You’ll have to forgive me if this opening paragraph is interrupted by a gaping yawn. Sorry, I’ve just yawned right there, halfway through typing the word yawn.
This is what happens, you see, when you stay up until yon time watching the finale of a quite flabbergasting US Open.
Given the wonderfully chaotic nature of the finish at storm-tossed Oakmont, even Rip Van Winkle would’ve staved off his nodding somnolence and stayed awake for the denouement.
It was some old night, wasn’t it? J.J Spaun’s birdie putt on the last, to deny Robert MacIntyre at the death, was so outrageously long, I genuinely thought his ball would run out of room on the bloomin’ TV.
In fact, I was half expecting to see it disappear off the screen, roll out the side of the tele and trundle along the living room floor.
MacIntyre’s reaction to seeing his major dream dashed by Spaun’s thrilling showstopper was heartily generous and summed up the golfing spirit. He clapped wildly while saying, “wow”, in a gasp of acclaim and astonishment.
Those of us hoping for a MacIntyre win possibly blurted out something a trifle less printable amid the breathless tumult.
Hats off to MacIntyre. He gave it his all – he was the only player in the last 17 groups to break par - and certainly didn’t lose it. Spaun won it and hats off to him too.
At the Scottish Open last July, MacIntyre trundled in a raking birdie putt of his own on the 18th – it wasn’t quite the 65-feet of Spaun – to pip the gallant Adam Scott to the title. That’s golf. You win some, you lose a heck of a lot more.
In 18 major appearances, MacIntyre, who is now up to a career best of 12th on the world rankings, has posted a second, a sixth, two eighths and a 12th.
It’s an impressive body of work and, apart from Paul Lawrie actually winning The Open, it's the best portfolio by a Scotsman since good old Monty was in his pomp.
Martin Laird and Russell Knox, who both carried the saltire with distinction on the PGA Tour before MacIntyre came on the scene, never quite managed to scale the heights in the majors.
Laird’s best finish was a share of 20th at the Masters back in 2011 while Knox posted a tie for 12th in the US Open of 2018.
MacIntyre continues to prove that he’s the man for the big stage. In this crash, bang, wallop age, that’s another men’s major out of the way.
These showpiece occasions hurtle towards us at such a rate, they should be accompanied by a panicked shriek of “fore!”.
In the time it takes you to say, “what are the dates of The Open again?”, the final major of the campaign will be gone in a flash too.
The four grand slam events are all done and dusted in a fevered 13 weeks. Once the Claret Jug gets hoisted aloft at Royal Portrush, you’ll have to wait over 260 days for the next men’s major.
The Masters, of course, has always benefitted from this heightened sense of anticipation. The others seem to be rushed along with the haste of a flustered check-out assistant flinging your messages through the scanner at the supermarket.
Yes, we all know that golf scheduling around the world can be a complex palaver, with various bodies and tours all jostling for position in a jam-packed calendar, but I’ve always thought that shoehorning the four grandest events into just 13 weeks seems a tad measly.
The PGA Championship, for instance, used to be billed as Glory’s Last Shot when it brought the curtain down on the major season in August.
Such branding may have been a bit naff but at least it had identity. Now that it’s tossed in between the Masters and the US Open in this major maelstrom, it’s lost some of that lustre.
For all this talk of blink and you’ll miss ‘em championships, though, I often refer back to the schedules of yore for some historical comparisons.
In 1963, Jack Nicklaus won the PGA Championship in Dallas, just seven days after finishing third in The Open at Lytham. Quite the rush, eh?
The Open will be upon us in a flash and MacIntyre will head to Northern Ireland with the bit between his teeth as he continues to knock on the door of major glory.
Portrush was the venue where he made his major debut in The Open that year and went on to finish sixth.
I can always remember at about 10am on the first morning of that championship, his name appeared at the top of leaderboard for a spell. MacIntyre was going global.
All of sudden, golf reporters from as far afield as the Hindustan Times, the Ashahi Shimbun, El Correo and La Gazzetta dello Sport were inquisitively leafing through the player guide and whispering, “where the hell is Oban?”
Most folk know now, of course. MacIntyre’s valiant assault on brutal Oakmont, especially on a punishing, sodden Sunday which saw other leading lights fold and break like a limp corn tortilla, underlined all his abundant qualities, from the quality of his golf to the manner in which he accepted defeat.
It was a magnificent effort. “I’m a guy that believes,” he said in the aftermath. That major belief grows.
It's onwards to The Open. We won’t have to wait long for it.
