OPINION

By Jim Litke

updated 2:41 p.m. ET July 18, 2008

Jim Litke

SOUTHPORT, England - Even greatness comes with an expiration date. A man can’t play golf at 53 the way he did at 23. Or even 43.

Not when the hair on the back of his neck can judge the wind as accurately as any gauge. Not when the chill in the air touches every last vertebrae along his spine.

Enter Greg Norman, three weeks into the second act of his life, still rich, newly contented and energized in a way he hasn’t been for decades. Oh, and there’s this, too: After two rounds, still on his honeymoon, he’s a stroke off the lead at the British Open.

“Honestly, there’s probably less pressure on me than anybody out here because even though I’m in the position I’m in, I’m going to go out there ... just relax and enjoy every step of the way, which is a little different philosophy,” Norman said.

“A lot of the old veteran reporters in here probably know that some of the interviews I used to have in here, I wouldn’t be saying those words as easily as what I would have done 25, 30 years ago.”

Norman hasn’t won a tournament in 10 years, hasn’t played in a major since St. Andrews in 2005, and thanks to his new bride, Chris Evert, he plays way more recreational tennis than serious golf. The blond mane is a little thinner and the back a whole lot stiffer, but the memories of how to play a seaside links haven’t dimmed since he first banked them as a boy growing up on the sand-belt courses of Australia’s southern shore.

Norman hears the whining on every side of him, how the wet and woolly weather has turned Royal Birkdale into an amusement-park ride at times and draws comfort from the knowledge that he’d already played and won in far worse — Turnberry in 1986, for example, the first of his two British Open titles. His challenge, instead, is not to get caught looking too far ahead.

“When it really gets down to the nuts and bolts of it, Sunday afternoon, whether it’s coming down 16, 17, or whether it’s coming down 18, that’s when it really starts probably piling up on you. And you just have to wait until that moment arrives,” he said, “to try and take advantage of it.”

Easy to say, but tough to do, particularly in Norman’s case. Patience was always the least of his virtues. If Norman could have had just a few shots back — 1996 Masters, 1995 U.S. Open, and the three other majors in 1986, when he led heading into the final round — his resume might be nearly as dazzling as his wife’s.

She may have been blessed with less talent, but no one was cooler at the biggest moments. Evert won 18 majors and an incredible 91 percent of her matches, which if nothing else, has made for some interesting dinner-table conversations. Adding in her three sons, Norman figures he’s only the fifth-best tennis player in the family.

“No, I’m not trying to get caught up,” he said, chuckling. “She’s also won about 154 tournaments. I wish I had her level of success.”

“And no,” he added, “we don’t try and compare what we’ve done on or off the tennis court.”

Nor does he wonder about what might have been if they’d run into each other at the peak of their powers and some of her composure had rubbed off on him.

“My intensity on the golf course back in the ’80s and ’90s was great. That’s the way I played. I wore my heart on my sleeve,” he said. “Could I go back and second-guess myself at certain tournaments? Yes, of course I could. Could I go back and try and improve on it? I might have been worse off. I am who I am, basically.”

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