It was grin-and-bear-it weather during the first morning of the Open, the sort that makes you question why you ever thought a British seaside holiday was a good idea to begin with. The first shower blew in right around the time Scottie Scheffler got to the 1st tee. He had the air of a stubborn parent who had made the mistake of hauling their kids out in the heedless belief that it was going to clear up any minute, and was now determinedly leading them into the local folk museum that had been recommended by the holiday home owners. Scheffler gritted his teeth and got on with it, pretending he was enjoying himself.
“Was there a shot that stood out today for you, that you were really pleased with?” Scheffler was asked after his round. “No,” he said.
