Michael’s wing of the Campbell family descends from Sir Logan Campbell, a Scot who emigrated to New Zealand in 1845. His great-great-great-great grandson may have had the pedigree for the game, but he was a gifted athlete who dreamed of playing rugby, the Kiwis’ national sport, until his mother decided it was too rough.

For all the prowess Campbell demonstrated at golf at a tender age — he carried an 11 handicap at age 12, was a ranked amateur by 16, and represented New Zealand in international matches by 18 — his parents took some convincing that he could make a career of it. So Campbell went to work after college as a telephone technician. He didn’t turn pro until 1993, and didn’t really convince anybody he’d made the right choice until that stirring Houdini act from the bunker on the Road Hole at St. Andrews in 1995.

“I came close, you know, 10 years ago. What a place,” Campbell recalled, his voice softening. “But it wasn’t my turn.”

Three years later, fighting a lingering wrist injury, Campbell lost his playing privileges on both the European and Australasian tours. He thought about selling golf balls for a living until a few tournament sponsors came through with invitations that enabled Campbell to keep hitting them instead.

“And” he said, “it’s been a great journey since then.”

Ten victories around the world in the last half-dozen years, but the one that validated the rest was the longest shot of them all. Not because Campbell became the first player since Steve Jones to win the Open after going through qualifying play, but because his handlers had to talk him into qualifying in the first place.

“And I scraped through,” he said, “just scraped through.”

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Those same words could describe so many junctures in Campbell’s career. At some of those, he was tempted to grab an ax and chop his clubs in half. At others, he would picture his hero, Ben Hogan, whose quest to reduce a complex game to the simple task of hitting every fairway and every green made him the quintessential Open golfer. So much that when the folks at the USGA searched out someone to model their course setup on, Hogan was their man.

“I loved the way he moved. I’ve read all his books,” Campbell said. “I’ve got them at home. I admire his work ethic, the way he worked so hard.”

And that was who Campbell sought to channel one more time, turning the trophy around in his hands. He went past the names of Jones and Vardon, Nickaus and Palmer and stopped at Hogan.

“I can see his name four times,” Campbell said. “And now mine’s going down there somewhere.”