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capped a riveting and at times tempestuous championship at Royal Birkdale.

All the talk in the build-up was about the of through injury.

And if I am honest, he was missed in the early part of the week. But by Wednesday we had started to forget about him. And once play began we were reassured that the tournament is bigger than any one player.

Proof was conclusive in the final news conference. No-one asked the questions that had been floating around the moment Woods withdrew following knee surgery last month - does his not being here devalue the win? Should an asterisk be engraved next to the winner's name on the trophy to denote no Woods?

Perhaps no-one dared. But the fact is, there was simply no need.

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Tucked in behind fairytale third-round leader Greg Norman and determined defending champion Padraig Harrington were five young Englishmen hoping to emerge as Open champion at Royal Birkdale on Sunday.

No Englishman has won the Open since Nick Faldo at Muirfield in 1992, but forget the more established likes of Lee Westwood, Justin Rose or Paul Casey for now.

Simon Wakefield began his final round in fourth place at five over, three shots adrift of Norman. Ross Fisher was among those five back and Graeme Storm, the amateur Chris Wood and Ian Poulter were still in contention six shots behind.

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Sunday's final round of the 137th Open Championship sees a whole host of players in with a chance of walking off with the Claret Jug.

The tough weather conditions have squeezed the field so that there is no runaway leader, while the absence of adds to the uncertainty.

With just , and plenty of breeze forecast, it really is anyone's game.

I wondered what the approach would be if you were to find yourself in the pack, knowing - dreaming even - that if things go your way you could become Open champion sometime this evening.

The reason I'm so intrigued is that us amateurs - well, rubbish ones like me anyway - are often our worst enemies at times like this (not that we ever have times exactly like this, obviously, but it's all relative).

We panic and get grumpy if things go wrong, or we start to celebrate and practise our victory speech on the 15th, or we lose focus and think about what we're going to have for dinner while standing over a putt.

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If Greg Norman was the big story of the second day, not far behind was the tale of a certain .

The world number one in 1999 was Tiger Woods's nemesis, the iceman behind the wraparound shades and, to many, a golfing robot.

The American's critics accused him of being emotionless, but he won plenty of friends for his heartfelt speech after winning the Open at in .

Since then, though, Duval's decline has become legendary. He is now 1087th in the world. But on Friday, he climbed back into contention once again.

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wrote a song about being back in a nightclub in 1973. Well, is dancing to a tune that takes us back to 1993.

Or 1986, the years of his two Open triumphs.

It's doubtful whether there were many people in the world who thought the 53-year-old Australian would be leading the Open after his second round at Royal Birkdale.

Least of all Norman himself. "I had no expectation whatsoever," he said.

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A wry smile came over my face when Phil Mickelson and Ernie Els carded respectively on Black Thursday at Birkdale, as virtually no-one else in the world is calling it.

That's not because I have a beef against either player or wish to see them, or anyone else for that matter, struggle. Except maybe Scott Hoch.

It's just that two of my esteemed colleagues have a wager on this pair at every major. And I, as tradition dictates, mock them.

Not the Mickelson fan so much - Lefty will win more majors for sure, just not the Open. But I keep telling the Ernie backer that his man will never claim another major title. Fact.

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Old TW may not be here this week but his presence is still felt.

There's not many "you got its" or "appreciate its" doing the rounds, but if I've heard one of his other favourite sayings "it is what it is" once this week, I've heard it a thousand times.

So, with that in mind, after all the ballyhoo surrounding the relaid in the run-up to the Open, I thought I'd take a wander down there to see this monstrosity for myself. "Is it what it is?" I wondered. And if not, what is it?

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"Never mind an asterisk to denote Tiger Woods is missing. If this weather carries on the winner should have a little mark next to his name to show he battled through the storm."

That's what I'm thinking as the rain trickles off my nose and my trousers flap manically in the gale.

I'm preparing to follow Tom Watson, the old-stager and five-time Open champion, Justin Rose, many people's idea of the next British major winner and Aussie tyro Aaron Baddeley for a few holes of their first rounds on Thursday.

The weather is awful and for a brief second - milliseconds in fact - I'm glad I'm not a pro golfer.

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Pro golf is a very labour intensive business.

You wouldn't think so, given the game is all about individuals, but you only have to go to the practice ground at a big tournament to see what I mean.

Take the range here at ahead of the Open, for example. Behind every player belting balls is a little posse of expensively threaded and/or waterproofed, sunglassed, baseball-capped and generally swaggery men.

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Phil Mickelson's wife's bodyguard is called "Guns". He's not really but he's earned this nickname on account of his unfeasibly large biceps adorned with Green Beret tattoos.

You'd think he'd be a natural born killer. And he might be. But he also seems like a nice guy after a . This just goes to show you can't judge a book by its cover.

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