We had it on this morning (PST) in our office - and even people who don't know a Rescue club from a used tampon were absolutely mesmerized to the last putt.
All you smarty-pants, know-it-all armchair "Isn't Peter Dawson a fucking wanker" need to shut up and admit the TRUE World Championship of Golf at the Auld Grey Toon is the most wonderful thing imaginable in the game we love so much - and the R&A did a great job.
Yeah, maybe play needed to be called earlier on Saturday, but the shoe-pukes by the USGA are so numerous, THE Library of Congress card catalog is not large to enumerate them.
If you are stupid enough to argue the history and finishes at St. Andrews have not provided the most breathless, tearful, wonderful theater imaginable, then you do not belong on this site - and have been inoculated by some kind of autoimmune virus, rendering you impervious to history being made before your color-blind eyes.
That stated, I was sure Shrek or Leishman (with momentum on his side) was going to carry the day. I was also sure Paul Lawrie was going to sneak up and win . . . . . . . just like I somehow believed by ex-wife was going to love me forever. That is why I'm a shit-poor gambler.