On 136 occasions they have gathered to contest an Open Championship and this morning the 137th starts on a stretch of dune land of such perfection that it could have been a gift from God to golfers. Royal Birkdale is a couple of hefty sloshes south of Southport, a town where Napoleon was exiled from 1844 to 1846 and where Lord Street, the main, flower-strewn artery, resembles the boulevards of Paris.

The heart of this magnificent course is out past the clubhouse, down the tarmac road, along an earthy path until, after a slight climb, the short 12th is reached. This, the 11th and 13th comprise the money holes. The 11th is played up towards the highest point of the course and into the prevailing northwesterly that blew so strongly yesterday that some players were struggling to reach the fairway.

The 13th is played in the opposite direction and offers golfers the pleasure of a pulpit tee, from which views can extend ten or more miles, as well as the chance to open their shoulders and have a good belt, downwind. These two par-fours bookend a world-class par-three that looks as though it has been there since long before Napoleon roamed these parts.

The holes are not like Amen Corner at Augusta National, home of the Masters, although they bear the same numbers; nor could they possibly be mixed up with the three finishing holes at Carnoustie, where a burn much, much older than Burns leaves its watermark on so many scorecards. It may not be the case that he who conquers these three holes will receive the prize on Sunday, but he will not be far away.

The money is on Sergio García to complete a Spanish midsummer slam and receive the accolades accorded to the winner after the subtle artistry of his country's football team while winning Euro 2008 and the unyielding triumphs of Rafael Nadal, his countryman, at the French Open and Wimbledon.

There is more maturity now to García, this once precocious man, who announced his talents with a second-place finish in the 1999 US PGA Championship when he was 19. Do not question his driving, for he struck the ball as well from the tee as he ever has in the second round of The Players Championship that he won two months ago. For that matter, now that Stan Utley has worked some magic on the Spaniard's putting, do not question that part of García's game, either.

It is interesting that when he was at home in Spain last week he spent hours working with his father, Victor, his coach and confidant, practising his chipping and putting. “We went round the course and tried to hit as many different shots as we could,” García Jr said. “We knew we would need them this week.” There speaks a man wise beyond his 28 years, a man who knows that the Open, more than any other tournament in the world, is played along the ground, or at least near it, and there can be three or four ways of getting the ball to the hole.

It takes time to learn this and Stewart Cink, the engaging American who is 35, said last night that, after ten attempts, he has not mastered it. A wind had blown him down the 18th, in itself a sight worth seeing, as a man tall enough to reach the sky, seemingly, looked as though the gusts were going to chop him off at the knees. Once in the shelter of the clubhouse he set to work among the swales at the back of the green with that longhandled putter of his.

“Here, you have to let the course dictate the shot you play, not the other way round,” Cink said. “Sometimes it can be better to throw the ball up in the air. The green on the 18th, for example, is narrow in the front and defended by bunkers, but the back of the green is benign. When the wind is up it is essential to control both the trajectory and spin of the ball.”

It is tempting to suggest that those from Europe have mastered the art of the terra firma rather than the aerial approach more than most, were it not for the fact that, of the eight Opens held here, Americans have won five and Australians three. But although Padraig Harrington, the defending champion, remains a doubt because of his injured right wrist and Paul Casey's form is being kept well out of sight, who is to say that the time has not come for Robert Karlsson, Lee Westwood or Justin Rose?

Or for Andrés Romero, the longhitting Argentinian who can produce a run of birdies with no more difficulty than sneezing, or Aaron Baddeley, the Australian who led last year's US Open after 54 holes?

It has been an unusual week, a major championship without Tiger Woods, and last night there was a whiff of an old-style Open about the place, one dominated by wind and rain and as far removed from the tinderbox that was Hoylake two years ago as Royal Liverpool, its other name, is from Royal Melbourne.

Woods's name was on many people's lips, though, even if his presence was not because of his withdrawal from competitive golf to recover from knee surgery. García put the issue in perspective by saying that the Open is bigger even than Woods, while Jim Furyk, the American, suggested that it was disrespectful to other players to make such a barmy suggestion as marking the winner's name with an asterisk because the world No 1 was not present.

“Is there an asterisk against the name of the winner of the 27 tournaments Tiger doesn't play in?” Tim Finchem, the commissioner of the PGA Tour in the United States, asked. “If Peyton Manning were to be withdrawn from the Super Bowl, would there be an asterisk against the game?”

Once in the history of this sport perhaps such talk was justified, and that was when David Strath should have faced Bob Martin in a play-off at St Andrews but failed to appear because he was unhappy with the R&A's decision not to announce the results of an inquiry into an alleged transgression of his on the 17th green the night before. No decision, no appearance, Strath decided and when he held firm to his word Martin, who had been runner-up the year before, was named the winner.

That was in 1878 and that is what I call an asterisk Open. This is not one, not the Open that is about to unfold and to which we look forward so eagerly 130 years later.