If Old Tom Morris, a four-times Open champion in the 1860s, were to reappear, how would he feel about the Old Course as it celebrates the 150th Open this coming summer? He might give a few disapproving grunts about the way new technology has forced the lengthening of certain holes. But, overall, you suspect he would view the links as an old friend. Indeed, this former “Keeper of Greens” and “Manager of Hazards” would probably greet many of the bunkers by name and, were he to fall into a chat with a party of today’s locals, the chances are that there would be an exchange of bunker stories.
In Morris’s day, there would have been the one involving the Bishop of London and his caddie, Andra Kirkaldy, a runner-up to Jamie Anderson in the Open of 1878. It went like this – when the bishop played a surprisingly good recovery from the 14th hole’s Hell Bunker and turned to Kirkaldy for a bit of praise, Kirkaldy advised that when he died he would do well to take his niblick with him.
Today, the Hell Bunker story, which will get an airing every time someone lands in its sandy depths, would be the one of Jack Nicklaus who, though a two-time winner at St Andrews, contrived to take four to escape the hazard in 1995 on his way to a 10.
On much the same tack, generations of players have had their Open championship hopes dashed in the Road Hole Bunker. One Davie Ayton amassed an 11 in 1885 when he was leading the championship, while A.N. Other (this fellow somehow managed to keep his name under wraps) amassed a 13 in 1921.
Tommy Nakajima, meanwhile, had a terrible time of it in 1978. Two shots off the Open lead at the halfway stage and still there or thereabouts after 16 holes of his third round, this star of the East was but a shadow of his former self after putting into the hazard and taking four to emerge. His quadruple bogey contributed to an eventual share of 17th place, the only consolation being that he finished alongside such luminaries as Seve Ballesteros and Tom Weiskopf.
Old Tom Morris made both the “featherie” balls and then the “gutties,” which came into play in the early years of the Open. Gutties were cheaper than featheries and remained in vogue until 1900 when covered rubber balls became the missile of choice.
We all know how much Bobby Jones and Seve Ballesteros loved St Andrews and how much the locals loved them. Yet, unlikely though this might sound, the same applied with the aforementioned John Daly.
When it came to clubs, “playclubs” led to the hickory clubs which were state-of-the-art in the Edwardian era but went out of fashion as steel became acceptable with the R&A’s rules committees in 1929. Persimmon drivers were exchanged for metal woods in the ’70s, though Nicklaus, the first of the absurdly long hitters, was in no hurry to make that change.
He was still using persimmon when, in 1970, there was that famous shot of him taking off his sweater and crashing the ball through the back of the 360-yard 18th at St Andrews en route to the birdie which won him a play-off versus Doug Sanders.
After Nicklaus came John Daly who, with a combination of a massive metal-headed driver and that endlessly long swing of his, hit the ball mind-bogglingly high and forever, and after Daly there was Tiger Woods. Woods was a bit shorter than Daly but had rather more than the one high flight in his armoury. Woods’s win in 2000 incidentally had more to do with what he didn’t do than the reverse. Every evening in Open week, and often at dusk, he went to work in the same bunker on the practice area, with many of his loyal followers missing dinner to watch. That, would you believe, was the only bunker he ever visited in the week of the championship.
Fast forward to Bryson DeChambeau, whose muscles have been no less skillfully-designed for massive hitting than his clubs. His longest shots can pass the 400-yard mark, though how much good they will do him on the wily Old Course remains to be seen. You would have to think that the prayers of the locals will collude with gorse, rough and wind to ensure that the course record in an Open context – Paul Broadhurst had a 63 in 1990 and Rory McIlroy the same in 2010 – remains safe.
We all know how much Bobby Jones and Seve Ballesteros loved St Andrews and how much the locals loved them. Yet, unlikely though this might sound, the same applied with the aforementioned John Daly. “Wild Thing,” as he was known, has talked about the hairs coming up on the back of his neck from the moment he drives ’round that corner of the A91 which permits a first look at the town’s spires. As for the locals, they did as Old Tom Morris would have done in that they straightaway saw past those mighty tee shots to a touch and feel on and around the greens which was up there with the best.
It was Old Tom, incidentally, who introduced the idea of cutting greens shorter than the fairways all those years ago. And though he would never have envisaged them becoming the mischievously slippery surfaces they are today, you doubt he would have disapproved. For sure, they will detonate every bit as much excitement as any 400-yard tee shot from DeChambeau.