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Merciless US Opens of yesteryear are gone and they’re not coming back

Merciless US Opens of yesteryear are gone and they’re not coming back

LOS ANGELES — For most of its 123 years, the United States Open has embodied archetypes: a certain kind of course set-up is presented, a certain kind of examination will be administered, a certain kind of player will flourish.

Its venues are known to work over skill and psyche. Generations of sports shrinks put their kids through college by processing players’ PTSD from Oakmont, Winged Foot, Shinnecock Hills and Bethpage Black. Players who survived fit a profile too. Curtis Strange, Hale Irwin, Payne Stewart—flinty competitors who would think twice before giving another player a Heimlich. Nicklaus and Hogan too. They would discount everyone overheard whining in the locker room until they knew how few opponents were left to beat.

But the most enduring U.S. Open archetype is the examination itself. It’s never been a test of execution alone, but of patience, discipline and intestinal fortitude. U.S. Opens weren’t won, they were earned. It mattered not which blazered USGA chief was out front – Mike Davis or Joe Dey – his job was to tighten the thumbscrews on the world’s best golfers. And when they yelped, twist ’em a little more.

The good old days are gone for most of those ideals. The U.S. Open’s character isn’t lost, but for a number of reasons it has altered.

The mix of venues is more experimental than the familiar roster of northeastern establishment clubs. Places like Pinehurst, Chambers Bay, Erin Hills and Los Angeles Country Club boast fairways that are, by U.S. Open standards, wider than the Great Plains, with playing corridors that promise little firewood for Casa Chamblee. The movement toward authentic architecture with more width and angles – goodbye Rees Jones, hello Gil Hanse – theoretically demands greater imagination from players, but only if crispy conditions can be guaranteed. Which, of course, they can’t.

The Open ‘specialist’ is also a relic of the past. Among recent winners, only Brooks Koepka mirrors that old identikit profile of yore. Unsurprisingly, he’s not enthused about L.A.C.C. “I think it should be around par,” he said Friday, eyeing a leaderboard on which Rickie Fowler was double digits into the red. “I’m not a huge fan of this place.”

Each major has a particular identity. The Masters owes its stature to exclusivity, thus beating the weakest field translates to golf’s pinnacle achievement in the eyes of so many. The Open (Brit edition) is defined by history, the charming vagaries…

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