They're as mad as hatters, this golf crowd. Even before the gates opened at seven o'clock yesterday morning, the queue to gain admission choked its way back to the pedestrian bridge on the Waterloo Road and the grey clouds had started to douse them with rainwater, and all for the chance to scurry over English dunes for a day.
Who'd be a golf fan? Many thousands, apparently, and those who attend the British Open - over 225,000 at Royal Birkdale this week - are invariably better prepared than those who frequent any other golfing terrain. All week, their entry to the course has been confirmed by Merseyside police sniffer dogs rubbing their noses up against knapsacks and bags that are stuffed with caps and waterproofs.
Unfortunately, it's a part of life these days.
But the British Open remains the biggest annual golfing show in the world, and the organisers, the R & A, have reinvested over £20 million of their profits from the championship back into golf over the past 10 years. It's their way, they say, of "revitalising the game's grass roots." Apart from parting with their entrance money ultimately to aid such expenditure, the spectators have a big role to play.
In the main, they're genuine fans with none of the loutish characteristics of their footballing brethren. Okay, so they sip their McEwan's lager at nine in the morning, and head for the "Express Fish and Chips" truck to fork out £2.80 for breakfast from polystyrene containers. But they love their golf with a passion, and the Cockney, Geordie, Scouser and Brummie accents mix with the Irish and Scots and Japanese in a way that can only happen at the British Open.
The "Red Route" - a map on the centre of the official programme - is designed to help spectators plot a way around the entire 18 holes.
We media folk are spoilt, to be sure, our green armbands giving us access inside the ropes. Yesterday, though, the day was spent behind the ropes. Living it rough with the mere mortals, and appreciating that each one of the 40,000 people in the crowd required the footwork of a mountain goat and the cunning of a fox to manoeuvre a way around the links, and the wallet of a bankroller to indulge in the official merchandise.
All golfing life is found here: the dunewalkers (the majority), the officials, the 4,000 workers and volunteers, and even some who indulge in corporate hospitality. Most, though, are to be found out on the course, in the wind, rain or shine.
"I'm convinced Ivor (Robson) switched on the rain when he turned on that microphone this morning," remarked Gordon Brand junior of the official starter on the first tee. Brand was in the second group away yesterday, and played in incessant rain for his first 10 holes and defied it all to make his first cut in five tournaments.
Philip Walton, in the group behind, had to endure similar conditions and, indeed, his wife Suzanne, unprepared for the deluge, had to nip into the tented village to purchase new rainwear to continue her trek around the course. Others took another option, knocking on the doors of the Royal Bank of Scotland's mobile unit to obtain free navy rain capes.
But, then, the trekkers are everywhere. Behind the rustic wooden fence at the putting green, they elbow into position to watch Ernie Els play lob shots and Mark James make one long putt after another. The bread and butter work. And, a further five minutes walk away, out on the range, Seve Ballesteros is still seeking to rediscover his driving.
The driving range is a remarkable place, with hundreds of spectators sitting in their bucket seats and watching golf's superstars pound one ball after another to the far end, closer to the 14th fairway, onto a piece of land that resembles a moonscape.
At the start of the week, there were 8,000 range balls in use. "The plan is to give whatever is left on Sunday evening to junior golf, but there won't be anything near 8,000 left," explained the man on the range. "They've been jumping in over the fence and nicking balls all week."
No-one nicks balls on the course, although players have been losing them in the wind all week. Tom Lehman, who departed the scene yesterday, lost a bucket-load and the wind that came in off the Irish Sea yesterday - with the threat of thunderstorms hanging in the air all afternoon - caused problems for players and spectators alike.
"There were a few times I was blown away when I was standing over putts," admitted David Duval, and spectators on the mighty dunes were more affected. It's a tremendous viewing course, but, for spectators, it requires immense endurance with the hillwalking similar to what you'd expect in the Himalayas.
Two areas of expertise were kept particularly busy by the wind yesterday, the members of the British and International Golf Greenkeeping Association (BIGGA for short), who followed each match with the responsibility of raking the bunkers, and the R & A medical personnel.
The wind sucked a lot more balls into the sand pits yesterday than on Thursday, so the wooden rakes were overworked.
Including that of the man from West Kilbride, who revealed that it is his links that features in the Sky Sports television commercial for Foot-Joy shoes. You know the one, with Colin Montgomerie reigning - or raining - in Scotland. To produce that 30-second advert required three production days, 32 personnel, a body double for Monty and a fire engine from Manchester to pump out water. The greenkeeper received a pair of shoes for allowing his course to be used, and yesterday co-ordinated his men to rake bunkers after players. Busy day.
Meanwhile, with 40,000 potential patients out on the course, Dr Michael Allen, the chief medical officer of the R & A, and his staff were kept busy. In all, his medical team consists of three paramedic ambulances and six nurses to staff the first aid posts out the course and in the tented village.
"Basically, we're ready and willing to assist anyone," he said, but the soundest piece of advice he offers women spectators is for them "not to wear high-heeled shoes" and for men to wear "nonslip" ones. Simple advice, yet those attending the British Open seem adequately equipped for a trip up Everest, let alone a day at the golf course.
