Memories of My First Open: Watson's First Round 65 in '03

This year marks the third time that I'll be attending the US Open as a member of the media.  The first time that I did so was in 2003, when the Open made its return to Olympia Fields for the first time in nearly 70 years.  This was in the years before the words blog, podcast, or Twitter were in the lexicon.  New media still meant CD-ROM (or DVD), not a way of presenting information. 

Lil ole me was a broadcaster with an Internet radio show.  Somehow, I managed to fool (or persuade) the USGA into credentialing me for the Open.  With little time to prepare and, at 20 years old, unable to rent a car in Illinois, I made my preparations.  I used some hotel website to find a suite (read: shady hotel) near the course.  What luck!  Or so I thought.  I booked my flight on Southwest and was pumped.

When I arrived at Midway - first mistake - I hailed a cab to go to my hotel.  After nearly dying at least twice, I was escorted to my hotel.  Yeah, it was near the course, but that was the problem.  Olympia Fields is not exactly in the best part of Chitown.  And I was definitely the only writer (or whatever I was) in this particular hotel.  The first night, my neighbors were clearly fornicating and children were playing in the hallway well past midnight.  But I didn't care, I was going to the Open.

That first day, I found my way to the course via train.  I distinctly remember walking behind Woody Paige as I flashed my temporary media pass.  The guy is a giant oaf of a man, though Bob Ryan ranks uglier in terms of aesthetics.  Both are pretty pleasant people.

With the help of Golf World's Ryan Herrington, I managed to get into the media center.  You know, the massive tent that does not say "Merchandise" on it.  I put down my things and took in the scenery for a few minutes.  I probably even called my mom on my then-cool cell phone. 

The buzz, of course, surrounded the pairing of Tiger Woods and Ricky Barnes.  Having done so well at Masters, Barnes was a can't miss superstar in waiting.  He would soon turn pro.  Woods, who had turned in his worst Masters performance ever, was still the favorite - particularly on a course that most thought he could overwhelm with length.  The story that Thursday, though, quickly shifted focus to Tom Watson. 

Then not quite 53 years old, Watson had gotten into the Open on a special exemption.  He and his caddy Bruce Edwards were there to contest the Open as a team for the final time.  Late in the prior year, Edwards had been diagnosed with ALS - Lou Gehrig's disease - which was a death sentence.  To Watson and his playing partners over the prior months, it had become clear that the disease was accelerating and aggressively attacking Edwards.  He got tired faster, had a tougher time carrying the bag.  Watson even went so far as to remove anything not absolutely essential from his bag so as to make the job easier for Edwards, who refused to give up his job.

Watson was clearly playing with a sense of purpose that day.  He needed no inspiration from the fact that this was his 30th Open.  This day was for Bruce.  Watson holed out for eagle with a six-iron.  He closed with two birdies in three holes.  The highlight of the day was the 25 foot birdie putt that Watson nearly did not make.  But taking all ten seconds allotted to wait for the ball to drop off of the lip and into the ground, the extra rotation gave Watson an incredible birdie.

What was unfolding was not evident at first.  The opening nine that day was rather benign - aside from the birdie at seven.  But the final holes were magical.  It was clear that something special was unfolding on those last holes.  Writers, including myself, left the media center in exodus to find Watson and Edwards.  Fortunately, I was able to catch up with the pair on the last hole.  From behind the green - near the interview area - I could see the throng of people surrounding and embracing Watson and his long-time caddy.  Everyone seemed to be weeping and applauding at the same time.

''He's a great player,'' Nick Price said that day. ''Shooting a 65 at age 53? He gives 46-year-olds hope.''

Little did Price know what Watson would achieve seven years later.  Still, there was a belief that something extraordinary could happen in this Open.  A 53 year old man playing with unique inspiration winning the Open?  Unfathomable at the onset of the championship, but seemingly realistic after day one.

The surge of media that arrived to greet Watson, knowing full well that he would get the total media treatment from the USGA for his round that day, was impressive.  As much as they wanted a good quote, they wanted to congratulate both for an unforgettable day.

In the end, Watson faded away from contention.  He finished T28 as Jim Furyk sailed to victory over Stephen Leaney, just missing the Open scoring record in the process.  The celebration for Furyk was wonderful, but it was moving for Watson and Edwards that day.

Watson's indelible quote still rings in my head.

"You can only imagine at this stage of my career how important this is, and how rare this opportunity is."