A funny thing happens to the body and the mind 12 hours into binging the British Open from a couch more than 4,000 miles away from the iconic coastline. The deep grooves created from atrophy turn from friend to foe, providing resistance in the fight to get up and do anything more productive. The sharp mind fueled by early morning coffee is nowhere to be found and it’s tough to even remember the optimism that version of yourself had to gorge on major action. It's not dissimilar to what happens at the end of a long football weekend—with one crucial difference.
Whereas all the Saturdays and Sundays bring exhaustion from overstimulation, this particular Thursday sapped the energy away from what can only be described as lack of stimulation. And to be clear, it would be unfair to blame Peacock or the USA Network because the opening round of the Open Championship failed to create any signature, or even memorable, moments. Everyone competing at Royal Portrush tried their level best to create something special and manufacture intrigue. Even the unpredictable weather, that loyal imaginary friend that makes this tournament different than all the rest, reared its head and forced constant recalibration and focus.
