Carrying on a school tradition, Giggleswick students lent a hand at the 137th British Open. Photo: Richard Heathcote/Getty Images
The wind had been forecast to die down some, but as Norman and Harrington got underway, it continued to howl. Norman got off to a rough start, three consecutive bogey 5s placed in his slot on the leader board. The onlookers noticed.
"He's choking already," said one man.
"Blowing it early, he is," said another.
"Sad to see," added a third.
But Harrington finished the front nine as poorly as Norman began it, with three straight bogeys. With nine holes remaining, Norman had a one-shot lead. Either history or heartbreak, one of the two, was about to occur.
Fifty might be the new 30 on the course and off these days, but when it comes to championship golf, the odds against a senior winning a major haven't changed much from the hickory to steel to graphite eras of the game -- they are still immensely high. The hurdles that were too high for 50-year-old Harry Vardon in the 1920 U.S. Open (who led by four shots on the final nine), Julius Boros (who was in front after 62 holes at Oakmont in the 1973 U.S. Open when he was 53) and Jack Nicklaus (58 when he dared to threaten at the 1998 Masters, less than a year away from a hip replacement) remain.
Norman's valiant run and T-3 finish long will be remembered, but it also should cause a tip of a straw hat to Sam Snead -- who enjoyed nine top-10 finishes in majors when he was 50 or older, three of those after his 60th birthday -- and of an Amana cap to Boros, who remains, at 48 in the 1968 PGA Championship, the oldest player to win a major.
Watson had the claret jug on loan so often he came to know how much the thin brass handle of its case pinched one's hand carrying it. It is, as they say, a nice problem to have. Harrington carried a two-stroke lead over Ian Poulter into the par-5 17th hole and departed it with a four-shot bulge. When you strike a 249-yard 5-wood to four feet and make the eagle putt, there is something a lot more magical than luck of the Irish going on. Near the leader board, a group of junior golfers from Spain laughed and talked, and a few of them made practice swings with their umbrellas, but hardly anyone noticed when one of the Giggleswick kids posted the decisive 3.
Harrington gave a gracious speech for the second straight year at the prize-giving ceremony, during which he cradled the trophy easily in his left arm, the spoils of a pretty good knock of his own. He did a long interview, during which his wife, Caroline, presented herself at the press room door. At that moment, three words -- "I'm Padraig's wife" -- worked better than any all-access badge.
As day became night, the wind rippled the canvas big top of the media tent and caused its metal supports to moan in random bursts, muffling the furious tapping on dozens of laptop keyboards. The gusts -- which didn't listen to the weatherman's forecast any better Sunday than the golf gods heard Norman -- seemed to insist on having the last word.
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