That Cinking Feeling

In the end, the real victim was Stewart Cink.

One of the most consistent guys on Tour (owning a top-3 finish at each of the three US-based majors), and someone respected greatly by his peers (including being voted onto the Policy Board by fellow PGA Tour members), Cink was expected to be an extremely popular winner when he finally broke through to win a major tournament.

And then he ran into history.

59-year-old Tom Watson, five-time winner of the Claret Jug, golf’s oldest and most famous trophy and the prize for an Open Championship victory, held the lead for a majority of the 72-hole championship, seemingly young and invincible once more.

To provide some perspective to the uniqueness of the situation, consider this: The oldest person to ever claim the Open Championship, “Old” Tom Morris (widely regarded as the founding father of professional golf), was 46 at the time. In 1867.

Watson, no longer possessing distance off the tee, found new ways to confound opponents, draining seemingly impossible putts one after the other. As others waited for him to collapse (despite holding the 36-hole lead, he was listed that night as only a 40-1 favorite to win), he held on.

Carrying him along the way was an army of the loudest, proudest, smartest, and drunkest fans in the game of golf. The Scots, who watched him win their championship an astounding five times, including once at this very course in 1977, filled the air with hearty (and slurred) cries of “Come on, Toom!”

He very nearly pulled it off.

Standing in the 18^th fairway and holding a one-stroke lead, Watson waffled between the 8 and 9 irons before finally going with the stronger club. The decision cost him, as his ball flew onto the green but kept rolling and rolling, until it finally exited into the rough surrounding the greenside area. His first putt was good, settling eight feet from the hole, but his second never had a chance, and with that – his first three-putt of the week – it was time for a playoff.

Enter Stewart Cink.

Cink, who quietly lurked after rounds of 66, 72, and 71, fired a final-round 69 courtesy of an ice-water-in-the-veins birdie on the 72^nd hole of the tournament to finish at two under par for the Championship. Playing 30 minutes ahead of Watson, he could only wait to see if his score held up.

It did.

For a fleeting second, he must have wished it hadn’t.

Turnberry holds roughly 30,000 spectators. All but three – his wife and two kids – were rooting for Watson (“Come on, Toom!”), and it wouldn’t be far-fetched to suggest such a ratio applied to those watching at home.

With the whole world cheering for the Impossible Dream, Cink stepped up to the tee unfazed. He grabbed a one-shot advantage on the first playoff hole and never looked back, overwhelming Watson by six strokes in the four-hole playoff.

The Claret Jug was his, but instead of being treated like the champion he is, he was embraced by many golf fans as a man who had just cancelled Christmas. Which is to say, not at all.

It’s hard to feel bad for Tom Watson. He has, over the course of a brilliant career, collected five of these very titles, and eight majors overall. Sunday at Turnberry was the icing on the cake, a legendary performance that will seal his reputation as the greatest links golf player to ever swing a club.

No, he didn’t win. But he came damn close. His performance will forever be the story of the 2009 Open Championship.

It’s all very unfortunate for Stewart Cink, who called facing Watson in the playoff and his eventual triumph “a dream come true.”

Here’s hoping history doesn’t treat it as a nightmare.