No medal, only pride for Dunne
POOR Paul Dunne. He turned up as a major contender for a jug and left St Andrews without a medal, the victim of cruel nerves and a surge from a 21-year- old American called Jordan.
But what an extraordinary ride. And what a mark of this competition that the Irishman ultimately ranked only fourth among the unpaid, having been the first amateur since 1927 to lead The Open after three rounds.
Instead, the Silver Medal went to Jordan Niebrugge, who spends part of his time studying for a business degree in Oklahoma. For that reason, Niebrugge was fully tuned into the reality that his non- professional status had just deprived him of a cheque for more than £200,000.
‘The money would have been nice,’ he said, his score of 11-under giving him a two- shot edge on England’s Ashley Chesters and Ollie Schniederjans, another American prodigy.
They had their chances in the Medal race, but the greatest cost was surely felt by Dunne. He, more than any of the other remarkable amateurs in this field, rocked the tournament, providing one of the most incredible tales of the year by walking 54 holes in Bobby Jones’s famous footsteps.
But how the dream — and the 22-year-old’s game — fell apart when he needed it most. His 78 left him tied for 30th on seven underer and speaking in whispers.
‘The first three days were re good,’ he said. ‘The lastt round I don’t think there’s many positives to put on it.
‘The last three days I got off to a steady start and settled i nto the round, and here I had a couple of shots that I hadn’t seen in any practicee sessions.
‘It kind of just rattledd me a little bit. I didn’t really know where they came from.’
His reception on the first tee was incredible, a roar coming from the same grandstand that offered only polite applause for Louis Oosthuizen, his partner in that final group.
The impact of the occasion was clear from the start. Having shot only two bogeys across three great rounds of 69, 69 and 66, he yanked his first tee shot a long way left and then failed to reach the burn in front of the green. He hit a poor chip and eventually took a bogey, walking off with colour drained from his cheeks.
His t ee s hot at t he s econd disappeared somewhere near the driving range. Surely it was gone forever. He reloaded twice more and messed up both shots, leaving one in a gorse bush and another concealed by a branch.
Then a call came from the marshals that his first had been found, 70 yards right of the fairway and on one of the practice greens.
That might have been a dose of Irish luck, enabling a bogey from what would have been a card-wrecker, and birdies at three and five got him back to 12 under.u BuBut then the weather and his game turned. He dropped fofour shots in his first four hholes on the back nine aa n d then finished bbogey-bogey.
‘ I was nervous, but nothing anything ddifferent to the last three ddays,’ he said. ‘I have 10 dadays off in my schedule nownow, so I will just have some rest. I kind of need a bit of a breakbreak.’’ He looked and sounded exhausted; with perspective he will surely feel immensely proud.
Chesters cut an entirely different figure, his excitement a consistent factor throughout the final day.
‘I looked at the scoreboard on the 10th, and I actually had an eagle putt, and I saw that was to tie me for the lead,’ he said.
‘That was why I hit it so hard. It’s crazy to think I had a putt to lead The Open on the final day.’
It is even crazier to think of what might have been for the boy who looks like Jordan Spieth and, for three rounds, played like him.