So, you want to hear about The Open in 2005, eh? St Andrews. Tiger Woods. Jack Nicklaus saying his goodbyes. Yeah, I remember that one, alright. Not for the reasons you might think, though. For me, 2005 was… well, it was a year.
I was working this dead-end job back then, stacking shelves, dreaming of something more. My big plan? Save up enough cash, get myself to St Andrews for The Open. Me and my mate, Dave – or “Flaky Dave” as he became known after this whole episode. He swore blind he could get us tickets, maybe even a decent place to stay through some “contact” he had. Sounded too good to be true, and guess what? It was.
My “Practice” for The Open 2005
So, my “practice” for The Open started months before. Every spare quid I had went into the ‘Open Fund’ jar. I was looking up train times, practicing my golf clap in the mirror – joking, mostly. But the excitement was real. I bought a new anorak, specifically for the unpredictable Scottish weather. Dave kept saying, “It’s all sorted, mate, relax!” Famous last words.
The weeks leading up to it, I was constantly pestering him. “Got the tickets yet, Dave?” “What’s the address of this place we’re staying?” He’d just wave his hand, “Yeah, yeah, nearly there.” Then, about a week before, the bombshell. His “contact” apparently vanished into thin air. No tickets, no accommodation, nothing. Just a mumbled apology over the phone. Flaky Dave, alright.
So there I was. Anorak bought, hopes sky-high, and now, absolutely nothing. I was gutted, properly fuming. All that saving, all that anticipation, down the drain because I’d relied on him. It sounds silly now, getting so worked up over a golf tournament, but back then, it felt like a massive betrayal. It was more than just golf; it was the escape I’d been planning for months from that mind-numbing job.
My actual Open 2005 experience? Ended up watching it on my tiny, flickering telly in my tiny, damp flat. Alone. With a supermarket own-brand curry. Not quite the St Andrews dream, was it?
- Tiger Woods absolutely dominating – yeah, saw that. Impressive, even through the static.
- Jack Nicklaus on the Swilcan Bridge – that was a moment, I’ll give you that. Got a bit dusty in the room, even for me.
- The crowds, the atmosphere – all piped through tinny speakers.
It was a lesson, though. A hard one. Don’t rely on Flaky Daves, for one. And sometimes, even when you plan and save, life just throws a spanner in the works. My “practice” turned into a lesson in managing disappointment, I suppose. Not quite the sporting experience I had envisioned.
Funnily enough, the money I’d saved? Ended up using it a few months later to take a course, a really basic IT thing. Led to a better job eventually. So, in a weird way, Flaky Dave messing things up actually pushed me towards something better. Still wouldn’t thank him for it, mind.
So yeah, The Open 2005. A memorable one, for all the wrong, and then eventually, sort of right reasons. That’s my story of it, anyway. Not the glorious pilgrimage I’d imagined, but it’s how it went down for me.
