Tiger Woods last hurrah.

 Tiger Woods last hurrah.

British golf has always warmly welcomed its legends, those golfers with an enduring touch of class about them, the ones Britain has always embraced as one of their own, wrapping a warm blanket of adulation and adoration around them as if they could never do a single thing wrong. They hold out the hands of hospitality and break into thunderous applause because they know when they see greatness  they've seen it all before.

Yesterday they acclaimed the stunningly talented Tiger Woods as if the man had just been knighted as golfing royalty and the sword had descended on Woods shoulders by Her Majesty the Queen. This would be Tiger's last ever British Open at the spiritual home of golf and the admiring hordes of his followers responded to this peerlessly brilliant golfer, reverence seeping from the grandstands and cheering at its most idolatrous.

Throughout the decades St Andrews, Troon and Lytham St Annes have witnessed some of the most sumptuous golf ever played at tournament golf. Of course Augusta and the US Masters may challenge such a grandiose boast particularly when the azaleas are blooming and the Americans are circling around the 18th hole on the last day of competition. But now it's the middle of July and while heatwaves are expected for the next couple of days in Britain, the world's golfers were driving off their tees with sunshine in their hearts.

For some of us the gallery of the great and good was always too good to be true. There was Jack Nicklaus, one of America's most cultured, gifted, gloriously sophisticated of all golfers. Nicklaus used to stride down a fairway like an emperor surveying his empire, a gentle, smooth, debonair, gentlemanly sportsman always in control of his emotions, never remotely flustered and always immensely dedicated to his sport. The Golden Bear was the quiet, silent one, always familiar with the geography and undulating contours of a golf course, modestly and unobtrusively stamping his authority on the game.

Then there was Arnold Palmer and Lee Trevino, two of the game's patriarchs and masters of their craft, plotting their way around a golf course like men who were probably born with the best irons in their youthful golf buggy. Trevino was the joker and humorist, giggling and laughing, teasing and chatting to anybody within earshot. Trevino would loft and chip his shots from the fairways delicately and decisively and then lethally from the edge of the green. He would then float impossible shots from sandy bunkers as if he'd played the same shot when he was a kid at his local golf course. The hole would be found with effortless ease.

The late Arnold Palmer of course was the most technically brilliant of all golfers. Palmer was just an exquisite driver of a golf ball and could just accumulate the birdies like numismatists collecting coins. But it was his all round game from the driving range to the fairway and then the green that had most of the connoisseurs of the game swooning with admiration. At no point in any match did Palmer ever look rattled or concerned about his golf or the state of a match. Both Palmer and Trevino were almost statesmanlike, confident in their ability at all times and swinging the club with an almost honourable air about them. 

In more recent years the likes of Tom Watson and the late Seve Ballesteros have strolled down the fairways of some of Britain's most beautifully maintained golf courses as if it were their second home. Watson simply dismissed all of his contemporaries like a medieval king waving away one of his servants and then lecturing them for simple disobedience. Watson dominated global golf for many years but then retired from the game when he felt the time was right. Ballesteros was one of the most intelligent golfers, judging the flight of the ball as if he could read the wind in the air and the direction it was travelling in.

But yesterday it was Tiger Woods last throw of the dice. Woods has endured one of the most horrendous years in his life in recent times. His private life has been plastered all over the front pages and sports pages all over the world. His relationships have been relentlessly scrutinised and exposed in quite the most lurid fashion. The private life of any sportsman or sportswoman can ultimately and sadly lead to their dramatic downfall. One moment you're on the top pedestal and the next you're banished to the sinbin because your misdemeanours have broken you in half. Tiger Woods has cried, wept and sobbed so many times that sympathy for the man depended on the way you felt about him.

And yet on the Scottish coast of St Andrews where golf and sporting excellence have almost gone hand in hand with each other, we wished this year's latest crop of starry eyed golfers well. Of course Mark Twain was ever so slightly misguided when he said that golf was a good walk spoiled because this 150th British Open clearly proved this not to be the case. 

Last night, Australia's Corrie Smith was one of the first pace setters in this year's British Open with impressive rounds of 67 and 74, looking comfortable, relaxed and almost leisurely at the end of the day. Smith was followed by American Chris Young breezed around the Scottish rough and fairways with 64 and 69 while Dustin Johnson is being touted as one of the best golfers in the world at the moment. The St Andrews leader board was studded with superlative technicians of the game.

Then there was Ireland and Britain's very own Rory Mcilroy, now regarded as one of Britain's finest and potentially the greatest of all time. Golf just seems to come quite naturally to Mcilroy and if he continues to build up his consistency he could well emerge as the unforgettable one. The Irishman oozes with confidence, whipping his drives from the tee with the most immaculate arm and shoulder movements while deep in concentration. He may well be his worst critic but there is an insatiable hunger about Mcilroy that is somehow infectious. 

You remembered then the purists and artists that have so enlivened the British golf. Nick Faldo came agonisingly close to dominating the global game of golf but then faltered at the final hurdle. Colin Montgomery was, and is still, one of the sweetest strikers of the game but once again came up short at a critical stage of a tournament. 

So there you have it Ladies and Gentlemen. The man who is Tiger Woods will never grace St Andrews again, slipping over the horizon like the captain of a ship sailing imperiously into the distance. His recent past has been most unfortunately troubled but the memories remain and historians will place him in a compelling chapter about golfing geniuses who came horribly unstuck when everything seemed perfect.  This is the last page of that book and Woods hopes you've enjoyed the journey. Farewell Tiger.