Watson almost got biggest win

The Associated PressJuly 20, 2009 

— He battled time almost to a standstill until time, as it always does, finally won. Tom Watson was not going to go easily, though, not when he had to know this magical moment was never going to come again.

By the time he reached the 18th tee for the second time on this, the longest of days, Watson understood that. So did thousands of spectators heading for the exits at Turnberry, their day ruined just like his.

A week of exhilarating highs was about to end on the lowest of lows. There was a champion yet to be crowned, but it wouldn't be the one so many fans here and around the world so desperately wanted.

Still, they applauded, and Watson rewarded them with a weary smile. He watched as Stewart Cink hit an iron down the middle off the final tee, then reached for his hybrid club for a shot that, by now, didn't matter.

On the side of the tee, Cink and his caddie exchanged a celebratory fist bump. No one, including Watson, seemed to notice.

The story that came so agonizingly close to unfolding on a chilly summer evening on the Scottish coast would have been one for the ages. Now it was simply one about the aging.

"It was almost," was how Watson described it. "The dream almost came true."

That it didn't wasn't necessarily because Watson kicked it away, though that might be the first impression. Indeed, the putt he badly stubbed to win in regulation will probably be remembered long after any of the preceding 276 shots he took at this British Open are forgotten.

What won't be forgotten is the way a 59-year-old man nearly delivered a win so monumental it was hard to compare it to anything else that came before. This kind of thing simply can't happen in most other sports and had never happened before in golf, either.

He had 8 feet between himself and sports immortality, and he didn't come close. The putt was short and to the right, and now he had to somehow regroup and go out and play Cink in a four-hole playoff he never expected to be in.

He didn't have a chance. There was nothing left.

"It would have been a [heck of a] story wouldn't it?" Watson said. "It tears at your gut as it always has torn at my gut. It's not easy to take."

It almost felt unfair because this was Cink's dream, too, and he had never won one of these claret jug trophies, much less five like Watson had. Lost in the excitement over Watson's improbable run to a title three years before he is eligible for Social Security was the fact that Cink made a 12-foot birdie putt on his last hole of regulation just to have a chance and then played steady golf in overtime.

A few people cheered when Cink hit it into a bunker on the first playoff hole, and the cheers for Watson coming up the 18th one last time were far deeper than those for the winner. But Cink was holding the claret jug, which was tonic enough, and he seemed to already understand that he would forever be known as an Open champion and the player who ruined a special week.

Watson had to look a little harder to take something out of this day. He talked about how great it was being back in contention with the best players in the world, as though he were in his prime, and how gratifying it was to walk up the 18th fairway not once, but twice, to standing ovations from packed grandstands that included people who saw him win on the same green all those years ago.

It was fun once again, he insisted, and maybe that was because it made him feel young again. He was hurting, but at the same time he had shown he could still play and -- for four rounds at least -- play better than anyone else in the world.

The smile he flashed most of the week was there again as he walked off the final green with his arm around his wife. Before leaving, though, he offered this:

"What I've always said is when all is said and done, one of the things I hope that will come out of my life is that my peers will say, you know, that Watson, he was a [heck] of a golfer."

They will now.

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