July 22, 2008 -- First off, would someone please get Padraig Harrington a script already? For the second straight year, he's crashed the final scene of a blockbuster.

Twelve months after taking top billing from Sergio Garcia at Carnoustie's production of the Open Championship, Harrington supplanted Greg Norman as the leading man at Royal Birkdale, erasing a two-shot deficit in Sunday's final round to win his second Claret Jug and deny one of golf's greatest matinee idols a third.

Of course, there's never been anything Hollywood about the Open. What you see is what you get at golf's oldest championship, as opposed to Tinseltown where what you see is generally the result of a plastic surgeon's scalpel. Birkdale had some work done after the last time it hosted the Open a decade ago, including augmentation that lifted the total yardage in Southport north of 7,100. But that face lift was barely visible in Thursday's opening round.

It was a little like playing 18 holes in a washing machine, only colder, wetter, and with less room for error. The field of 154 hearty souls (plus former major champions Sandy Lyle and Rich Beem who walked off in the middle of their rounds) looked like extras from the set of "Evan Almighty." Had there been an actual ark on the premises, those quirky Open leaderboards could've helped fill it. There was one Horsey (David); a Chia (Danny); and two of another kind, each a bit sacrificial in his own way -- Bradley Lamb of Australia was last after the first round, ditto for Chih-Bing Lam of Singapore on Sunday.

There was a Blizard (Rohan) for two days and a Storm (Graeme) all week. And had the chaos ever escalated to biblical proportions, the R&A had a prophet, Jean-Baptiste (Gonnet), standing by. The rain eventually subsided, but winds of 35-45 mph -- mirroring Ernie Els' nine hole scores of 35-45 on Thursday -- kept Birkdale in a four-day spin cycle and reduced red numbers to merely a pigment of players' imaginations.

If losing doesn't hurt, did he ever expect to win? (Photo: Getty Images)

But from that sea of black scores emerged golf's Great White. Greg Norman, The Shark, presumed extinct within major championship ecosystems but apparently right at home in conditions befitting of his maritime moniker, matched Birkdale's par of 70 the first two rounds. A Saturday 72 (when the average score was nearly 76) left him at two over par and two clear of the defending champion Harrington. Through 54 holes, 53-year-old Greg Norman took the lead into Championship Sunday.

I'm sitting here trying to think of how to emphasize the absurdity of that last sentence. Put it this way, if you're reading this column, you're doing so through a medium that didn't exist the last time Norman won a major. Semi-retired past champions are supposed to show up at big events early in the week to complain about how today's players aren't as hungry as they were -- Jack Nicklaus filled that role admirably at Birkdale (read here -- not to sleep on Saturday night leads.

Some suggested there should be an asterisk by the champion of this year's Open because of Tiger Woods' absence. But Norman was on the verge of doing something that would've necessitated an entirely different punctuation mark altogether. Maybe some kind of exclamation point/question mark hybrid. Or the > symbol that looks a little like a shark's snout. Or perhaps something more scatological like *@#?! to signify the sheer shock of it all.

Alas, the only curse Sunday was the one many believe has followed Norman in the final rounds of majors for most of his career. His two-shot lead when the day started was gone in the first 45 minutes courtesy of three straight bogeys to begin the round and an equal number of well-earned pars by the defending champ Harrington. Norman would regain the lead briefly at the turn before Harrington took control with a back nine 32, highlighted by a five wood Paddy-Whacked through the wind to within three feet at the par five 17th. Harrington made eagle and went on to beat pink-panted Englishman Ian Poulter by four. Even with his AARP discount, Norman's Sunday 77 was only good enough to tie for third.

History will show that Greg Norman was nine holes away from a third Open Championship in the summer of 2008. What's less certain is just how far removed he's become from the character he played so brilliantly for the better part of two decades. The best player in the world from the mid 1980s to the mid '90s reached those heights with a swashbuckling swagger on and off the course. He was universally revered, if not loved. And for all the times he either gave majors away or was a victim of Grand Theft, Norman never failed to deliver the Nielsens for the networks.

He did again last week, thanks largely to his play but also in significant measure because of his recent marriage to American tennis sweetheart Chris Evert. But the persona of the former champion whose diversified business interests include a world class wine label was anything but vintage Norman. As much as he physically resembled the Shark of old, Norman's personality seemed that much different.

In place of the swagger was self-deprecation. What was roundly hailed as a kinder, gentler Shark came off to me almost as if he was preparing himself and us for another major disappointment. It's one thing to say you have no expectations coming into the week when you've essentially given up competitive golf to devote your full attention to making googly eyes with your new love. It's quite another to say, as he did after Friday's second round, there wasn't as much pressure on him because the rest of his life is so good right now. In other words, golf's not that big of a deal to him these days. Which is fine if this had been the Shark Shootout in December.

We as fans tend to care about our heroes' sporting endeavors roughly in proportion to how much they do. The Ryder Cup, for example, is one of the most anticipated events in sports these days because about 20 years ago we began to realize professional golfers don't get sweaty palms, watery eyes, and cold champagne showers if there's not something really important to them hanging in the balance.

Contrast Norman's apparent nonchalance with Tiger's emotional explosion after holing the putt at Torrey Pines' 18th that sent the U.S. Open to a playoff. Norman was never much of a fist-pumper, even in his prime; but you could always sense his energy when he was in or near the lead. One of the reasons I'll never forget my first Masters in 1996 was because of how desperately Norman wanted to win that tournament once and for all. Even after surrendering that infamous six-shot lead to Nick Faldo on Sunday afternoon, Norman still had a chance to win as his eagle pitch on 15 rolled directly toward the hole. When it narrowly missed, he fell back onto the ground and lay there momentarily as a man who after nearly four hours of torture had finally fallen on his sword.

Last week, Norman didn't sound like he did in the old days, perhaps because the old days took so much out of him. Maybe after his last best chance to win a major, the 1999 Masters where he finished third, he told himself he'd never get his hopes up again. And you couldn't blame the guy for wanting to fade into the sunset as one of the most memorable figures of golf's modern era.

But when I hear him interviewed at the few tournaments where he actually does tee it up these days, I sometimes wonder why he plays at all. At the Senior PGA Championship in May, Norman said he didn't have much of a chance to win despite being just five off the lead going into the final round at a brutally difficult Oak Hill Country Club in Rochester, New York. A back nine rally that Sunday put Norman within a pair of pars of posting the same score that eventually earned Jay Haas the title. Yet in an interview with NBC's Dottie Pepper immediately afterward, Norman inexplicably insisted he was never really a threat to win. Throw in last week's persistent pooh-poohing and you get what appears to be a set of partials where the Shark teeth used to be.

Few have had the chops Greg Norman's had in the last quarter century. He's entitled to do and say whatever he wants, and nothing that happened Sunday diminished the accomplishment of leading the British Open through three rounds (especially at 53) and playing well enough Sunday to tie for third, which earns him -- if he wants it -- a trip back to Augusta National where nine times he's finished no worse than sixth but never higher than second.

It's just that seeing Norman out of his old character is taking a little getting used to. I also found it a bit odd, if not in poor taste, to see how the media fawned over Norman and his new bride as the new "It" couple. (We saw ten times as many shots of Chris Evert in the gallery as we did Chris Wood, the English amateur who tied for fifth.) Theirs may indeed be a storybook romance, but the fact that it began while each was still married to someone else would indicate that not everyone involved will live happily ever after.

See what happens when you go off script? We'll see how Greg Norman's role reversal, on and off the course, evolves over the coming months and years as he decides how much golf he'll play. But the reviews are unanimous for Padraig Harrington. The man with his fingers wrapped tightly around a pair of Claret Jugs gets two enthusiastic thumbs up.

Grant Boone is a husband, father, broadcaster, and journalist born in Tennessee and living in Texas. During his nearly 20 years in sports journalism, he's been heard on tape delay in pizza joints half-filled with fully-drunk beer league softball teams and around the world covering major sporting events for ESPN, Turner Sports, Golf Channel, and CBS Radio. To read past installments of Grant Me This, click here. You can contact Grant at pgagrant@hotmail.com.