This tearjerker good for golf ... and Watson's legacy

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Tom Watson's disappointment was etched on his face after losing to Stewart Cink in a playoff at Turnberry.

It was on the 71st stroke of an amazing, nerve-wracking day, and the 72nd hole of an inspirational, awe-inspiring week, when Cinderella finally disappeared at Turnberry, leaving us abruptly and without the satisfying final chapter that we all craved, hoped, cheered, perhaps even prayed for.

It was then that Tom Watson turned back into Old Tom Watson.

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No, not the Old Tom of the 1970s and early '80s, when he looked more like Tom Sawyer, all foppish hair and freckles and goofy grin, churning out a series of adventures that landed him eight major titles while taking the baton from Jack Nicklaus as the player to beat. That was the Old Tom we had seen most of the week, the one who kept giving us thrills and chills while defying most laws of nature.

No, on this 71st stroke we got the Old Tom of more recent vintage, the one who battled problems with the putter, especially when hovering over the makeable ones from short range. This was the Old Tom who -- unlike Nicklaus or modern-day players like Vijay Singh and Kenny Perry -- failed to build on his legend after turning 40, winning just twice on the PGA TOUR in his fifth decade. By comparison, Nicklaus won five times, including three majors, with that triumph at the '86 Masters at age 46 going down as the greatest performance by an "old-timer" ever on TOUR ...

... until last week at Turnberry.

Now Watson was about to produce the greatest feat of his Hall of Fame career, perhaps the greatest feat of any golfer's career. All he needed to do was navigate eight more feet with one stroke on the 18th hole. Do that, and he could claim something that no one before -- and daresay, no one in the future -- will ever achieve. Forget building on his legend in his 40s; Watson was about to do it less than two months shy of his 60th birthday.

But while golf cherishes its history, honors its legends and revels in the idealism of its gentlemanly sport, it does not hand out storybook endings lightly. Like life and death, or good vs. evil, golf must balance its sentimentality with cruelty. The Old Tom we feared would show up at any minute finally did on that par putt, one that would've given Watson his sixth, and most improbable, Claret Jug. Not even the will of the people, all the Scots in attendance, all the fans watching on TV, all the "old fogeys" who had put off their afternoon naps to cheer one of their own, could help Watson on this one.

You know the rest. Watson hit a "lousy" putt, missed it badly, settled for bogey and a playoff against Stewart Cink, and then simply ran out of gas and/or magic, whichever you prefer. Exhausted and emotionally spent -- us as much as Watson -- we had to settle for the Greatest Story Never Told. "The dream almost came true," Watson said, emphasis on almost.

You could see the sadness and disappointment in Watson's crinkly eyes as he tried to keep it together while waiting for the post-tournament ceremony to begin. Like the Scots who have adopted him as one of their own, Watson remained stoic, but he's never been one to hide his feelings. He had already become teary-eyed earlier in the week, drawing support and warmth from the crowd as he remained in contention by rolling in lengthy putts from somewhere south of the Ailsa Craig.

In fact, Watson is accustomed to shedding tears at Turnberry. In 1977, after having beaten Nicklaus in the Duel in the Sun, Watson and his then-wife Linda were celebrating quietly in their hotel room when they heard the skirl of a lone bagpiper, the melodic drone tugging at their hearts. Both started to cry, the realization of what Watson had just done finally hitting home.

You got the sense that Watson might be crying again in his Turnberry hotel room Sunday night. Only this time it would not be tears of joy.

He certainly wasn't the only one fighting back tears. But once ours dry, once the disappointment subsides and we get to see Watson's performance in its totality, we will know this:

The game of golf is better today because of Watson's performance at Turnberry.

We see now that a skilled golfer need not be a young one, but simply an accomplished one, that this game can produce magic at any age, be it in the British Open or in that weekly foursome you have every Saturday morning.

"Not only did he show how great a golfer he is," Cink said, "but he showed what a great game we all play, the longevity that can exist, for a guy to come out and compete."

We also see that golf, however cruel it may be, is also fair. Seventy-two holes means 72 holes, not 71-˝. Cink made the putt he needed to make on 18; Watson didn't. No matter how much you may have wanted Watson to win, Cink is a worthy victor, a fine golfer who had long been on the verge of this kind of accomplishment.

Even Watson knows that the unlucky break he had with his perfectly struck approach shot on the 18th Sunday -- it bounded through the green and down the slope, leaving him with a tricky third -- was balanced (that word again) by some lucky breaks to get him to that point. Excellent touch and judgment can only provide so much, especially on 60-foot putts.

"If you go back throughout four rounds of a tournament, you've made some putts, you've made some shots and you got away with some good bounces on links golf that you shouldn't have gotten away with if you're in this position, I promise you," Watson said. "The guys that are down 50th, they got a lot of bad bounces, they didn't make the putts. So I'm pretty realistic about that."

And more than anything else, we see that Watson should be cherished as one of our legendary players, and that we should appreciate him more than we've previously shown. We need to look beyond the fact that he doesn't have Nicklaus- or Tiger-type numbers on his resumé, or that he lacks the mystique of Hogan, or even the swashbuckling appeal of Norman or Ballesteros.

Watson himself said Sunday that he simply wants to be known as a "hell of a golfer," but that doesn't really do him justice. He's more than that, and his failure to close the deal should not degrade his legacy in any way.

If anything, his week at Turnberry will enhance it. But we'll only realize that after the tears dry.