse, via a grassy overflow car park. But also hanging in the cabinet atop the stairs are weapons used to win here from Bobby Locke, Peter Thomson, and, of course, the greatest amateur, R.T. Jones Jr. A plaque in one of Lytham’s 174 bunkers recalls Jones’ heroic mashie-niblick on the 17th, which his putter Calamity Jane duly converted. 

Talking of putters, and of calamity, Royal Portrush’s first Open was won by Max Faulkner, who started providing signatures with the legend “1951 Open Champion” before the final round. Less loyal to putters than Jones, Faulkner chose one of his 300-odd stash and his 6-shot lead began to dwindle, hanging on to win his only claret jug by 2 from Antonia Cerda, who, after his two at the treacherous 14th (“Calamity Corner”), double-bogeyed the 16th. Faulkner would later say "It was all I ever wanted. The Open meant everything to me.”

For reasons way beyond golf, the Irish golfing public would have to wait another 68 years for the Open to return, and it was fitting that an Irishman, Shane Lowry, would exhibit the sort of linksy shotmaking required in damp and blustery conditions. Soon afterwards, it was confirmed that The Open will again grace the Antrim coast in 2025, and no doubt more drama will unfold in that edition, over one of Harry Colt’s finest creations.

Muirfield might well be the players’ favourite, another layout whose brilliance we owe primarily to Colt, and it was here in 1987 that Nick Faldo became the first English winner since Jacklin, back at Lytham in 1969. Somehow, Faldo’s final round of 18 straight pars seemed to cement Muirfield’s reputation as a fair and balanced test, his final putt seeing off the challenge of Paul Azinger. But Jacklin might have a different take on the links after another battle with his nemesis Trevino, in 1972. The Mexican would sometimes not bother putting, instead chipping in at regular intervals - his hammer blow on the penultimate hole was the third that Jacklin had endured in two days, and all but secured his successful defence - a rare achievement. A 3-putt followed, along with another 2nd place, and Jacklin would himself admit he never really recovered from those moments.  

Jones had successfully defended his own title at St Andrews in 1927, 6 years after walking off the course in disgust after taking 4 to escape Hill Bunker. In that time, Jones had mellowed, and come to adore the Old Course, whose 10th now bears his name. He would later say “the more you study it, the more you love it, and the more you love it, the more you study it”. At this point in my research, I feel the same way about The Open itself. 

In 1930, Jones would arrive at Royal Liverpool having won The Amateur at St Andrews 3 weeks before, and Hoylake’s glorious history would be punctuated by stage 2 of Jones’ “Impregnable Quadrilateral”, a term coined by George Trevor, who felt that “Grand Slam” wasn’t grand enough to describe Jones’ final competitive season. In modern times, Tiger Woods would hold all four professional majors after claiming the 2001 Green Jacket, and 5 years later would stamp his name across Hoylake’s history with an imperial display of shotmaking. Tiger’s driver would only emerge once across 72 holes, and whether that was a function of supreme self-control or, as some have said, the fact that his driving was erratic, the iron play that resulted was a thing of wonder. 

Hoylake would again host The Open in 2014 and 2023, and it was in the former that Rory McIlroy would claim stage 3 of a career Grand Slam that still awaits the final chapter. Rory would start with two 66’s, and lead from tape to tape with Ricky Fowler and Sergio Garcia 2 behind at the end. 

Garcia had featured in a play-off with arch-rival Padraig Harrington up at Carnoustie back in 2007, after missing a short putt for outright victory on the 72nd hole. But if we were to try and evoke the drama of The Open in a single photograph, or provide the clearest example of “Disaster”, it would be hard to look beyond the smile of Jean van de Velde with his trouser legs rolled up as he stood in the Barry Burn, halfway through a final-hole meltdown. His triple bogey would result in a playoff won by local hero Paul Lawrie, whose play over those four holes was as magnificent as that of the Frenchman over the first 71 holes. Triumph and Disaster once more, but van de Velde’s later peace with the way things turned out is one of the things that make golf, and Open golf, so precious. 

Carnoustie was also the stage upon which the great Ben Hogan made his only appearance on these shores, his 1953 triumph notable for his continual improvement round on round, and because it was his 3rd straight major. Denied his own Grand Slam as the USPGA and Open clashed, Hogan nevertheless won the 3 majors he could enter by a cumulative 15 shots. 

Harrington would be on the verge of pulling out of his title defence in 2008, amidst the wild dunes of Royal Birkdale, but the pain of his wrist injury was just about bearable, and we came to believe his statement that “I don’t fear losing. It doesn’t scare me at all” after watching his 278-yard 5 wood roll up for eagle on the 17th. His courage ended the extraordinary charge at a third Open by the 53 year old Greg Norman, who led overnight. It seemed unthinkable that someone in their sixth decade could still win; after all, even Old Tom’s last triumph came at 46. But for most of that glorious weekend, Norman was in the hunt, which paved the way for another memorable display of midlife ambition the following July, taking us back where we started, to Turnberry.

32 years after holing that short putt to edge out Nicklaus, Watson was on the brink again, just 9 months after a hip replacement. Standing on the tee of the final hole - named “Duel in the Sun” to commemorate his earlier triumph - he needed just a par to join Vardon as a 6-time winner, in his 60th year. His drive would once again hit the fairway, and as a flushed 5 iron soared above the green, it felt like magic was in the air. But his second landed hard and skipped on, and when he made 5, the whole world knew the chance was gone, and Stewart Cink took the playoff and that year’s jug home with him. 

But perhaps the Open, and the courses on which it is played, still proved a point in the near misses of ageing Champions Norman and Watson. For links golf is about more than brute force; it is the thinking golfer’s domain, and the fact that such challenges could still be made decades after their prime surely proves this great tournament’s importance in the game. It is somehow more than still relevant; the Open is integral to golf at the highest level, and the pedigree of the venues the critical factor.

This has been a rollercoaster ride, which has only touched the surface of decades of Open drama. But can we use drama to rank the courses? I think not, on reflection. For they are all connected for me; all temples where the true spirit of golf resides. A handful of regional stages for the game’s greatest actors; Triumph and Disaster in unequal measures. But watching clips to refresh these sepia-tinged memories of sport’s ultimate trial brings me back to those two warriors, squinting into the sun as it descends towards Ailsa Craig. 

Watson turned to Nicklaus and said, “this is what it’s all about isn’t it?”

Jack’s answer was as perfect as their golf. “You bet it is”.