The Open Championship, a Wonderland of Golf
SOUTHPORT, MERSEYSIDE, ENGLAND – For some of us out there – kids with wanderlust for example – the Open Championship was always our favorite of the majors. Yes – gasp! – even more than the Masters. Remember: we get Augusta National every year. But courses like St. Andrews and Royal Troon, Muirfield and St. George’s? Those would appear once every eight or so years, roughly. And each time they would materialize out of the mists of time like a reverie, full of history and Shakespearean-in-magnitude drama.
For a kid who loved golf and yearned for seaside links, the Open was Christmas in July.
Now years later, finally getting to stay for a whole week amidst the revelry of the Open, the camaraderie of the English, and downright symphony of links golf in the northwest coast, I can confirm that this is the pinnacle. This is what golf was truly meant to be, is now, and forever and always will be, world without end, Amen.
The Open Championship truly is the de facto World Championship of golf, with 28 different countries’ flags raised. Correspondingly, the entire event – with its Brobdingnagian footprint – feels as though it’s golf’s proper rejoinder to the World’s Fair, a wonderland of golf and celebration of its past, present, and future all at once.
And for those of us who, as a kid, watched the Open in awe of its exotic feel, its gorgeous, windswept, oceanside courses, and its incomparable history, going to the Open is that childhood dream come true even more than he could have possibly imagined.
THE COURSES
A trip to the Open is more than just watching golf; it’s playing golf at the other Open venues nearby as well as other courses of equal architectural and historical pedigree. Three Open venues are located in England’s fabled northwest golf coast: Royal Birkdale in Southport, (this year’s host), Royal Lytham and St. Annes, and Royal Liverpool in Hoylake. But, happily the Mersey and Wirral train lines run adjacent to the links courses. Some stops are mere steps from the station. For instance, those travelling to Birkdale pass the links of West Lancashire, Hillside, Southport and Ainsdale, and Formby as well. That’s five courses right there on the same railway line. And using the Wirral Line you reach Wallasey.
The train rides cost about $20 USD round trip. That’s a bargain all day long.
The Royal clubs earn that designation – everything is absolutely perfect. King Charles himself could arrive unannounced with a retinue of his most fuss-budgety friends and acquaintances and no one would find every blade of grass, ort of food, and buttoned collar in apple pie order. And that means your experience will be just as regal. The china, the glasswear, the carpeting, the appointments of the Dormy House – all are impeccable, as is the white glove treatment you are afforded as their guest.
The courses are all wonderfully rumpled with riveted bunkers sunken and walled. Conditions are fast and firm allowing for all manner of short game options. Best of all, you walk in history with every step. At Lytham, it’s Bobby Jones and Seve Ballesteros. At Birkdale it’s Tom Watson and Jordan Speith. And at Hoylake it’s everyone from Harold Hilton and John Ball to Tiger and Rory.
As for the remaining five, they are a horn of plenty. Exquisite Formby blends inimitable history with the most unique terrain – a mix of links, heathland, and tall pines. Wallasey may be prettiest and closest to the seaside, with waves rushing beneath you as you wind your way around the links. Southport has some of the wildest holes, and West Lancs – a favorite of the pros and highly ranked amateurs – features a wild crosswind as its prevail.
No matter where you play, the quality of your course will veery bit as strong as that which the pros are playing that week. You can’t say that often, can you?
THE OPEN’S DIVERSIONS
Getting to and from the Open was a breeze from the train, as they ran every 10 minutes, alternating express and local. Once there, the Spectator Village and the merch tent, affectionately called “the Shop,” dominated the skyline on their respective ends of the footprint. In between were games and food stalls, and
It took 45 minutes standing in line just to get into the Shop.” Harrod’s was never so frantic! Inside every bauble, bangle, and bead was branded and bought. What ever they could plaster a Claret Jug on, they sold, excepting underwear.
Note to the R&A: you’d likely sell a lot of Claret Jug boxers….And for the ladies, maybe a bikini top?
As England is the crossroads of world cuisine, culinary delights from as far away as Afghanistan and Persia were available at the myriad food stalls, along with your normal English and American fare. 29 different nations sent representative golfers to this year’s 154th playing of the Open, and it seems that many different flavors were available for lunch as well.
And then there were your fellow patrons. Far from the horn-blaring, “you da man” shouting, drunken louts that have disgraced pro golf for so long on our side of the Atlantic Ocean, U.K. fans get golf’s culture and ethos of altruism and camaraderie. You’ll never see English fans challenge golfers to a fight, or trigger an air horn during play, or root openly against a player they don’t like. But their fervor for the game is second-to-none. This year, English fans shattered the record for total attendance, a whopping 306,000 people for the week.
Oh, if only Tommy Fleetwood would have won! The roars we would have heard would have equaled anything for their beloved, but star-crossed Three Lions. Fleetwood has now carded seven consecutive rounds in the 60s at the Open, including four this week. His line score this week – 68-69-67-69=273 would have won almost every Open in history.
But back to the fans, hanging out with them restores your faith in all that is noble about golf. Through them, our game endures.
And that’s the best part about going to England for a golf trip – coming back with ten new friends – lifelong friends who love golf just as much as you do, but have even cooler places to play. Places we can dream about. And golf dreams do come true. Just ask England. They live it every year at the Open.
