In the early hours of Thursday, at around 4am in the calm darkness of my residence in San Antonio, Texas, I will join my mixed breed border collie on the sofa, giving him a bewildered look, to continue our beloved tradition of watching the Open Championship live on television during July.
Overflowing with anticipation, akin to a child waiting for Father Christmas, I will switch on the excessively large TV and immerse myself in the sight of the formidable Royal Troon Old Course in Scotland, with its eye-level tufts of golden sea grass, akin to hot dogs at a campsite. No spectacle in the world of golf excites me more than the inaugural televised moments of the tournament universally known by Americans as The British Open, neither the rough waves at Pebble Beach nor the immaculately maintained undulating fairways of Augusta.
While it is possible to watch the kick-off of the tournament at any convenient time with the help of DVRs and television reruns, there is something about the sedate darkness and the time difference of six hours that lends any Open location an aura of enigma and remoteness, similar to David Attenborough exploring the wilderness of the Kenyan plains. The jumbled golf links in South Ayrshire, located along the Firth of Clyde, just 34 miles south of Glasgow, and presumably parched to a shade just shy of burnished toast, will beckon me as irresistibly as my initial venture into this mesmerising land did. It’s worth noting the connection to my ancestry; Alexander Selcraig, a pirate legitimised through privateering, was born in 1676 in Lower Largo, Scotland, and following his rescue off the Chilean coast, he turned into the muse for Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe.
For those unfamiliar with it, the Open Championship is entirely unlike any golfing event we would get to see on television in the States. If we are in luck and the tempestuous sea subdues, the 152nd Open won’t resemble the genteel game of croquet we typically host in Atlanta or Detroit. Instead, it will be a four-day journey into the wilderness culminating in the crowned victor departing from the 18th hole, reminiscent of a triumphant viking, back from a seal hunting expedition.
The Open, rightly acknowledged by the Yanks as golf’s premier major championship, will always draw them out of their beds before the cock’s crow.
The striking sound of the flagpole halyards as they hit against each other during a gale, reminds one of gunfire, as parent spectators hold their children close, afraid they might be swept into the raging sea. The ruthless environment makes it unimaginable for any golfer to even come close to par. In the history of the tournament, it has only been on two occasions that play was stopped for extensive periods due to turbulent winds and downpours, moving the tournament to a Monday finish.
Beyond the limitations of the lavish quantum dot TV, resides the splendour of Scotland’s high latitude light, which illuminates places like Royal Troon, a locality as northern as Hopedale, Newfoundland. Many veteran photographers have been overwhelmed with emotion, finding their work suddenly springing to life in such light. My own experience included sitting on the stony steps of the Royal & Ancient at St Andrews, completely engrossed, watching the sky transition from the Ibiza blue to dark looming mountain-like clouds over the first hole of the Old Course, and back. Scottish summer is quite the spectacle.
In the dawn’s immaculate light, the charming towns with their red and green taverns seem like a brand new box of crayons. The glowing skin of children named Tavish and Tyra on their route to school is both magical and slightly eerie for residents often confined to the dreary city air. Scottish sunshine appears as if it’s broadcasting the country in high-definition.
With about 15,000 inhabitants, Troon is a quintessential golf village, resembling many British Open locations, yet feels like a metropolis compared to Gullane with its population of 2,810 located next to Muirfield. If it weren’t for the ancient dunes separating the ocean and farmlands, that were fortuitously designed into a golf haven a hundred years ago by adept architects such as James Braid and Alister Mackenzie, Gullane might disappear. This deep-rooted history might make them look overly conservative from a distance, but you could be caught off guard by the reality.
Recalling one of my early trips to Scotland, during a game on Gullane’s esteemed championship course known as No 1 to the locals, a lady with her baby in a pram, in complete accordance with local laws, crossed the tee box’s pathway in front of us. “Beautiful day for golf, isn’t it?” she chatted away to our pleasantly surprised group of Americans.
Glimpsing a horizon filled with surfers, joggers, and mums casually walking by is a common occurrence on the renowned links courses scattered across Scotland and Ireland; a stark contrast to America’s exclusive golf, notably at Oakmonts and Seminoles. This modesty serves as a delicate reminder to us golf aficionados that our dominion has boundaries.
Indeed, you are fortunate that golf is firmly embedded in your community. It’s common to notice cheerful teenagers, unburdened by shopping-mall trips, ambling towards the greens, their golf bag nonchalantly slung over their shoulder. During a grocery run in Ballybunion, I found myself engrossed in lively chit-chat about golf grip techniques between two women, who were seemingly in their prime. This exudes the genuine love for the sport, unmarred by attempts of moguls like Donald Trump to bring in American influences or to introduce valet services.
Golf tournaments hosted here are remarkably impressive, ranging from Ivor Robson’s enchanting introductions to its splendid array of links courses, notorious traps such as pot bunkers, and unpredictable outcomes. It has also seen the rise and fall of newcomers like France’s Jean Van de Velde, whose brush with golfing glory abruptly ended at the 18th hole in Carnoustie in 1999. The champions vary widely, encompassing South Africa’s Louis Oosthuizen (2010), Italy’s Francesco Molinari (2018) and the diminutive American left-hander Brian Harman (2023, USA), as well as iconic pros such as Tiger, Phil and Rory.
I find little appeal in debating which major boasts a more illustrious lineage of champions or a superior player roster, according to recent global golf analytics. What brings me to the British Open, waking up at the crack of dawn, is its ability to spotlight unsung golfers who, on this unique and challenging canvas, discover an extraordinary strength and brush shoulders with the extraordinary.
Bruce Selcraig, an ex-investigative journalist from Sports Illustrated, has had his work prominently featured in other publications such as The New York Times Magazine, National Geographic, and The Atlantic, to name but a few.