The Nearly Man

Back in 1999, his name was at the top of the leaderboard at the Masters heading into the final nine of the tournament. Then, alas, he started for home 5, 6, 4 (bogey, double-bogey, bogey) to finish with a 71 and an anticlimactic share of sixth place. Later, he would admit to feeling "positively nauseous" at the end of the experience.

In 2008, he had missed a putt on the final green which would have earned him a play-off in the US Open while, in 2009, he was ahead with nine to play at The Open at Turnberry only to amass bogeys at the 15th, 16th and 18th to slip into a share of third place behind Stewart Cink and Tom Watson. Again, in 2010, he was leading the Masters by one going into the final round, only to post a 71 and lose out to Mickelson, who closed with a 67.

All of the above would have hurt but none would have quite the same impact on the player as what happened at the 2011 Open at Royal St George’s. That was the week when his closest golfing rival and friend, Darren Clarke, beat him to a maiden major.

From the start of their professional days, the International Sports Management stable-mates had fed off each other, with one typical example of how they would set each other’s competitive juices flowing there for all to see at the 1999 European Open.

That week, Clarke had a record 60 in the second round and was eight clear of his friend going into the last round. Westwood responded with a closing 66 to Clarke’s 75 to beat him by a single shot. How Clarke would have hated that day.

Each had their highs and lows over the next few years but, when it came to the aforementioned 2011 Open, no one was mentioning Clarke. Other, that is, than Chubby Chandler, ISM’s founder.

When the press had asked Chandler which of Westwood and Graeme McDowell he expected to win, Chubby, simply because he did not want to stir up trouble between those two players, answered with an oblique, "Why not Darren?"

Though Clarke had only finished 30th on the previous year’s Order of Merit, he felt entirely at ease in the angry squalls at Royal St George’s; they put him in mind of his amateur days at Portrush. Smiling through the tempest, he shook off Dustin Johnson and Phil Mickelson to take the title of his dreams.

Westwood, meantime, finished in a share of 11th place.

He would have been happy for Clarke but he would have been a saint not to have felt irked that Clarke had got there first. That he thought himself to be the better player of the two (Clarke, mind you, would have been equally convinced that he had the edge) can only have made things worse.