St. Andrews, Scotland – Printing the face of Jack Nicklaus on money was mad fun. Those wacky Scottish bankers. They put the greatest golfer who ever lived on a bank note, a honor previously reserved for Alexander Graham Bell and the Queen Mother.
But at current exchange rates, only an American lunatic or a sentimental fool would bet on Nicklaus to win the British Open at age 65.
I did. What, am I nuts?
Please, don’t answer that.
If it breathes in the United Kingdom, you can legally wager on it. Nicklaus qualifies. Barely.
On Wednesday morning, the winner of 18 major championships was fetching odds of 5,000 to 1.
A victory by Nicklaus is so unlikely that a 5-pound bet would pay off somewhere in the pricey neighborhood of $45,000 American.
In honor of a graying Bear in his golden years, I solemnly swear to donate all my winnings to AARP.
Of course, you have a better chance of dancing on the moon.
On the rotation of Open courses, those fun-loving dudes at the Royal and Ancient spun the clock’s big hand forward a year, just so Nicklaus could sneak in ahead of the mandatory retirement age for former champs.
“Jack would rather be treated as a competitor than a monument,” R&A chief executive Peter Dawson has declared.
“I appreciate that,” said Nicklaus, who despises the role of ceremonial golfer.
So let Nicklaus prove there is something left in his bag besides nostalgia.
“I’ve basically spent most of my time working on a golf game that is somewhat respectable. It hasn’t been very respectable this year,” Nicklaus said. “I’ve played horribly.”
Nicklaus has played more farewell tours than Cher.
You have to love a guy who endured being called “Fat Jack” in his youth, then grew into the biggest and best golf ambassador ever to drive the 18th green at the Old Course, but Nicklaus already has cried more tears at sporting events than any man this side of serial weeper Roy Williams, the basketball coach at North Carolina.
After cruising around Augusta National with agonizing rounds of 77 and 76 in April, Nicklaus said: “It’s great fun to play in the Masters, but it’s certainly no fun to play that way. It’s no fun to go out there and hack it around.
“This is not a celebrity walk-
around. This is a golf tournament. It’s a major golf championship, and if you’re going to play this championship, you should be competitive.”
Media members in the press room were too busy falling over themselves to applaud Nicklaus to hear his crucial point, the only point that really matters in any game.
Michelle Wie poses a greater threat to the world’s best golfers than Nicklaus does now. Chauvinists cannot wait to oink and snort about her being a publicity stunt in a skirt.
If Nicklaus has no shot at winning, he understands the proper place for him is on the far side of the yellow rope with the gallery. He is taking the tourney entry from a player who needs the prize money far worse.
The emotional weather forecast predicts tears on Friday, when Nicklaus misses the cut.
“Let’s hope he can prove everybody wrong and can turn that Friday afternoon into Sunday afternoon. That will be fantastic if he can do that. That’s his goal this week, I’m sure,” Colin Montgomerie said.
The only sport older than golf at St. Andrews is gambling. If a 1,000-year-old hamlet let in the caffeine buzz of Starbucks, how bad could a purveyor of dicey wagers be for the local population’s health?
On Bell Street, wedged between two ladies’ clothing shops like a portly matron trying to squeeze into an old size 8 dress, sits Ladbrokes. It opens for betting at 10:15 a.m, closes at 9:30 p.m.
Not that Nicklaus would know. He might be the most famous hermit in town history. Although he has recorded more rounds at St. Andrews than he can count, Nicklaus might be the last person you want to ask for directions.
“There’s no way that I’m going to get out and walk around the town when I’m at a golf tournament,” said Nicklaus, having a laugh at the expense of his competitive tunnel vision. “I hope to come back to St. Andrews someday and maybe walk around the town. I understand it’s a very nice place.”
Gambling on everything from soccer to dogs keeps Ladbrokes in business. Nicklaus is not getting much action. Except from his playing partners during practice rounds.
“We beat them out of 10 pounds,” said Tom Watson, who teamed with Kenny Perry on Wednesday to lighten the wallets of Nicklaus and Mike Weir. “There were a few tears coming up the 18th hole, and I am sure there will be a few more later this week.”
Hold the hankies. My money is on Nicklaus, because a legend is too precious to waste on mopey sentiment.
Wagering on the Rockies to win the World Series? Now that would be a sucker bet.
Nicklaus has a far better shot of strolling over Swilcan Bridge, leading a roaring crowd up the 18th fairway as winner of the British Open.
Crazy? Sure. But accept the long odds, and you miss the crucial point.
Without dreams, all we have is memories.
Staff writer Mark Kiszla can be reached at 303-820-5438 or mkiszla@denverpost.com.
