The British Open has been completed and Adam Scott choked like many golfers have done previously. Scott’s capitulation is no new scenario in golf; many championships have been lost on the back nine.
There is empathy for the player but there is a distance between the unfolding events and the viewer which dulls the severity of what is occurring. Several thousand miles, different timezones and a TV screen remove the average punter from the carnage that is ensuing.
For example, there is a completely different feeling watching Greg Inglis decapitate someone on TV than seeing it in person. From the sidelines the sickening crunch of bones and ligaments being stretched, broken or disintegrated is audible. A spectator can hear the severity of the hit. This is not portrayed through television.
Therefore, Scott bumbling his way to second place could be shaken off and little effect imparted to the viewer and sporting public.
It does not help that Scott appears to have the perfect life which the average sports fan can not relate to. He almost seems too perfect.
He is good looking, well dressed, eloquent and has a stunning, athletic girlfriend. All the things people want in life but rarely attain.
Oddly enough the Open provided one sporting event which crossed this television boundary like few others. The stumbling of one particular golfer could be felt by the spectators present and those viewing through another medium.
It was when Tom Watson almost happened.
2009 had the chance to fulfill the underdog urge for generations to come. That constant search for the ultimate battler was almost complete, like a surfer finding the perfect wave.
Tom Watson was 59 and won his first Open 32 years earlier. He was playing against people that were the same age as his kids. He had no shot of winning; most of the younger generation had no idea who he was.
By the final round the general public could be forgiven for believing Watson was their uncle, granddad or even a father figure. His sultry, quietly spoken voice was reminiscent of a father reading to their child to induce a cradle-song coma.
There was a comforting feeling to the way he spoke, a strong voice that, after the third round, told you everything was going to be ok. He was not going to be the Greg Norman of the year before.
He carried himself with a level of dignity and respect for the game that endeared spectators to him.
Upon spraying an iron shot into the green side rough he would simply tap his divot back into place. He would hand the club to his caddy, smirk and walk on with his head bowed, hands in pockets and shoulders slightly stooped. He painted the perfect picture of an old man content with life taking an afternoon walk.
This led to what occurred during those final three holes and resulting playoff all the more painful. It was like having to put Bambi down yourself.
Watching the lead slip out of his grasp and losing the playoff was a tragedy of sport. It is not often that the winner of a major, Cink, is met with muffled applause and a somber mood. The crowd was not begrudging Cink the victory; they had invested so much emotionally in the event that they too were warn out.
Upon losing he still found humor and was graceful in defeat showing the character of a man that the golfing world had re-fallen in love with. He walked into the press conference, saw sagging shoulders, glum faces and broke the ice by saying “This aint a funeral, you know.”
In the space of four days Tom Watson took us on an emotional roller coaster and proved that age in golf, to a certain degree, may not be such a barrier.
Tom Watson reminded everyone why he was loved in the first place. His style, mannerisms and dry humor appeared to transcend generations. He is not only a great golfer but also someone who is a role model for young golfers that parents would actually be content with.
Every time the Open is played this moment, or lack of it, will be mentioned as both one of the top ten greatest and worst moments of Open history.
Sadly the perfect story that could have been, will become the greatest “what-if.”
We did not get our fairytale ending and our lust for the ultimate underdog continues. But what we got were memories of a man who almost blew up the sporting world.
Tom Watson can be summed up by his reaction to being asked why he did not change to a belly putter to improve his putting. He narrowed his eyes, gave the Tom Watson stare that had been directed at the likes of Jack Nicklaus and said, “It’s not golf.”
Maybe Scott should have listened; after all it was the belly putter that failed him on the last two holes.
Scott will go down in history as a man that choked but it will pale in comparison to the effect that Tom Watson had on the history of the Open. There have been far worse capitulations, even by Australian golfers, in majors.
He is still young enough to be competitive for an extended period of time and maybe this is why it did not hurt so much. There is still time. He has another chance.
For Tom there was no hope. That was his shot at immortality. Perhaps he will be remembered for all the wrong reasons, but remembered nonetheless. Watson almost happened and it crushed the sporting world.
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