It was a Sunday afternoon in July 1984 and shortly before he was due to tee off in the penultimate pairing of the 113th Open Championship at St Andrews Severiano Ballesteros was putting a few balls, his eyes narrowed, his focus seeming to create a force-field around him that was almost visible.
I watched him for a few minutes until I caught his eye. He nodded, I wrung my hands, twirled my fingers and mouthed: “How are they today Seve, how do they feel?”
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