As the challengers fell away on Sunday afternoon it looked like it was going to be a case of last man standing. Then Padraig Harrington reminded us why he is such a great champion. Harrington was four under for the last six holes and that included some of the best golf of the week. And his five wood into the 17th green was the shot of the championship – perhaps the finest shot in an Open for sometime.

That shot confirmed what, by then, we already suspected. Harrington, dogged, determined and inspired in equal measure, was going to retain his crown. In doing so he became the first European since James Braid to win back to back Claret Jugs.

James Braid clinched his back to back victories at St Andrews in 1905 and Muirfield in 1906. He’d already won at Muirfield in 1901 and went to capture two more titles at Prestwick in 1908 and St Andrews in 1910. That’s a record Harrington might like to emulate.

Like Harrington, Braid could actually be called a late starter: Harry Vardon and John Henry (JH) Taylor – Braid’s colleagues in golf’s Great Triumvirate – had won three Opens apiece before Braid won in 1901. In fact they had both won back to back triumphs: Taylor in 1893 and 1894 and Vardon in 1898 and 1899.

James Braid was born in Fife. Despite their proximity to the Home of Golf his parents displayed little interest in the game and the young James was taught by his older cousins. Trained as a carpenter, and skilled in finding and refining discarded second hand clubs, Braid developed his trademark style of forceful golf at the Elie links.

As an amateur he was offered the post of clubmaker at the Army and Navy in London. His success in the role, combined with good results in amateur tournaments, persuaded him to turn professional in 1896. He immediately made his presence felt on the professional circuit and finished second behind the English amateur Harold Hilton in the 1897 Open.

Like so many golfers before and after him, however, Braid’s fine long game was let down by a distinct lack of reliability on the greens. That changed when he cast off his wooden putter and began using a new aluminium model.

The simple change of equipment sparked a phenomenal 12 year stretch that included those 5 Open wins, another runner up place in 1909 and British PGA victories in 1903, 1905, 1907 and 1911.

Braid retired from competitive play in 1912 and became professional at Walton Heath in Surrey, where he remained until his death in 1950. As a course designer Braid was the architect of the Kings and Queens Courses at Gleneagles and helped remodel Carnoustie. It is thought that he designed or redesigned some 200 courses in Britain: although much sought after he was unable to work in America because of a fear of flying and motion sickness. He is also credited with inventing the “dogleg.”

As the Great Triumvirate Braid, Vardon and Taylor won 16 Opens between them and were instrumental in establishing the model of the modern professional golfer in Britain. Braid himself was a founder member, and later president, of the British PGA.

His great friend and rival JH Taylor described James Braid as “loyal, trustworthy and sincere.” Braid was a true giant of the game. To follow in his footsteps is to walk in exalted company. After the last week Padraig Harrington does not look out of place in Braid’s shadow.

Should we be dismissing this Open already? No Tiger Woods. No sunshine. No low scores (Camilo Villegas and his awe inspiring 65 aside). Will 2008 turn out to be an Open aberration? Will we be whispering shamefacedly about this like we do about Carnoustie ’99 or day three at Muirfield in 2002?

Of course we won’t. Or at least I won’t. Sure the weather’s grim and it must be a bit miserable for spectators (What’s the best way in this weather? Tramp over the course or choose a grandstand and give the rain a sitting target?) but, get this, golf is an outdoor sport.

If you play an outdoor sport in Britain – even by the sea in July – you’re going to get your fair share of wind and rain at some point.

The scores aren’t great. But it’s a bit like watching football: if you see Manchester United beat Grimsby 10-0 at a sunny Old Trafford you can be left speechless by their attacking verve and scoring genius. But if you see Manchester United grittily grind out a result against Chelsea with the rain lashing down at Stamford Bridge on a Tuesday night you can be equally impressed by their resoluteness, their determination to get the job done.

So it is in golf. Bobby Jones used to talk about his battles with old king par. The battle is the same at a blustery Birkdale or a sunny St Andrews. It’s how you win the battle that is different.

Some of the shots made yesterday were fantastic. Some of them weren’t so great. Some of the players pulled down their hats, zipped up their waterproofs and got on with it. Others looked out of place and miserable. So be it. That happens.

Ernie Els and Phil Mickelson struggled. There is a reason for that: neither is close to being in their best form. They can paper over those cracks when everything is perfect but, as they showed yesterday, that’s a lot more difficult with the wind and rain lashing at your swing.

Greg Norman has been the star of the show so far. At 53, newly married, friends with at least one President and, essentially, the full time of CEO of his own company, Norman hardly plays the game. But he rolled back the years. Why? Because he has nothing to prove, because his game is not dictated by coaches, analysts and psychologists. A strong wind can’t throw all his preparations into meltdown.

Tom Watson is another. Old school, gritty, determined, Watson can do no more about the weather than he can roll back the hands of time. So he just puts the head down and gets on with it. Not the worst weather Tom has played in. No, that was Muirfield, 1980, first round. He shot 68. Take that, all you young guns.

Padraig Harrington is another great story: rated only 50-50 to play, unable to complete a practice round on Wednesday, scared to shake the starter’s hand with his injured arm and playing in the worst of the weather. Rather easy to surrender to the conditions you’d have thought. But Harrington is defending champion and he wanted to show it. In the worst of the weather his 74 was brave and determined.

David Duval: the former champion, now languishing somewhere in the high 900’s of the world rankings, who woke up, looked out the window and said “oh, jeez.” And then shot a 73, which probably qualifies as his best competitive round for years.

Jean Van de Velde: A 73 on Thursday and a 71 on Friday to safely make the cut in his first Open since 2002. A plucky effort for a man so ravaged by injury that his aim each year is to make the Open and the French Open. Anything else is a bonus.

An unfair test? No, a different test for sure but one that still throws up surprises, inspiration and flashes of genius. To read some of the reports and listen to some of the commentators you would think that the weather has turned the Open into a lottery. Anyone who has ever played a links course in bad weather would tell you that that is not true.

Some holes will reward bravery. Some will reap rewards for going safe. Shots will change from hole to hole, a long iron here, a short iron there. Okay so it’s not golf as we normally recognise it but it’s still golf and it still takes guts, determination and a hell of a lot of skill.

And, more than that, it makes it compelling viewing. Because, thanks to the weather we have berated, we’re likely to have a whole heap of players in contention come Sunday and every single one of them will have a chance of nicking the Claret Jug.

So far, I am loving it. And, from the comfort of my armchair, I’m going to enjoy the rest of it as well. Whatever the weather.

As the the golfing world’s focus turns to the north west of England I turned my attentions, out of circumstance more than contrariness, to the north east coast.

In terms of global fame the courses of Northumberland and Newcastle might not be the in the same league as Royal Birkdal, Royal Lytham and Hoylake but the area is not short of history.

The coastal village of Alnmouth can boast the fourth oldest course in England – dating back to 1869 – and, just a short drive along the Northumberland coastal route, is the nine hole links of Warkworth. As good a place as any to base yourself on a trip to the area, the village of Warkworth offers more than its fair share of pubs, hotels and shops. Oh, and the course was designed by Old Tom Morris.

Old Tom actually planned the Warkworth links in 1891. That was, of course, the same year that he threw down a links in East Lothian called Muirfield. Not bad company for a little nine hole course to share.

I played on the kind of driech, drizzly day that Old Tom, at times every inch the dour Protestant of old Scotland, would have recognised as pay back for having the temerity for spending a working day on the golf course. The weather, although annoying, had certain benefits: I had the course to myself.

The course is challenging without being harsh. The first is a reasonably lengthy par three played down a cliff. You play along the front of the cliff for the second before the third, a severe dogleg par four, has you playing up the cliff with your drive to get position to play into a well protected green.

Jumping up another level takes you to the fourth tee and the breathtaking views (which I’m sure would be even better on a clear day). From there the course levels out but some long par fours and some intriguing tee positions mean this is a course that will have you thinking about every shot.

It’s well worth playing on after nine: although Warkworth has only nine greens there are 18 tees and the inward nine presents some entirely different shot making decisions as the whole line of a number holes is changed. A relaxing round in a lovely spot, Warkworth is well worth the £15 weekday price.

From Warkworth I travelled along the coast, getting ever closer to Newcastle. I endured a litany of disappointment: Newbiggin by the Sea was hosting a Senior’s Medal, Bedlington had no tee off times and, as I brought the weather with me, Blyth was closed.

So I pushed on to Newcastle where, in weather that ducks would balk at, I reacquainted myself with the public parklands course at Wallsend. I have some doubts about the long term damage that will be done to the course by allowing play to continue in such conditions but I was consoled by the knowledge that only me and around three other players had the guts (stupidity?) to carry on.

Wallsend is not the hardest course you will ever play but a few blind teeshots, well planned doglegs and lengthy par fives still provide a test. I enjoy playing in the rain occasionally and, with the greens receptive to almost any club, I put together a fine round. That alone made the £20 green fee a snip.

The final stop on my tour was the Parklands course next to Gosforth racecourse. It would be harsh of me to slag the course off. I was terrible. The course was great. And I can’t blame the course for the engagement party and all day barbeque that I sandwiched in between Wallsend and Parklands.

In actual fact Parklands is a fine looking course that would provide a fine, but fair, challenge for most golfers. That my round was marked by consistent mediocrity is my own fault. Some short par fours are raised from the mundane by small, well fortified greens that are quick enough to send a lot of pitches scurrying for cover in the rough.

Fairway bunkers are well placed and sensible shots will find their reward. At only £20 on weekdays Parklands is a real bargain – and you certainly get more for your money than you do at Wallsend.

A successful trip on some great courses. I’ll be back to play all three. And I will definitely be looking to get some revenge on Parklands.

One note of annoyance though. On the dogleg 12th at Wallsend I played a fine drive that, I could see from the tee, put me in an ideal position to play to the green. Unfortunately the gentleman playing the adjacent 14th managed to play my ball as he searched for his own errant drive. This is the second time this has happened to me in as many weeks – please, please check that the ball you’ve found is yours before you play!

We’ve all dreamed of playing in the Open. For most of us those dreams remain safely in our imaginations. A lucky few live the dream. Others drive themselves demented trying.

And the regional qualifying for the Open is a step on the road to those dreams. An obstacle to be overcome as you strive to get that one shot at glory. Some manage it. Some come agonisingly close. And some fail spectacularly.

And as spectacular failures go they don’t come much bigger than John Spreadborough’s disaster at Monktonhall near Edinburgh yesterday. It’s true that by taking part in the regional qualifier he got closer to Birkdale than most of us. But, by carding a 99, he missed out by a country mile. And he did it with people watching.

One, unnamed, Monktonhall official spoke of a nightmare swing that marked Spreadborough out as an impostor from the start. He carded a 13 at the seventh and an 11 at the 12th. That 13 included three lost balls off the tee – despite the presence of ball spotters. An extended stay in a bunker caused the problems at the 12th.

Now I’ve not played Monktonhall for some time and I’m sure it would have been set up to prove a real challenge for the qualifiers. But I don’t think I’ve heard of anyone carding a 99 there, let alone a professional.

And a professional is what Spreadborough claimed to be. His playing partners didn’t complain and he wasn’t too slow so there was no question of officials stepping in and declaring his attempt at the big time a knock out. That at least allowed him to enjoy his purple patch: three closing birdies to guide him home in less than 100.

Of course it could have been an off day. The R&A are in no way suggesting that Spreadborough shouldn’t have been there. But stories like this do put everyone, and crucially the press, in mind of Maurice Flitcroft, the Open impostor par excellence.

Along with the emergence of Seve Ballesteros, Flitcroft was the big story at the 1976 Open. A crane driver and chain smoker Flitcroft had been hacking around some fields with a few clubs when he decided to enter some competitions. With no handicap he couldn’t play as an amateur so he declared himself professional. After that he tried to qualify for the Open: he scored a mighty 121, 49 over par.

Angered professionals demanded their entry fees back, they got their money, but they weren’t asked to explain how they failed to notice that his equipment amounted to a fake leather bag and half a set of clubs. Flitcroft tried again to qualify under a variety of assumed names including Gene Paceky and Gerald Hoppy. He was never successful.

Flitcroft himself said:

“I was looking to find fame and fortune, but only achieved one of the two. I was in show business. I toured with a revue, and I used to jump into a tank on the stage, I was a stuntcomedy high diver. The revue used to tour all the country and I would dive into this tank. It wasn’t all glass, just the front so the spectators could see what was going on under the water.”

His golf, it would seem, was another way of finding fame through public humiliation. But Flitcroft’s name lived on. The Blythfield County Golf Club in Grand Rapids called a tournament (featuring greens with extra large cups and some with two flags to make things easier) after him. They even flew him out to play in it. It’s not clear what the Americans made of the Barrow-in-Furness wide boy but Flitcroft told them it was the first time he and his wife had left the house together since their gas oven blew up.

Maurice Flitcroft left people fascinated by his audacity. But, unfortunately for hapless pro’s like John Spreadborugh, he also left a prism through which the very worst golfing failures are viewed.

I’m not a sports psychologist. So, I suppose, my opinion on this isn’t worth a damn. But here goes.

I would argue that Tiger’s enforced absence (the rehabilitation of the knee has begun – could the superman of world sport return quicker than we expected?) represents an opportunity for the rest of the field. An opportunity to win a devalued major? Possibly, but hey, I’d take a major if the rest of the field were playing with one leg, one arm and a blindfold. Bet a lot of us would.

A glance down the top tens at The Masters and The US Open throws up three unlikely names as the form players in this years majors (after Woods is removed from the equation): Miguel Angel Jiminez, Robert Karlsson and Brandt Snedeker.

Those three have posted two top ten finishes each in this years majors. They’ve shown consistency in the toughest arenas. Theoretically the next two majors are golden opportunities for that disparate triumvirate.

But my guess is they won’t be hogging the limelight in the run up to Birkdale this year. And this is where my cod psychology thesis comes in: step forward Philip Alfred Mickelson. The world number two is a whole lot of ranking points and a whole lot of majors behind Tiger.

But with no Tiger what can we expect from Phil? I would argue that this is Phil’s great opportunity, his last opportunity, to put a dent in Tiger’s armour.

Let’s imagine this summer: an inspired Mickleson takes his first Open and his second USPGA. He’s now won five majors. At the Ryder Cup, free from his nemesis, he becomes the talisman of a victorious US team that reignites the event as a contest.

Then Tiger returns, ring rusty and missing the home comforts that he has become used to. Mickleson, still revelling in the momentum of his Tiger free winning spree, is free of the inferiority complex that has damaged his challenge. He squares up to the Tiger. He beats him. It’s game on and Tiger no longer has everything his own way.

Suddenly Mickleson would be a real challenger to Tiger’s greatness. Tiger would have to raise his game. The two greatest golfers in the world, sparking off each other, feeding off each other’s exploits. Woods as golf’s Roger Federer. Mickelson, reinvigorated, as the Rafael Nadal of the links. Woods with the competition his genius deserves, Mickelson with the claim to greatness he craves, golf with the top level rivalry it longs for.

Can it happen? It could. Much was made in the run up to the US Open that Torrey Pines was Mickelson’s home course. It must, then, have hurt him to see Tiger “Hopalong” Woods claim the title, the glory and the status of Superman.

What better way to show that he’s got over it than to come out fighting and take his first Open. And that might be all it takes. The rest of this year will see Barack Obama and John McCain fight it out to gain momentum. Momentum is as crucial in politics (“the big mo” I believe they call it) as it in sport. For Phil an Open victory might be the spark that presidential hopefuls spend millions trying to find.

And, for Mickelson, 2008 is different. If he can start the momentum at Birkdale there is no Tiger shaped obstacle in the way. The tiny snowball can be a bloody great boulder by the time Tiger returns. Woods on the backfoot, Mickelson driving forward. It’s a mouthwatering prospect.

And if Phil misses the boat this time? Then that’s it I’m afraid. Maybe a couple more big wins here and there. Warm applause and rueful shakes of the head. Appreciation of what he’s achieved, sorrow over what he’s failed to do. And then someone else will come along and Mickelson won’t be number two anymore. And Tiger will pretty much have the history books to himself.

Success in sport can be a fickle mistress. Whatever the record books say there is very rarely an undisputed champion. Allan Wells won the 1980 100m gold at the Olympics. But the Americans weren’t there so, for some, it is an achievement forever diminished (that Wells went on to beat them all weeks later is not dwelled on.) Tim Henman got to six Grand Slam semi finals and was number four in the world. But he never won Wimbledon and there were always, at least, three players better than him the world. So he’s a failure.

Such is the lot of the only man to have won three consecutive Opens in the last century. He is not considered a true great because four of his wins came at a time when few Americans accepted the challenge of the British links.

Peter Thompson, however, was a great champion and he triumphed in an age of other great champions. And this year the Open rota returns to the scene of his first and last championship wins.

In 1954 Thompson won the first of his Opens at Royal Birkdale. It’s true that Ben Hogan didn’t turn up to defend his title. But Thompson held off the challenge of, amongst others, Bobby Locke to claim the Claret Jug. Locke was no slouch: he won the Open in 1949, 1950, 1952 and again in 1957.

Thompson, born in Melbourne on the eve of the Great Depression, found his true calling at the Open. In 1952 and 1953 he was second. He followed the Birkdale triumph with wins in 1955 and 1956. Then he “slumped” to second behind the imperious Locke in 1957 before winning again in 1958. A seven year stretch of finishing no worse than second. Not a bad record.

But he wasn’t playing the leading American. The currency of his domination was devalued. And it’s true that he didn’t find full time life on the PGA Tour to his liking. Although, in 1956, he did manage to finish ninth on the American money list. And he only played in nine tournaments.

In 1965, however, golf was changing. Gary Player had become the international golfer par excellence. Arnold Palmer had cultivated a transatlantic army and won back to back Opens in the early 1960’s. Tony Lema had won the 1965 Open. A chubby young guy called Jack Nicklaus was in the process of redefining the game.

Thompson, the man who dominated as American pro’s basked in splendid isolation, was ageing. He shouldn’t have had much of a chance against the new kids on the block. But he was back home at Birkdale. And not only did he have a chance, he wiped the floor with them to claim his fifth and final Open Championship.

The myth of the Australian who couldn’t beat the Yanks was put to bed. He didn’t just beat the Yanks he beat the very best of them.

Even without that victory it’s impossible to argue with his record. From 1951 to 1971 he finished outside the top ten on only three occasions and, in that period, never finished outside the top 25. As records in a major go that takes some beating.

It was his victories though that proved his brilliance and his mastery of the oldest championship of the lot. It is a record that only Harry Vardon has beaten and only JH Taylor, James Braid and Tom Watson have equalled. A pantheon of greatness that Thompson deserves to be bracketed in.

There will be more than a few Europeans who arrive at Birkdale this year with their eye on getting a chance to have a pop at the best America has to offer. They might like to remember the story of the unassuming Australian who proved that, when it comes to staking a claim for greatness, Birkdale is as good a place as any to start.

With Alistair Forsyth and Colin Montgomerie slugging it out over the gargantuan Torrey Pines South layout this week it is easy to forget the early dominance Scotland enjoyed as golf developed into a transatlantic obsession.

Scottish golfers won 12 of the first 16 US Opens and Willie McFarlane added another in 1925. Perhaps Scotland’s most famous export in those early days, however, was Tommy Armour.

Armour’s US Open victory in 1927, coupled with his 1930 USPGA and 1931 Open wins, provided, if not the full stop, then certainly a very heavy comma on Scotland’s pretensions as a dominant nation in the game.

When Tommy Armour’s major winning days ended the Scottish nation looked around and the home of golf suddenly found that the game itself had flown the nest.

Armour, known as the Silver Scot, actually took American citizenship but he was born in Edinburgh. He went on to receive his education at Edinburgh’s Fettes College, alma mater of both the fictional James Bond and the very real Tony Blair, before being accepted at Edinburgh University.

The outbreak of the Great War was both an opportunity and a trauma for Armour. Rising through the posts of the Tanks Corp he was promoted from a rank and file private to a staff major. Dashing, gallant and handsome, Armour’s bravery won him an audience with the King.

But a mustard gas explosion left him blind in one eye and metal plates were inserted into his head and left arm. During a long convalescence he regained his sight and began playing golf. By 1920 he was proficient enough to win the French Amateur Championship and the cache of that title persuaded him he could make a name for himself in America.

Finding favour with the dominant professional golfer of the time, Walter Hagan (who he met on the trip across the Atlantic), Tommy Armour quickly found employment at the Westchester-Biltmore Club in North Carolina. In 1924 he joined Hagan as a professional golfer. Like the charming, incorrigible Sir Walt, Armour made a good living as a teaching professional and combined that with playing on the burgeoning professional tour.

That 1927 Major breakthrough, in a play off against Harry Cooper at Oakmont, proved Armour’s skill although his prowess, especially his 1930 USPGA win, was often overshadowed by the exploits of, amongst others his mentor Hagen and the incomparable Bobby Jones.

The fickleness of golf is, perhaps, most strikingly illustrated by Armour’s experience in the 1927 Shawnee Open. Crowned US Open champion just one week before Armour carded the first ever recorded “Archaeopteryx.” Or, in simple terms, he took an 18 over par 23 on a par five.

In 1935 Armour retired from major competition, although he proved a formiddable fundraising draw on exhibition tours during the Second World War, and taught golf at Florida’s Boca Raton Club. Charging $50 a lesson Armour saw celebrities and professionals queue up to be appraised by his keen eye.

In 1952 Armour produced another lasting gift for golf when wrote How to Play Your Best Golf – an instructional classic that is still read, enjoyed and lived by today. Less endearingly he also gave birth to the term the “yips” stating bluntly “once you’ve had ‘em, you’ve got ‘em.”

Armour summed up the professional golfers life:

“It is not solely the capacity to make great shots that makes champions, but the essential quality of making very few bad shots.”

And the writer Ross Goodner summed up the qualities that made him famous:

“At one time or another, he was known as the greatest iron player, the greatest raconteur, the greatest drinker and the greatest and most expensive teacher in golf.”

After a long and lucrative retirement Tommy Armour died in 1968. Shared by both Scotland and America he summed up the pioneering spirit of those early professionals and, through his writing, shared his love of golf throughout the world.

As the cream of European golf descends on Torrey Pines’ formidable South Course this week they will be chasing a milestone. Any European victory will put to rest a 38 year hoodoo that has seen every European attempt to taste victory in the US Open end in failure.

Since Tony Jacklin clinched the 1970 US Open at Hazeltine many have tried, some have come close, but none have triumphed. Nick Faldo managed four top ten finishes but could get no closer than a play off defeat in 1988. Sandy Lyle in his pomp could manage no better than a tie for 16th. Ian Woosnam finished second in 1989, Seve finished third, fourth and fifth and Bernhard Langer got no closer than fourth.

More recently Miguel Angel Jiminez finished second in 2000 but he was 15 shots behind Tiger Woods.

And, of course, Monty has come so very close so often. In 1992 Jack Nicklaus had all but awarded Montgomerie the title before Tom Kite and Jeff Sluman relegated him to third. In 1994, 1997 and 2006. In 1997 he played, perhaps, the finest golf of his career but a missed putt on the final green handed Ernie Els victory.

And so the search goes on. But in 1970 European golf seemed to be full of optimism. After capturing the Open in 1969, and inspiring Great Britain and Ireland to a Ryder Cup draw the same year, Jacklin destroyed the field.

Leading from the start he eventually romped to a seven shot victory over American Dave Hill. Only Tiger Woods freakish display of genius in 2000 has ever secured a larger winning margin. Jacklin’s Open victory was the first by a Brit in 18 years – his US Open title was the first by a European since Tommy Armour in 1927.

Jacklin had the world at his feet. He had earned the respect of the dominant beast in golf’s jungle – giving rise to a friendship that has proved so enduring that Jack Nicklaus chose to honour him at the recent Memorial Tournament.

If Jacklin wasn’t sparking a revival he was at least taking the fight across the pond. He was the standard bearer for a new era. Two years later it all came tumbling down. In the 1972 Open at Muirfield Jacklin lost out to Lee Trevino. The American, improbably, wonderfully, luckily, chipped in five times during the final round.

Years later Jacklin was to write: “My psyche was too fragile. In fact, what Trevino did not only ruined me for that day, it ruined me forever.”

It took another decade for the Big Five of European golf to reignite the torch that had slipped from Jacklin’s grasp on the East Lothian links.

Their dominance allowed for some redemption for Jacklin. As the conjurer who pulled their talents together he became Europe’s most successful and enduring Ryder Cup captain.

And, to this day, he stands alone as the last European to capture America’s Open.

May marks the 100th anniversary of the death of Old Tom Morris. For many Morris is merely a name in the record books. An Open winner in a time when it didn’t really mean that much.

But Morris was one of the pioneers that created the idea of a professional golfer as we understand it today. As a greenkeeper he remodelled the Old Course into the links that we recognise today. As a course designer he was involved with Muirfield, Carnoustie and, the original home of the Open, Prestwick.

As a tournament pro Morris won four Opens and formed formiddable partnerships with both Allan Robertson and his son Young Tom Morris. Many of these games were played for money, augmented by huge sidebets laid by gentleman golfers. The popularity of these games spread and turned golf into a major spectator sport. This fuelled its move across the border to England and, eventually, across the Atlantic.

Christian, upstanding and devoted to his family Morris was a respectable pro at a time when many of his rivals were seen as barflys and conmen. Loved and respected by the caddies he managed at St Andrews Morris made that rag bag collection of men into a more regimented and respected group.

We must also acknowledge Morris as the man who introduced modern greenkeeping, from the tending of putting surfaces to the maintenance of bunkers and hazards. He also played an integral role in the standardising of golf courses to the 18 holes we play today.

Morris also endured heartache. His first born son died in infancy. Another son was disabled from birth. And, most famously, his second son and golfing companion Young Tom Morris died at the age of 24.

Young Tom equalled his fathers haul of Opens. Three consecutive victories culminated, in 1870, with Morris Jnr being awared the Open Championship for good. At the next championship in 1872 he became the first person to win the Claret Jug.

Young Tom died only months after losing his wife and newborn baby. In legend it is said that Young Tom died of a broken heart. Old Tom, a man given to showing little emotion, would say only:

“They say Tommy died of a broken heart. That can’t be true or I’d have died myself.”

In fact Old Tommy Morris lived into his eighties. At the age of 48 he read that the life expectancy for men in Scotland at that time was 41. Looking up from his paper he told the assembled caddies:

“Lads, it would appear I have been dead for seven years already.”

Old Tommy Morris died after falling down the stairs at the New Club in St Andrews. Few who knew him or have celebrated his memory could ever claim that Morris was one of “the parcel o’ rogues” who made up his hero, Robert Burns’, nation.

To Dumfries and Galloway on Scotland’s south west coast for the first golfing trip of the year. Another area of Scotland where golf courses abound, our choice for the one day of proper “competition” was an emotional one.

I’ve been playing Colvend Golf Club for as long as I can remember. Back in the day, brother and I would scamper round the course with our cut down clubs learning the game and discovering what playing in real wind is all about.

Like us the course has grown since then. The original nine holes have now be expanded into an 18 hole layout.

The expansion means the first eight holes play very differently to holes nine to 17. On the first eight the wind is your main enemy. Clinging to the coast the wind comes in more varieties than I can describe. This is the short part of the course and the three par threes give you the chance to build a solid card.

Keeping the ball low helps of course : as I found out to my benefit on the seventh when a horribly topped iron shot bounded down the fairway, kept going on to the green and ended up a couple of feet from the hole to secure a birdie.

The eighth is Colvend’s signature par three. A long carry over a burn to narrow green with out of bounds all around, the daunting tee shot will play mind games with a lot of golfers and it is not uncommon to see players laying up. Thankfully in both the morning and afternoon rounds I managed to guide a three iron to the centre of the green and happily took my two putts for par.

Crossing the road to reach the ninth hole you are presented with a new set of challenges. The holes are longer and the wind is less of a factor. The ninth and tenth are fairly simple par fours, the eleventh a gorgeous dog leg played to a green guarded by the ruins of an old house – the hole is called The Ruin.

The 12th is another gorgeous hole and brings water into play with both the drive and the approach shot (18 holes at Colvend without getting your feet wet is no little achievement) and the 13th is one of those curious par fours that always seems to play longer than it is.

Then comes the 14th, which I would argue is my only bugbear about the course: at over 500 yards the longest hole and the only par 5. The day we played the weather was fine. Sure it was windy on the first eight but you expect that when you play golf on a clifftop. The wind wasn’t an issue anywhere across the road except the 14th.

Unfortunately in both the morning and the afternoon the wind was in our faces. With the course still wet from a sodden winter, the 14th became an immovable object. We’re probably fairly average off the tee and can both hit reasonable fairway woods. Don’t mind doing that either. But when those two shots leave you with a long iron to the green, some of the fun goes out of the game. Both times we walked off the green happy with bogeys and feeling like we had been the victims of a “Tiger proofing.” I’m not convinced the average golfer really wants non championship courses to get longer and longer, But that’s maybe just me.

After that the course moves back to the road culminating in an intriguing 17th where the blind tee shot, if well executed, leaves a simple chip to the green. The very brave might even be tempted to carry the out of bounds and play for an eagle opportunity.

Crossing back over the road Colvend finishes with a fine 18th. A simple enough drive will set up a short approach to a green guarded by trees, out of bounds and water. A badly positioned drive will seriously cut down your options with your second shot and many players will happily sign off with a par.

The 18th neatly sums up Colvend’s finest qualities. The holes may look simple but the real challenge is thinking through every shot to try and take the pressure off your next stroke. This is a real thinking course.

Colvend is well worth a visit. At £30 a day ticket represents excellent value. The staff made us feel very welcome and we enjoyed a pleasant snack in the clubhouse between rounds. We will definitely be back, if only so my brother can have another go at the three shot lead I built up in the morning and managed, just, to hold on to in the afternoon.

As we’re in the area I should also mention Craigieknowes, a short par three course just along the road from Colvend outside a beautiful little village called Kippford. The longest hole is 197 yards, the shortest around 90 yards. This is a perfect family course but, be warned, the imaginative layout and well guarded greens can make for a tricky round. I played 18 holes on two separate days and thoroughly enjoyed them both.

If you’re not going to make it in sport then the next best thing is to have a ringside seat as the drama unfolds.

That was certainly true of Phil Harison, one of the most famous voices in golf. Harison, who has died at the age of 82, was the starter at The Masters for 60 years. In that time he introduced every post war great the game has seen.

From Ben Hogan through Jack Nicklaus to the arrival of Tiger Woods, Harison was there. The quiet Southern accent bringing an understated dignity to the opening hole of America’s most famous course: “Fore please, Jack Nicklaus now driving.” For Jack Nicklaus you can substitute any of the game’s greats.

No mean golfer himself, he scored a hole in one in a match with President Eisenhower and another in a match with Jack Nicklaus, Harison attended every Masters since 1932. As a link with the game’s past they don’t come much bigger than Phil Harison: not only did he see Bobby Jones play, he actually played with him.

Recalling one such round with golf’s finest amateur and the father of The Masters Harison said:

”I kept making putts from here across the room. I wasn’t nervous I was enjoying the day so much. Toward the end, Mr. Jones said, ‘You have a good round going. I’m proud of you.’ After that, I didn’t finish so well. Shot 75.”

In 2007 Harison, recovering from a car accident, summoned the strength to start the tournament for the last time, guiding the first two groups off the first tee.

Phil Harison’s grandfather, Dr William Harison, was one of the men who introduced golf to Augusta in 1897. The nine hole course he helped create was built on ground that would later form part of Augusta National. Harison’s childhood home stood behind the first green at Augusta. At the age of eight he was a patron at the first Masters, at the age of 21 he joined his father and brother as a member of the club.

In the wider community Harison was a devoted family man who gave countless hours of service to his church and community. He raised millions of dollars for health charities, perhaps inspired by his grandfather who worked as a doctor for the poor of the area.

Augusta National chairman Billy Payne said:

“We are deeply saddened by the loss of Phil Harison. Phil was a cherished member who made significant contributions to the Masters. As the starter on the first tee, he was the face of the Masters to many patrons. He did a wonderful job in that role.”

Not just the world of golf but the wider Augusta community will this week be mourning the passing of a true Southern gent.

South Africa has a new golfing superstar. With many wondering if Ernie Els’ time as force in the majors is now in terminal decline, with Retief Goosen perhaps not the player he was a few years ago, Trevor Immelman’s Masters victory has delivered a new force.

Yet one star continues to transcend them all. Immelman’s hero, Gary Player, continues to be the most recognisable of South African sporting heroes. In his seventies the man who, with Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer, changed the face of golf, continues to travel, play and promote the game that made him rich.

But Gary Player is not feted the way Nicklaus is. Or the way Palmer, Watson and Trevino are (all of whom won fewer majors than the Black Knight). The BBC commentary at the Masters picked up on the perceived lack of recognition: tellingly there was nobody in the booth prepared to wholeheartedly advocate Player’s claims for immortality.

In the national press here in the UK there has been an undercurrent in all the coverage of Player’s record 51st appearance at Augusta. The sneering, the outright hostility, is never far away when some journalists talk about him.

True, Player missing yet another cut is hardly news. But his playing partners on Thursday and Friday looked to be enjoying playing with a legend. And on Friday, dressed from head to toe in white but hell bent on refusing to surrender, Player broke 80. In his seventies and, whisper it, beginning to look something approaching his age, the world’s most travelled athlete gained some measure of self respect against a course that was ravaging men half his age.

But still Player is not celebrated in the way his peers are. His last, perhaps most impressive, major at Augusta in 1978 is rarely lauded in the way Nicklaus’ similar rolling back of the years is talked about. (Despite Player shooting 64 to win in ’78 compared to Jack’s 65 in 1986).

The galleries rarely seem to cherish seeing him in the way they clutched the maturing Palmer to their hearts. If Palmer had kissed the 18th green the way Player did on Friday you can imagine the patrons at Augusta would have gone into paroxysms of delight. Player’s ovation was respectful not warm. Arnie was celebrated for what he had achieved, what he meant to people. Player, at times, seems celebrated for nothing more than still being here.

In Wednesday’s Par Three event Player played with Nicklaus and Palmer. Some three ball, to be sure. But it seemed that Player was an interloper at that feast of legends. They loved Arnie, they loved Jack. They watched Mr Player.

Why is it that Player does not seem cherished in the way that other greats are? Arnie’s Army accounts for a lot of the affection that Palmer enjoys. But Player’s star shone for longer. Arnie’s career at the highest level was emphatic but brief.

Player’s detractors would argue that his own insistence at his place in the game’s firmament makes it hard to like him. You can only concede this point if you accept that the Golden Bear has been quick to point out his own achievements down the years. True, it can be irritating when you here Player drop in his claim to be the most travelled athlete in the world in every interview. And there is only so much you can hear about his fitness regime or his thoughts on diet without wanting to lie on the couch and eat ice cream.

But it is that fitness regime, the insistence on practicing, the thousands of miles travelled that have helped mould the professional game as we recognise it today. Immelman was quick to pay tribute to Player on Sunday evening, recognising the debt that golf, and South African golf in particular, owe him.

But in a cynical media world Player’s boyish enthusiasm for life and for his own achievements mark him down as something of an oddity. For years little more than tolerated, the tide seems to be changing in favour of ridicule and hostility.

Many of these journalists will have met Gary Player. Many, like me, will never have even been in the same room as him. He may well not be a likeable guy. But lots of old sportsmen are not nice people and they are still respected for their achievements.

If you find it irritating that Player still hangs around then fine. But he deserves to do what he likes, he’s earned that right. Don’t canonise him but at least let respect for his achievements overrule personal antipathy.

In a game as civilised as golf it would seem churlish if Player was turned into some sort of joke, barely tolerated and judged for getting old not for being a great champion. Player deserves more than being celebrated only when he’s gone.

Goodnight and goodbye. The Grand Slam year is over before it even began. This will please some people: already a trawl through the UK press sees Tiger being written off, called an elder statesmen and generally mocked for ever claiming he could win the Grand Slam.

The facts are that Tiger didn’t play well. I doubt I was alone in thinking that, particularly on Friday, he was chasing too hard, locked in a fruitless pursuit of the impossible when concentrating on the simple stuff might have brought him back into contention sooner. But he finished second. So no Grand Slam this year. But another example of just how far ahead of the rest he is. In a mediocre week for the Tiger it took an immense (once in a lifetime?) performance from Immelman to beat him. And when the sun eventually sets on Tiger’s career the second places will provide the commentators with another measure of his greatness – just as it is a measure of Nicklaus’ greatness that he was so often there or thereabouts in the final shake up on a Sunday afternoon.

Was he wrong to say this could be the Grand Slam year? Yes, if only because hubris is unbecoming in a man who has fostered his public image so carefully. Was he wrong to believe he could do it? Absolutely not. He might well do it in the future. Or he might go on to win another Tiger Slam in the next four majors.

Can we describe Woods’ Masters as a failure? We can. But only because we measure Tiger by a different set of rules. Losing the Masters was not the real story. The aborted Grand Slam effort was. Nobody else in golf is measured in this way. Tiger’s success has brought him so much, but it has its drawbacks as well. The prizes may well be greater, but the price of failure will also cut that much deeper.

I for one am saddened that the Grand Slam year has ended so soon. It would have been fun. The eyes of the world would have been on golf. And it would have been a moment of history, one of those rare occasions when sport transcends boundaries and captivates the globe as one man reaches for immortality and touches the limits of what was thought to be possible.

But the lesson for Tiger is that when you are that good there will be those who dream of you failing as much as there will be those who dream of you excelling. So this week Tiger will be compared, unfavourably, to Gary Player, Jack Nicklaus and Nick Faldo who triumphed from behind on bygone Augusta Sundays. The commentators won’t point out that those three shared something that Tiger won’t know for years: that exalted triumvirate were raging against the years as much as the field, proving that the old dogs still had the stomach for a fight. That will come to Tiger, but not now.

They will say that a younger man has won. They will not dwell on Tiger’s relative youth. If golf is now a young man’s game (and Tiger has made it so) then Tiger remains a young man.

They will say that he can’t win the biggies from behind. That is a blip that one day, some day Tiger will rectify. They will not point out that their new hero, Immelman, hasn’t proved he can win a major from behind either. It is one of those stats that can mean everything or mean nothing. 13 majors is a statistic that can’t be disputed.

And what will Tiger be left with? The “what ifs” of putts that didn’t drop, of birdies that could have sparked a charge being negated by carelessness on the next hole. Of a week that didn’t go right but proved again that he is the dominant beast in golf’s jungle.

The Tiger will rise again. The commentators will again fall into line. This week, this year, was not to be. But with Tiger in our game we can bask in greatness that doesn’t even come along once in a generation. Let’s not turn on him now. Let’s enjoy him for as long as he lasts.

It seems to me unfair that golf is often labelled as staid and conservative. Nick Hornby started a revolution that allowed serious men to write seriously about football. Golf is still something that serious men snigger at.

Not only is that unfair but it leaves neglected a wealth of writing on golf that ranks as up there with the best in all sports. Writers like Bernard Darwin and Grantland Rice are among the finest sports journalists – the finest journalists – that we’ve ever had. PG Wodehouse, who I must admit other people are more slavishly devoted to than I am myself, churned out a fair few words on the game that have survived the shifting sands of time.

Nowadays authors like Mark Frost and Lawrence Donegan are using their different styles to give us new insight into the game and its history. Donegan is a bumbling heir to George Plimpton, Frost brings the history of the game alive. John Fenstein remains the only golf related winner of the William Hill Sports Book of the Year Award (A Good Walk Spoiled in 1996) but Frost’s biography of Bobby Jones is one of the best books I’ve ever read on any subject.

This wealth of literature gives us a wealth of quotes. And so, presented here in no particular order, is my entirely subjective list of the 10 greatest ever golf quotes. The only criteria for inclusion is that I like them.

1. “They call it golf because all the other four letter words were taken.” Ray Floyd

Aha Raymond! Possibly this slipped out after a bad round. But who’s not felt the same. A good quote to lighten the atmosphere when you or a friend is turning the air around the long rough blue with a compelling and imaginative litany of swear words to describe the green keeper, the course, the clubs, the ball and the game itself.

2. “Unlike the other Scotch game of whisky drinking, excess in it is not injurious to health.” Sir Walter Simpson

A fave because it shows, with humour, how golf is right up there as an icon of Scottish life. Two points though Sir Walt: Scotch is a drink not a native of Scotland – and not all of us like whisky!

3. “If God had wanted man to play golf he would have given him an elbow less left arm, short asymmetrical legs with side hinged knees and a trapezoid rib cage from which diagonally jutted a two-foot neck topped by a three-eyed head.” Alan Coren

The late Alan Coren sums up perfectly the frustrations of the game. But that frustration is part of its beauty. Be warned: in some of the artisan clubs in the former industrial heartlands of Scotland there will be players who actually do look like this. And the men are even worse!

4. “You may be a princess but if you hold the club like that you will always be a hooker.” John Jacobs to Princess Lillian of Belgium

Please God let this one be true. In fact this a quote that’s so good it probably doesn’t matter if its true or not. Not one to try on the girlfriend though.

5. “Done, Through, Washed Up” The Atlanta Constitution

The press had spoken. This headline was written about Jack Nicklaus the week before the 1986 Masters. The Golden Bear won the tournament. A quote that reminds us that every truly great athlete has the ability to confound all expectations. And a reminder to hacks like myself that journalism and hubris are often embarrassing bedfellows.

6. “He goes after a golf course like a lion at a zebra….he tries to hold its head under the water until it stops wriggling,” Jim Murray

This is a metaphor mangling of the highest order. But, because the quote was about Seve, it somehow almost makes sense.

7. “I owe a lot to my parents. Especially my mother and father.” Greg Norman

Sorry Greg but a classic sportsman quote here. David Beckham would probably have been proud of this one!

8. “I started drinking four years after I started playing golf. And I started playing golf when I was four.” John Daly

The Wild Thing probably gets a laugh out of this one. For me though it sums up the self destruct tendency that seems to haunt top sportsmen. Quotes like that make it hard not to think of Long John Daly as golf’s George Best.

9. “You can make a lot of money out of golf. Ask any of my ex wives.” Lee Trevino

Trevino, for so long golf’s clown prince, had to be included somewhere.

10. “That was a great game of golf, fellas.” Bing Crosby

Crosby’s last words are the last word on golf quotes. He died after completing his round. There are worse ways to go.

Agree with me? Or I have missed some of your favourites out? Leave your comments and share your all time top golfing quotes.

I’m sure that devoted parents everywhere have had the same problem. Your kid has an important match to play, you’re running out of time and there is no where to park.

65 year old Robert Kadera came up with a fine solution to this problem by “parking” his Piper Clipper aeroplane on the snow covered fairways of the Crane’s Landing Golf Course at the Marriott Lincolnshire Resort in Illinois.

Stunned officials, who were expecting a crash site after worried onlookers made emergency calls, were amazed to see Kadera and his fourteen year old son walking from the plane carrying tennis racquets.

Kadera’s son, due to try out for his junior varsity tennis team, was scheduled for a last day of practice with a friend. Father and son, running late, decided that they could make better time in the plane. The golf course, just over the road from the tennis centre, was the easiest place to land.

It took the authorities seven hours to load the plane, which Kadera had equipped with skis, on to a truck and tow it away. Kadera may now face a range of punishments from being charged with trespassing and having his pilots licence revoked.

It strikes me that I have seen, and done, many scary things on the golf course but a light aircraft landing in front of me as I hit a tee shot would probably top the lot.

You’ll need to ask rules guru Barry Rhodes about the penalty for a hitting a plane that has landed on the hole in front of you!

But one thing did come to mind: if Phil, Ernie and the rest really want to stop Tiger in his tracks then they all have private planes that could do the job. Although I’m sure officials at Augusta would have something to say about their fairways becoming runways.