Enthusiastic Birkdale Crowds Can't Stop Another Monty Meltdown

Why is it that everyone (well, nearly everyone) loves Colin Montgomerie? Without any doubt he would have been the most popular winner in these parts this week, if his game wasn't rapidly unraveling that is, yet often it is hard to see what brings on such affection.

Reacting to the mock boos for his playing partner Boo Weekley, the Scots, and there is a large contingent of them, were most vociferous. "Monty, Monty, Monty," they chanted, "come on Colin," they shouted, "there's only one Colin Montgomerie," they sang, and that was just in the hospitality tent along the first fairway. Not the most imaginative, but certainly very noisy. It was like that throughout the front nine, Monty's fans were by some distance the biggest groups with rows six or seven deep strung along every hole.

It reminded me of St Andrews in 2005, when in the third round I followed the final pairing of Monty and Tiger Woods. The fans were so boisterous that day they were like a football crowd, only without the menace, aggression and vitriol towards the opposition. So perhaps not that much like a football crowd. Anyway, Saltires lined the fairways that day, as they have again here in Lancashire, and Monty matched Woods shot for shot.

Today he fell apart as early as the second hole. It is often a case of the chicken and the egg with Monty – what comes first, his temper or his dropped shots? It seemed to be the former on this occasion. After pulling his approach to a fairly modest patch of rough to the left of the green, he berated a marshal five yards behind him for standing too close. Of course, when he then fluffed his chip into the intervening bunker, the marshal received a death stare. As did the patch of grass. Next on his hit list was the bunker raker (or bunker technician, as they're probably called here), who was in his sightline 30 yards away as he went to putt. Double bogey.

When Monty is happy with life, he ambles along as leisurely as he swings his clubs. When he's in a volcanic funk he strides heavy-footed, as witnessed when he stormed to the fifth tee after a set-to with a greenkeeper, whose biggest crime seemed to be having been born. At the other end of the fifth hole, a cameraman got it in the neck for daring to record him playing what would have been an air shot, had it not been for the clump of rough his sand wedge dislodged. Triple bogey. Another double bogey at the next hole and Monty was seven-over for the day, 10-over for the championship, and out of contention for another year.

If an American behaved as he did, the locals would be most unimpressed. But Monty's actions merely provoked laughter from the crowd. Which takes me back to the original question: why does everyone love him? Maybe it's because he beats up on the Americans every couple of years. Maybe it's because he's what we hold most dear in this country, a plucky loser. Maybe it's because Monty's "a character". Whatever the reason, sadly he looks as far away as he ever did of winning his first major.