THE OPEN OPENS WITH A FIVE-HORSE TIE — FITZPATRICK, OLESEN & COMPANY WEATHER THE PORTRUSH GALE
From the sports desk of uncle Alistair “uncle Al” MacDowell, aged 83
Thursday’s Edition — County Antrim Daily Gazette
July 18, 2025
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THE OPEN OPENS WITH A FIVE-HORSE TIE — FITZPATRICK, OLESEN & COMPANY WEATHER THE PORTRUSH GALE
Portrush, NIR —
By God, the wind, and by the hair on their nuts, they did it. Five names now etched atop the 153rd Open’s first-round ledger, and not one of them flinched when Royal Portrush blew its finest North Atlantic squall straight up their tartan trousers.
Five tied at four-under-par 67: Matt Fitzpatrick, Jacob Skov Olesen, Haotong Li, Christiaan Bezuidenhout, and Harris English.
That’s not golf, lads, that’s beyond even the now seldom sought after accomplishment of maritime survival. It’s taking the goddamn Northwest Passage and finding the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea.
The Dunluce Links didn’t just play tough — it played like a jilted lover. Slopes sharper than a bookie’s smile. Wind enough to knock the teeth from a boiled sweet. Rain? Coming in sideways.
“The rough was like trying to swing through your mother-in-law’s laundry line,” one caddie reportedly muttered between drams.
Nobody will get that reference, which is fine. What we can’t skip over is the mutual respect between mothers, Nature and Land. Fun fact:
Éire, and thus Ireland, is said to derive from the old Irish word “Éiru” who was said to be an Irish Goddess and the matron Goddess of the island and sovereignty.
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THE LEADERBOARD AS THE SUN SET ON DAY ONE
Tied 1st – Fitzpatrick, Olesen, Li, Bezuidenhout, English (–4)
Scheffler (–3)
Hatton (–3)
Westwood, Fowler (–2)
McIlroy, Mickelson, Rahm, Lowry, García (–1)
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McILROY AND THE LOCALS
Rory McIlroy, fair local son of Ulster, carded a tidy 70. A steady hand on a rough tiller. The galleries followed him like loyal hounds, wind or no.
“Best Portrush opener since ’19,” he said afterward, sipping something warm out of a paper cup like a man who knows.
And veterans like Westwood and Mickelson? Still swinging with the wrists of men half their age — and the hangovers of men twice it.
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RUN-D.M.C. AND A BACK-ROOM GAME?
Here’s where it gets proper daft: six-hour rounds, weather brutal enough to chew a mast, and in the middle of it all some big lad looks like he’d rather be gone fishing talking baccarat in the scorer’s hut…$64,000 per hand.
As one American wag quipped, “It’s tricky.” And aye, it bloody was. Only difference is Joseph Simmons never had to hit a 4-iron into a gale.
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PORTRUSH ITSELF: NO LADY, ALL MOTHER
Portrush didn’t just roar Thursday — she howled. Crosswinds clipping faces, sodden bunkers swallowing balls like a Glaswegian pub swallows sailors.
Fred Daly would’ve nodded knowingly, I’d wager. First Irishman to win The Open back in ’47, and today’s leaders stand firmly in his shadow.
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LOOKING AHEAD TO FRIDAY
Top Tier: The storm-tamers hold the line at –4.
Scheffler & Hatton: Two shots ready to pounce.
McIlroy: The pride of Ulster, two shots back, drenched but unbowed.
Churchill said it best: “Kites rise highest against the wind.” And so they did, my lads, so they did.
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FINAL WORD FROM THE BOOTH
Morning whisky poured. Notes scribbled in fountain pen ink that smells like history.
Five tied. Veterans clawing. Local pride brewing. And not a soul playing safe.
More drama tomorrow, mark me. Royal Portrush doesn’t soften with age. Nor do I.
Keep your collar turned up and your whisky neat. Friday’s just getting started.
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— uncle Al
Sports Editor Emeritus