Bill Elliot golf Five hundred years after it was first used for something that at least vaguely approached golf as we know it, the jury is still out on whether the Old Course at St Andrews is a work of erratic, supernatural genius or just an erratic work. Views vary from the reverential tone of five times Open champion Peter Thomson: “It is the best course in the world and the more I play it the more convinced I am”, to Lee Westwood, who said rather more tersely: “It wouldn’t be in my top 200 … in Fife.” What is without doubt, however, is that if any of the competitors could choose a venue at which to win an Open Championship, it would be St Andrews. They may rail against its quirkiness, its inbuilt unfairness and its oversize greens but no one disputes that it is this piece of unimpressive real estate that forms the physical and spiritual core of a game that has infuriated and charmed in equal measures longer than any other. And after the fakery that was Carnoustie last year it is certain that the Old Course will be presented properly this time around, its rough reasonable, its fairways wider than a country mile, its greens hollowed, bumped and deadly swift. While some may think this course is set in marble, that it is a living museum piece, the truth is that it is constantly being tinkered with by a dedicated staff presently led by head greenkeeper Eddie Adams. It is Adams and his men who have painstakingly refurbished each of the 112 bunkers that range in size from the gigantic to the smallest of pot bunkers, places so tiny that some players need to retreat and go on a diet before they may clamber into one. And it is Adams who, alongside officials from the Royal & Ancient, will dictate the different pin positions each day. On some holes the greens are so big that the flag may be moved 50 or so metres from where it was the day before, a fact that plays havoc with yardage charts. One, however, will not move much. The 17th or Road Hole is either the jewel in the crown of this place or the biggest abomination in golf. Depends on your view. And, of course, your score. Universally acknowledged as the toughest par four on the planet – Ben Crenshaw claims this is because it is actually a par five – the 17th will decide who emerges triumphant at this Open. Whoever it decides to embrace over all four days will, I promise, win. When Arnold Palmer took 10 here in 1960 he tried to hail a passing ambulance before stumbling on to the 18th tee, his score as tattered as even his spirit.
At 415m, the tee set intimidatingly alongside the Old Course Hotel, the 17th carries all the attraction of a rusty razor. If the drive is to find the middle of the fairway then the ball must be struck over the replica railway sheds that the hotel helpfully has placed in the way. Strike it too far left and rough beckons, too far right and it is out of bounds. Even from the fairway the approach shot is more than merely challenging. The hole invariably is placed just over the rise of a pot bunker so steep it once took Tommy Nakajima five shots to escape, but overcook this approach and there is a tarmac road behind the shallow green and then a stone wall.
Overlooking all this is the biggest single grandstand in golf for everyone wants to watch what happens at the 17th. Those who play may be suspected of masochism but those who watch are most certainly sadists and as such these punters know where to get their kicks. Enjoy.