McPhee On The Open Championship

New Yorker subscribers can enjoy John McPhee's essay from the Open Championship online. As with any subject in the hands of a craftsman like McPhee, it's an enjoyable read, particularly when the metaphors teeter veer in the direction of Dennis Miller gone awry.

The longest successful drive we see on seventeen is by the American sinner John Daly, wearing slacks meant to resemble the skin of a red-and-black Tiger. Daly won the Open at St. Andrews in 1995, ballooned in weight in subsequent years, did some rehab, and now has an implanted turnbuckle around the upper end of his stomach, like a great comorant on the Yangtze River.

I also learned several new words from the story. The Swilken Burn "leaves town in ampersand fashion" and John Daly's "habliments" change daily. But I really loved the media center description, which, based on the number of scribes visiting the town bookmaker, seems appropriate.

The atmosphere is less bookish than bookie-ish. Along one side is a full-field scoreboard that resembles a tote board in an off-track betting parlor.