Some were spectacular and others were dazzling. There were those that were stunning, in both a good and bad sense, and more than a few that were horrid and incomprehensible, the byproduct of poor decisions and shaky execution under pressure.

So now that the golfers of the world have had their shots in the third major championship of the year, I feel a strong urge to take a few whacks of my own.

Despite his splendid play thru the first three rounds but based upon his previous checkered history, this reporter never felt the colorful Sergio Garcia would close the deal. When presented with chances in the past to make a Sunday move and win a Slam, the 27-year-old had repeatedly retreated. When it mattered most, the unpredictable Spaniard had always stepped back and gone in reverse, never forward.

Garcia's final round at Carnoustie merely continued that pattern. Though he didn't exactly implode, neither did he seize the moment. At one time up by four strokes and needing only to drain a makeable 8-foot putt to win the Claret Jug, the man known as "El Nino" faltered once again.

As a career-defining stroke tantalizingly lipped out at the 18th, Garcia slumped over his putter in utter disbelieve and anguish. He looked as if he's been gut-shot or more appropriately, gored. At that moment, you knew he was toast. Intuition said he couldn't possibly regroup and compose himself enough to win in a playoff against the reprieved Padraig Harrington.

And, sure enough, even though he had a couple of heroic moments in overtime, Garcia's costly bogey on the first of four playoff holes doomed him. A glorious opportunity had been kicked away.

Arguably, the best player never to have won a major, the question now is how badly will Garcia be scarred by this latest disappointment. During his press conference after the fact, Garcia was a beaten and shell-shocked man. His world had been rocked. The upbeat personality we've seen Sergio flash so often was nowhere to be found. Garcia was down for the count. His recovery from this latest knockout may be lengthy and painful, if he ever recovers at all.

As for Harrington, leave it to an Irishman to double-bogey the 18th in regulation and then bogey it in a playoff and still manage to come out smelling like a rose.

Maybe things worked out because he had thousands of his countrymen saying fervent Hail Marys on his behalf in hopes he would become the first Emerald Island lad to capture the Open title in some 60 years. The strange happenings that enabled Harrington to ultimately prevail did seem to have some divine intervention surrounding them.

Or perhaps it was just a simple case of the luck and yes, the pluck of the Irish. Clearly,  Harrington required plenty of good fortune to mitigate against his butchering of the fateful, final hole in regulation. After having secured a masterful eagle at the par-5 14th, Harrington stood on the tee at 18 with a nine-under par score, the tournament lead and a momentum that was building.

What followed was a calamity that not even the great Irish fiction writers could have conjured up. Harrington rushed his tee shot and promptly dunked his ball into the devilish Barry Burn. But that was merely a prelude. Now hitting three, the 35-year-old Harrington again misfired and incredibly, once more dropped his ball into the drink.

It was as if Harrington forgot that the objective of the game was to stay dry and find land rather than go swimming every chance he had. At that moment, Harrington seemed interested in nothing but water sports.

Yet, to his credit, the scuffling Harrington was able to eventually suppress his demons, make a nifty pitch to the green and sink a testy putt that stopped the bleeding at an ugly double-bogey 6.

But unless Garcia stumbled coming in, Harrington was destined to join the maligned Jean Van De Velde, he of triple-bogey fame, as the two most notorious chokers in British Open history.

Instead, Garcia blinked and Harrington, energized by an unexpected second chance, felt that fate and destiny, having deserted him minutes earlier, had magically returned to his side. Emboldened and determined, Harrington birdied the first playoff hole and never looked back, needing only a bogey at the last to close things out.

Though surely gifted, Harrington is more of a mechanic than a wondrous craftsman. His ascent into the world's Top Ten is more a testimony to his worker-bee mentality than an overabundance of skills. Coming from common folk, the Irishman understandably considers himself a blue collar kind of guy and a bit of a grinder. He proudly points to his perseverance and incessant practice regime as the keys to any success that he's be able to achieve.

But even he had to admit that it took more than just a strong work ethic to get his name etched on the Claret Jug. The importance of some good old fashioned Irish luck and the heartfelt prayers of his many fans back home couldn't be ignored, dismissed or minimized.

Just like I'm left to wonder if Garcia will ever toughen up enough to win a major, I also have legitimate doubts about whether Ernie Els' Slam total will forever stay stuck at three.

Injuries and sporadic play the last couple of years have dimmed Els' once sterling reputation. Although still a threat on those occasions when he finds a groove, Els is having great difficulty playing with consistency and stringing together four solid rounds. Worse still, when positioned to make some noise down the stretch, he generally loses steam.

Last Sunday at Carnoustie was a prime example. Situated beautifully at 6-under par and just one off  the lead, Els gave ground instead of gaining it. As of late, he just seems incapable of elevating his play when the situation demands it. Nowadays, Els has the disturbing tendency of getting loose with shots and misplacing his focus when tournaments are there to be won. His killer instinct, if he really ever had one, has gone dormant.

Though still only 38 but with a rapidly creasing face, Els looks much older and gives of the vibe of a weary and worn-out warrior. With each succeeding misstep he makes in a major, Els appears further and further removed from that beast of a player who in '02 snagged the British Open and seemed primed to become something special.

A scant five years later, the "Big Easy" is finding that garnering that fourth major to be a mighty tough nut to crack. Given Els' current state, he now is more question mark than exclamation point, more mystery than constant. It will be a shame if we've already witnessed the best that Els has to offer. 

Hopefully, the riveting drama and the remarkable pyrotechnics that were produced during the British Open's culminating round will put an end to the silly myth that Tiger Woods must be a major factor in order for a tournament to be relevant or exciting. Tiger never sniffed the lead and yet the Open's theatrics were as compelling and mesmerizing as any I can remember in recent years.

For too long, a fawning media has tried to sell the public on the fact that if Tiger isn't front and center, no one should care, let alone watch. Well, guess what? Woods was nothing more than an afterthought and yet, the entertainment value was off the charts.

This Open didn't need a Tiger atop the leaderboard because other players, fascinating in their own regard, provided more than enough intrigue and pizzazz. If, in the midst of all the remarkable and unlikely events that took place last Sunday, you found yourself lamenting Tiger's insignificance, then you're not a true golf fan, you're a Tiger Woods' fan. And trust me, there's a huge difference between the two.

Last Sunday clearly demonstrated that golf is still a wondrous and compelling sport even when its' brightest star doesn't play a prominent role. As dominant as Woods may be, as commanding a personality he is to the general golfing public, he shouldn't be elevated to a status above that of the game, as so many media types seem bent on doing.