There was pain in this Open, too, not the illustrious kind when Tiger Woods defied good sense and the limits of his sport to win the U.S. Open in June, but this was the kind that comes with not knowing at just what point Greg Norman would blow another chance.

It was nice for Norman to get one last walk in the sunshine, but rather it could have been in some other fashion, not as usual, losing from in front.

No other athlete in no other sport has sniffed so often around the edges of glory, if one does think of Charles Barkley, maybe Mario Andretti, possibly Mary Decker, the other Barry Bonds story, besides the steroids, always coming up short.

Think of entire teams, like the Atlanta Braves with all those division titles and one World Series or the Buffalo Bills losing and losing and losing and losing in Super Bowls. The Cubs may fit here, spending a century now disappointing, but perpetually lowered expectations do have their own special basement.

Norman is in a place by himself, no one else even close, a step higher today than yesterday.

Just about when most of it was a memory, no reason to think back, Norman added one more loud thump, likely the last.

The more certain it became that Norman would lose, the more often they showed the chart, the one that will be his epitaph, those eight runner-up losses in major tournaments.

This may have been unkind, because to be, at age 53, leading the British Open at the turn on the final day was truly remarkable.

Had not all that been behind him, had he been just some other relic, had he been, say, Leonard Thompson or Gary McCord, nearly any of his generation who, along with Norman, will be at The Broadmoor for the U.S. Senior Open on July 31-Aug. 3 - had it been someone who had never reached so high, how much more amazing would the story be.

But unfair or not, it is Norman's story, the final broken piece so much like those before.

This was the man who ruled golf between Nicklaus and Woods, or between Watson and Woods anyhow, the man who got more out of winning less than anyone before Danica Patrick.

Norman could no more escape his legend than can Tiger Woods, the one beyond admiration and the other partnered with misfortune, not considering Norman's wealth, worldwide business interests and celebrity marriage to Chris Evert.

This is not a man for whom sympathy is needed nor welcomed. Norman has always been maddeningly reasonable about his failures, some as victim, some as volunteer.

In his career, Norman lost in playoffs in all four major tournaments, giving him, what? A Slim Slam? There should be a name for it.

In 1986, he led every one of the majors going into the final round and managed to win only one, the British. This has been given a name. The Saturday Slam.

He lost to Jack Nicklaus at the Masters, this when Nicklaus was 46 and shot 30 on the back nine. Norman needed a par to tie at the 18th and bogeyed.

Compare this final crowning moment in Nicklaus' career to Norman's Sunday at Royal Birkdale.

In the '86 U.S. Open, Norman shot 75 on Sunday to finish tied for 12th behind winner Raymond Floyd, and at the PGA, in one of his two most dramatic losses, Norman could only stare unbelievingly as Bob Tway holed out a bunker shot to beat him, this after Norman had blown a four-shot lead in eight holes.

His most egregious loss had to be to Nick Faldo in the '96 Masters, blowing a six-shot lead to lose by five, while his most painful was in the '87 Masters, when Larry Mize chipped in on the second playoff hole to beat him.

This was the baggage that Norman carried Sunday, and will forever more, and what happened there is just one more brick in the bag.

In the absence of Woods, how nice this story would have been. We all love tales of redemption, of the star-crossed getting some justice, the hard luck finding a final reward, the tragic figure finding salvation.

We love to see the old hero showing us why he was one in the first place.

Norman did that, come to think of it.