ROMANTIC stories are common enough during the preliminaries of major championships, and it was touching as the week unfolded to watch 53-year-old Greg Norman as a newly-wed, introducing Chris Evert as his bride and recalling all his yesterdays as a champion golfer. Such welcome diversions are one thing; keeping it going and contending in the business end of a major is something else entirely. That was Norman’s task yesterday, and he tackled it magnificently.

As the younger men faltered, Norman kept his composure and continued to tame the ferocious wind and a most testing course with the old virtues: superb ball-striking, good judgment and unyielding competitiveness. By the end, with all the rest exhausted, Norman shot 72, a barely credible score in the conditions and circumstances, and was in the lead by two strokes. The impossible is becoming realistic.

And it could have been better. Such was Norman's control and impressive distance with his driver and irons, he could have taken command. Unfortunately, a few putts went astray.

Evert, who followed her husband’s round from outside the ropes, must have been impressed. She may be new to golf, but she has long taken an interest in Norman. For her, it was always the way he walked. In those far off days, when she was one of the best two female tennis players in the world, pretty and immaculate, the cool kid from Florida, she used to watch golf on television. Ballesteros she liked, Nicklaus she admired, but Norman was the one with the charisma, “that walk, that great walk”, as she put it, misty-eyed with that hint of risque humour that is part of her charm.

She had a good view of the walk during her long march up and down the dunes. It’s unmistakeable, but not easy to describe. It has the loose-limbed tension of a hunting animal excited by prey, with one object in mind, but it is also erect, like a soldier, eyes front heading in a dead-straight line.

As Norman, who started the championship as a 500-1 outsider ranked 635th in the world, added some interest to a sodden first day, then sustained such excellence in the conditions that none other could match him over the next two, his walk grew ever more confident, ever more like the old walk, and ever more to the fancy of Evert.

“I don’t play golf,” Evert said. “I’m not a dabbler.”

Yet she must have realised something extraordinary was taking place on the wild Lancashire linksland. Norman no longer competes regularly – he plays more tennis than golf these days – and was using his appearance as a wrap-up to their honeymoon and a warm-up for the Seniors Open at Troon next week. Their happiness, of course, has been the mainspring for his resurgence.

Norman only won two majors, the Opens of 1986 and 1993, but he did it in style. In 1986 at Turnberry, he produced one of the most notable rounds. After surviving a gale on the first day, he conquered the course with a 63, four shots better than the rest.

Norman at his best could play links golf as well as anyone, ever. And even if the memory may be dim, enough of that game and his vitality remain to seriously compete, and to show his bride just how good he was, and is.