The love is all around as popular pair woo crowds

IT WASN'T meant to be like this at the projected dull, Tiger-less Open. But there we were, stumbling about the dunes and the gorse bushes, elbowing aside those meddlesome others with the same idea, in an effort to see unfold what some had branded the Greatest Sports Story Ever.

Harrington's win put an end to this possibly exaggerated notion, but the Irishman's success proved a riveting – and popular – enough tale on the other side of the fairway ropes.

The scale of achievement had Norman lifted the title might have been unsurpassed in the annals of golf, and the sense of deflation felt at the 12th hole, when Norman racked up his sixth bogey of the day, acknowledged the likelihood we would not bear witness to something truly historic.

But golf shares tennis's capacity for transferring the sympathies of the fans between the protagonists on show. Just as the loyalties shifted back and forth between Roger Federer and Rafa Nadal during their epic Wimbledon duel earlier this month, so did our favours yesterday.

Even a sensor device as sensitive as the one which monitors the speed and accuracy of serves at Wimbledon could not have calculated who between Norman and Harrington enjoyed the loudest cheer as they were introduced at the first tee by Ivor Robson's familiar voice. A partisan element to the galleries was provided by the presence of the families of the men involved. For the rest of us, it was simply a case of roll with it.

On the mounds could be detected an appetite for the opportunity simply to hail a great winner, and Harrington is that. Perhaps the proximity of his homeland helped increase the volume of cheers which sound-tracked the closing stages of his exceptional round, but even on the Angus coast last year few except Sergio Garcia's closest family members could say they were disappointed with the way things turned out. And so it was here.

Chris Evert was not necessarily jumping for joy at the sight of Harrington finding a higher gear yesterday but a great competitor such as her can empathise with just how difficult it is to retain a Major title. She did it herself at the French and US Opens, as well as Wimbledon. Both she and Mrs Harrington joined the masses kicking up clouds of dust around Royal Birkdale yesterday. It was tense, for a spell.

At the seventh green, when Norman won back a shot, Evert, dressed in a black leather jacket and Dolce & Gabana sunglasses, could not bare to look.

Later someone handed her one of those ingenious periscope devices.

That, combined with the blue bucket Norman's agent Bart Collins was carrying around, helped the diminutive Mrs Norman keep up with the show, though even these props proved useless in parts of the course where Royal Birkdale's reputation for being spectator-friendly becomes harder to credit.

At the eighth hole a decent-looking drive whipped over our heads from the direction of the tee. "Is it his?" enquired Evert of Norman's manager, Bart Collins. "No, Harrington," came the reply. The "Oh" which Evert let slip was shot through with disappointment. Norman walked past on his way down the fairway, and was so close that his wife could lean out and touch him.

"Stay positive, honey," she urged him. If he heard, he didn't flinch. The Shark was in the zone. Either that or he has already developed a talent for ignoring his wife.

After the 10th hole Norman was back in the lead – by a shot. The fans sensed that they might yet see a 53-year-old win an Open in a tale which had everything, including glamour.

Norman, the apparently becalmed golfer with a business portfolio worth more than Manchester United, was back in contention for an Open, with a new and just as famous bride beside him.

He looks, according to one memorable line in yesterday's Sunday papers, as though he should be skippering a marlin boat off the coast of Bermuda. But at 2.20pm yesterday he swapped the poop deck for the first tee, where he was joined by Harrington and a crew of about 5,000. This was not a ship he would be sailing alone.

For the next four or so hours those who shared his company on the links were treated to the kind of finish this fine Open deserved.

Perhaps it did not contain the tortuous, finger-nail shredding drama of 12 months ago, but the lead did swap twice between Norman and Harrington, and for a moment even Ian Poulter looked like he might wrong-foot us all by emerging the victor. At the 12th green someone muttered "Poulter's birdied – he's gone to seven over". A ripple of excitement was felt. Poulter would have been a well-liked winner, no doubt. But the stardust was here, and we remained faithful.

Evert was proving as nimble as in her heyday, and darted between the fans. Most did a double-take. Hang on, isn't that....Waggish Scousers could not let her appearance in their backyard pass without comment, and autograph hunters were dogged but respectful. Evert signed the rim of one cap while watching her husband putt and biting the nails of her other hand.

It was an impressive display of multi-tasking. She remained stoic, but it must have been difficult for her to hear all the "C'mon Padraig!" shouts as it became ever more obvious that the Irishman would prevail.

Those expensive-looking shades hid her eyes at the 18th, when Norman collected the bogey which saw him share the third spot with Henrik Stenson. There were undoubtedly tears, but few could admit to dry eyes when Norman saluted those fans who had afforded him the standing ovation he deserved at the end.

Norman had managed to do something which seemed impossible and make us feel sorry for a multi-millionaire with a wife called Chris Evert. That was his victory here.