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Saturday, July 19, 2008
Woods, not drama, out at Birkdale
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Rarely ever do so many fetching subjects rear their heads at the British Open, especially with Tiger Woods not even in town, and the only romantic interest on hand a 53-year-old who hasn’t played the tour in five years. Greg Norman is still in honeymoon stage, and his bride, Chris Evert, is oftimes within camera range. Royal Birkdale is one of three locations outside Scotland regularly visited by the British Open — Royal Lytham & St. Annes and Royal St. George the other two — and to some of us, not highly popular.
Let it not be ignored that in the minds of some, Royal Birkdale is known as “the fairest Open course of them all,” though I would humbly disagree. On my scale, I’d give the “fairest” edge to Muirfield, not just on the quality of pure architecture, but scenic pleasure and spectatorship. Birkdale nestles into the dunes shielding it from the furies of the Irish Sea, and there have been plenty of those this week. Walking it is for the athletic. A stretch of dunes rises between the course and the sea, and this serves also as one of the main arteries of spectators, who perch along the top of it like birds on a wire. You have to be part mountain goat and part Sherpa to navigate this dunesy course.
Before play began, the air was filled with apologetic references to Tiger Woods, the most publicized missing person since Amelia Earhart. After the shot-making began, and one player after another took turns on the screen, Woods gradually became a subject that gradually dwindled away. There has been, in my time, no Open with more headliners taking bows in the hearts and on the minds of television, and the persons scrambling about the dunes.
First out of the chute came Rocco Mediate — he just won’t go away — following up his U.S. Open heartbreak, then the AT&T at Bethesda, charging into the lead, looking surprised, almost apologetic, as is habit. Then Tom Watson calmly came along, but the headlines were reserved for the bridegroom, Norman. This was headline magazine stuff, the world’s onetime No. 1 player, now wed to the world’s onetime No. 1 tennis player, playing 20 years younger than his 53 years.
If that wasn’t enough, just hang around. Norman was only warming up. At a point in the second day, he took the lead by himself. After two rounds, he is at even par, which is 70. The Colombian Camilo Villegas, came along with the round of the championship, a 65, so near the top of the leaderboard we had two players a generation apart. Villegas is 26.
The course was extracting its pint of blood. The wind howled in gusts. The rain came down sideways. The sand was heavy. The bunkers attracted golf balls as if magnetized. It was an ugly day for outdoor exercise. Tiger was on nobody’s mind. Just getting inside, signing a scorecard and drying out was.
It has been 11 years since the Open stopped at Birkdale. It may be “royal,” but the clubhouse looks like something transplanted from Miami Beach. Royal Birkdale is located in the town of Southport, a beach port a few decades behind in modern conveniences. Accomodations are sparse and sparser. One year I was booked in a room that overlooked the Stakley Truck Rental lot. The luxury meal was a Big Mac at McDonald’s with Tim Simpson and Andy Bean. Another year my accommodations were at the home of a policewoman. I arrived at 10 a.m. after an all-night flight. She didn’t get home until six. Oh, yes, I could tell you some tales about other commodious Open experiences.
Don’t get the wrong idea. I love the Open. I love it best in Scotland, though. Enduring the hardships only makes you appreciate the luxuries of home, even if the price of fuel is high and the dollar is worth about half a Euro. Moving into the weekend of play at Royal Birkdale, without the hovering threat of Tiger, makes it all the more enthralling. Who knows, Villegas might win it. Mediate might. Graeme McDowell or K.J. Choi might. I’m pretty certain Greg Norman won’t.
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