Seve Ballesteros, who had a tormented relationship with the U.S. Open, once described the American national championship this way:
“The U.S. Open has never been exciting to watch. It has always been a sad tournament. There is no excitement, no enjoyment. It is all defensive golf, from the first tee to the last putt.”
That brings to mind the words of Bobby Jones who said, “Nobody ever wins the National Open. Somebody else just loses it.”
Among the game’s four major championships, the U.S. Open stands apart for its boot-camp difficulty and its unrelenting challenge.
It’s easy to love the Masters for its beauty and theatrics, easy to appreciate the PGA Championship for its history and easy to romanticize the Open Championship for its generally rugged ways.
It’s harder to love the U.S. Open and that is by design. It’s golf’s version of scaling El Capitan, each hole another step up a rock wall until the end when it’s not so much the view as it is the relief that it’s finally over.
That’s the beauty of the U.S. Open. While the methods and mayhem may vary from course to course, it remains true to the objective of identifying the best players. It is the test, intended to be the most thorough in golf, that defines a U.S. Open.
There are times when it goes too far – losing the greens at Shinnecock Hills twice, an essentially unplayable hole location on the 18th at Olympic in 1998 and rough so deep it mitigates skill – but it’s also a championship in which Brooks Koepka shot 16-under par to win at Erin Hills, Rory McIlroy shot the same to win at Congressional and Gary Woodland was 13-under at Pebble Beach six years ago.
The U.S. Open has a heart and that’s what it asks players to show.
It has its history of calamities. Look no further than last year when Rory McIlroy missed two putts totaling 5 feet in the last three holes to lose by a stroke to Bryson DeChambeau, who played the hero with his moment-in-time long bunker shot on the 72nd hole.
There was no more dramatic Sunday in golf last year than the DeChambeau-McIlroy duel at Pinehurst No. 2. That’s when the U.S. Open soars, finding the delicate balance between brutality and benevolence.
Remember Phil Mickelson with his head in his hands at Winged Foot in 2006? Arnold Palmer losing a seven-stroke lead over the final nine holes at Olympic in 1966? Retief Goosen and Jason Gore shooting 81 and 84, respectively, in the final pairing of the 2005 U.S. Open at Pinehurst?
By his own calculations, had Sam Snead shot 69 in the final round of every U.S. Open he played, he would have won eight times. Instead, he won none.
But the U.S. Open is as much about the victors as the victims. There was no more dramatic Sunday in golf last year than the DeChambeau-McIlroy duel at Pinehurst No. 2. That’s when the U.S. Open soars, finding the delicate balance between brutality and benevolence.
Does it surprise you that the average winning score in a U.S. Open since 2017 is 7.75 under par?
Only once since 2013 has the winning score been over par and that was Koepka’s 1-over total at Shinnecock Hills in 2018 when the conditions conspired with a naturally hard course to turn the screws on scoring, validating the claims of USGA officials that a winning score of par is not the desired outcome.
Oakmont this week may be the classic U.S. Open venue. It’s become cliché to say a golf course is right in front of you but it’s true of Oakmont in the same way a punch in the face is right in front of you.
For the many who take pleasure in watching the best players in the world speckle their scorecards with squares rather than circles, Oakmont is for you. It may have eliminated thousands of trees over the years but it didn’t eradicate double bogeys, though it is the place where Johnny Miller shot a Sunday 63 in 1973.
“If it doesn’t rain, the winning score will be over par,” said Ben Griffin, who has won twice on tour in recent weeks, after making a visit to Oakmont last week ahead of his first U.S. Open.
The questions are simple. Can players avoid the rough that may have to be cut with machetes after the tournament? Do they have the patience to play for pars and the occasional bogey? Can they handle Oakmont’s famously wicked greens, which can seem at times like putting on a bobsled course?
It’s finding the answers that is difficult.
Oakmont has a way to ferret out the pretenders. It has previously hosted nine U.S. Opens and, aside from Sam Parks in 1935, every champion has won multiple majors.
Tommy Armour. Ben Hogan. Jack Nicklaus. Johnny Miller. Larry Nelson. Ernie Els. Ángel Cabrera. Dustin Johnson.
Hard to argue with that list.
The winners of the six most recent major championships – Scottie Scheffler, Rory McIlroy, Xander Schauffele and DeChambeau – will arrive at Oakmont fitting the profile.
Then again, few people saw Wyndham Clark winning the U.S. Open at Los Angeles Country Club, Michael Campbell taking down Tiger Woods at Pinehurst or Jack Fleck beating Hogan at Olympic.
The best players find a way to manage the moment rather than allow the moment to manage them.
“A difficult golf course eliminates a lot of players. The U.S. Open flag eliminates a lot of players. Some players just weren’t meant to win the U.S. Open. Quite often, a lot of them know it,” Nicklaus said years ago.
It’s true and it’s time again to find out who those players are.
Will Scheffler take another step toward the career Grand Slam? Are Bryson and the beast that Oakmont is a perfect match? Is it too much to imagine U.S. Ryder Cup captain Keegan Bradley winning?
For those who like their U.S. Opens as tough as saddle leather, the way they are meant to be, Oakmont will be happy to oblige. The guy holding the trophy Sunday evening will be not only the champion but the designated survivor.
E-MAIL RON
Top: Seve Ballesteros, shown during the 1993 U.S. Open, was vexed by the national championship.
COURTESY USGA ARCHIVES