Flat-Screening Golf

Collin Morikawa wins Claret Jug PHOTO:SI

                                   

I once told a friend, 

a fan of bicycle road racing, that as a spectator, I was not enamored of that sport. “I cannot get too enthusiastic about watching bicycles race down the street,” I offered in a kill-joy kind of way.

I should talk. I spent this weekend plopped in front of the flat screen watching golf.

This was not ordinary golf -- admittedly as exciting to watch as grass grow -- but the 149th edition of The Open from Sandwich, England. This was old-school stuff with a modern spin.

No manicured parkland trees and flowers, but weather-beaten links that are as elusive to look at as they are to play golf on; foolers of the eyes. A stray ball can be hidden for years.

"It takes a creative mind," said one of the broadcasters.

The ball can bounce in any direction and have you seen those bunkers? Originally naturally occurring hideouts for grazing sheep seeking shelter, bunkers of the old country are steep-sided pot holes that are as difficult to climb into as they are impossible to hit a ball out of.

Golfers of the links confront such obstacles, as well as the stability of their own minds. Not to mention the crazy, unpredictable weather with winds that can knock over an elephant. Notice the landscape is devoid of trees. Beware of thick grass and thorny gorse.

Jordan Spieth blasts out of bunker on 16th hole PHOTO:GW

The diabolical essence of the game -- it's not really a sport -- comes into focus when the world of television viewers are invited to England, Scotland or Ireland for the The Open (unofficially, The British Open). Ten golf courses make up the rotation, or rota, for The Open.

Watching golf inevitably gets me on my feet to practice my swing, typically by flailing my arms around the room pretending that I'm holding a golf club and making my dog nervous.

It is dangerous.

Most frightening, however, are the mental breakdowns of the players, some of whom lose all manner of confidence. Have you ever heard of David Duvall? Once the number one player in the world, Duvall was reduced to melted butter during a round of The Open, never again to pull his game back together.

The late British writer Alister Cooke called golf a penance of the Scots.

Saturday, at the Royal St. George Golf Links, as golfer Jordan Spieth was shooting birdies as if they were fish in a barrel making a run for the tournament lead, he suddenly bogeyed (1 over par) the 17th hole and then on the 18th missed a putt of one-and-a-half feet for par. That's 18-inches, the size of a large man's foot. The look on his face was devastating. He ran away from the green to avoid the press and find his guru.

The weather, which typically wreaks havoc at The Open, had nothing to do with Jordan's unfortunate flub. The conditions at Sandwich were splendid, high 60-degrees and into the 70s on Sunday.

"The warmest we've ever seen it," said a broadcaster.  Global warming? Another Scottish trick? 

TV viewers saw shots of rarely blue Sandwich Bay and the tiny, picturesque town of Sandwich, the white cliffs of Dover, and a long stretch of sandy beach next to the links.

"Look at the beach, honey!" I exclaimed to my wife, attempting to prove that there's more to watching golf than a little white ball.

"Yes, there's nobody on it," she replied, referring to the northerly temperatures.

"Everybody's at the golf tournament," I explained.

"Look, there's a golfer with a bun," I pointed out. She seems to like the hair-in-a-knot-on-top-of-the- head look. I can't do that. 

Today's golf pros are sporting beards and buns.

Meanwhile, a 24-year-old playing his first Open, was quietly rising up the leaderboard, Collin Morikawa. The same guy who won the PGA Tournament, another of the four US majors. I mentioned him in my blog of August 10, 2020, calling him golf's new hero.

Sure enough, Morikawa emerged from a close pack of golfers to take the lead over the final holes, with Jordan creeping up on him, both players making birdies. Collin held his composure and the lead, besting Jordan by two strokes (those two bogies?), having his name engraved on the coveted silver Claret Jug that goes to the winner.

He played his final 31 holes bogey free, an incredible feat.

"We'll be seeing more of him," said a broadcaster. "He's only played in eight majors and he's won two of them. That's one-quarter of those played. He shows the maturity of someone much older."

Collin's acceptance speech proved this point. He thanked everyone including the spectators, announced it was his caddie's birthday, had the gallery singing "happy birthday." Articulate, no fumbling or bumbling, as smooth as his game.

Next year's Open, the 150th anniversary, will be played at St. Andrews Old Course, the cradle of golf, in St. Andrews, Scotland. Collin will be there. I trust I'll be in front of a flat-screen to watch the drama, devastation, hair-dos and don'ts.