Behind The Boards
Guest contributor, Peter Kemp, offers a scorer’s view of The Open Championship. Every year the public scoreboards at The Open are manned by schools from around the country. As former Boarding Master at Cranleigh School, Peter accompanied a group of pupils to perform just this task at The Open on several occasions. Always a particularly memorable week, it provided a unique insight into the ebb and flow of a major tournament as it unfolds…
Gary Evans will forever be remembered for a round that remains one of the most memorable and thrilling I have ever witnessed on a golf course. For me, not knowing Evans before that day, it encapsulated the essence of what the Open Championship is all about.
Muirfield, 2002. Sunday. The morning shift inside our huge yellow scoreboard, perched on top of the 18th stands, has been typically quiet; things will get much busier once the leaders go out in the afternoon. I decide to check the boys downstairs. 
Nipping down the ladder, a casual glance around reveals a fairly typical scene. Newspapers litter the wooden slatted floor alongside empty coffee cups, chocolate bar wrappers and discarded sandwich packets. The letters and numbers are still in orderly piles, stacked on the floor for speed of access. The school boys operating the board this week are all keen golfers and have been thrilled to be able to watch their heroes in the flesh. But it’s been a tiring week. One boy dozes in the corner, one reads a paper, another peers through our peep-hole out at the course, “Wind’s picking up, sir.” Another listens to an iPod, while another casually taps the small screen of his ‘hand held’ information system with a large white golf tee. “First game’s on the 12th, sir….”
As soon as they reach the 17th tee, their names will go up on our ‘hole approach’ section, to inform the spectators gradually filling the stand opposite which players they will shortly be seeing on the 18th and their scores for the day and the tournament. A flurry of activity will follow as old names and final scores are replaced. In the quieter moments, they will be returning letters, preparing the next set of names, double checking the spelling of Calcavecchia. “Why do Americans have such weird surnames, sir?” Every day, we aim for a mistake-free shift, remembering the little ‘a’ for Amateur, the initial after Hansen, and remembering to put the names in the right way round (SDOOW, SLE and NOSELKCIM could make an interesting group!).
“Stay nice and quiet when the players are on the green please, boys.” Returning upstairs, I sip thermos coffee in front of our computer – our major lifeline to the outside world. Radio 5 Live, crackling from a small transistor radio balanced precariously on a scaffolding bar, informs us of another birdie for Evans, “who’s having a hot streak with the putter on this beautiful sunny morning” and moments later, up pops his name in red on the screen. “18 A to control – Evans has just gone to 4 under for the day – shall we stick him up on the board as a Best Round in Progress?” We get the go ahead and through our walkie talkie, confirm with 18 B opposite that they will replicate. “Right boys, dig Evans out of the pack, he’s going in row nine at 4 under for the day after 6 holes.” The boy in charge of the leader board downstairs responds immediately, “Evans into row 9, 4 under after 6.” Being on two levels, instructions can often be misheard or mistaken, so rather like a head chef in a busy kitchen, instructions for the changes are barked out and hopefully repeated straight away from down below. Successful communication is the key to the board running smoothly. “Who, sir?”
Every competitor’s name is printed on long yellow plastic slats which slide into the opened ‘doors’ on board before being closed and locked into place. Evans’ name had been gathering dust and rain water until that moment. He had bogeyed his first hole of the day, and had probably thought the sooner he could finish his round and head off home the better. But then followed what must be one of the most remarkable, if little talked about, final rounds in Open Championship history. It would have made Gary Evans a household name. He birdied the next 7 consecutive holes. He then lipped out for birdie on the 9th, chipped in for birdie on the 10th and holed a long putt for birdie on the 11th. He had somehow manufactured 9 birdies in his first 11 holes.
By now he is not just a ‘best round in progress’, but heading towards the top of our leader board, and when our shift finishes, my colleague and I decide to go and find him and follow him in. The great perk of our job on the boards means that once our shift has finished, we can go and watch the golf. One can soak up the atmosphere and witness the ebbs and flows over four days of this unique tournament where a hole can be playing into the wind one day and down wind the next; where shot-making has to be creative and intelligent and take more than just yardage into consideration. There are always remarkable shots to savor, like Woods holing his blind approach with a 4 iron to the 14th at Hoylake and humour, like Lee Westwood sprinting (honestly, he was sprinting) down a fairway after pitching to a green to mark his ball which had perched at the top of a ridge but might be blown 20 feet down the slope. There are wonderful moments too, like Nicklaus’ final walk up the 18th fairway at St. Andrews, with the whole of Fife there to applaud him. Sadly, sometimes, there are heartbreaking failures, too. Adam Scott just last year, but remember also Garcia missing his putt to win at Carnoustie, Bjorn taking three to get out of that greenside bunker at St. George’s, or perhaps most heartbreaking of all, Watson three putting the last green at Turnberry.
We catch up with Evans at the par three 16th, and because everyone is watching the leaders go out, there are surprisingly few spectators following his match. His tee shot has ended up short of the green. His chip ends up one revolution short of the hole. Only a par! On the 17th tee, we watch him drive – a good swing and another fairway split down the middle. This par 5 hole had been very reachable in two all week and so we decide to walk quickly down the left side of the fairway to watch him play in to the green. He must be feeling invincible. We get well ahead of him and turn to watch him hit his three wood. As soon as he hits it, he hangs his head and the caddie’s left arm shoots out. We can’t see his ball, but know it must be somewhere in the deep rough just ahead of where we are. Within minutes, about 200 people have joined us; spectators, TV cameras, Laura Davies brandishing a microphone, and finally the player and his caddie.
He walks past me with a haunted look on his face. We all know that feeling of frustration mixed with increasing desperation when searching for a lost – or, more hopefully, missing – ball. Evans had one hand on the claret jug as he was searching. Three balls are found, but none are his. “Sorry Gary, that’s five minutes.” The referee’s words signal a lonely plod back to where he had played his shot, realization that his chance of glory might be gone, and a re-load. What will he do? Lay up or go for it? He’s got a 3 wood out again, he’s going for it! An amazing shot finds the green and leaves him pin high, 30 foot left of the pin. Having been co-leading the tournament, he has seemingly just thrown it away, only to be given a glimmer of hope again. This journeyman pro snakes his putt across the green and watches it drop for what is effectively an eagle, but is in fact only a par. Still, Gary Evans goes berserk, jumping around like a mad man.
To this day, I have never, ever heard a roar from a golfing gallery as loud as the one that erupted from those of us around that 17th green. I suppose it was in some ways inevitable after such a see-saw of emotion, that he would bogey the last hole – a tough par four – and miss out on a play off place by one shot. How cruel this game can be. But the very fact that he came from nowhere to within a whisker of winning the most prized trophy in golf, is what the Open championship is all about.