Nicklaus’ New Life Is All Relative

It was as if the North Sea were suddenly aboil, black clouds swirling through the once-blue canopy above its waters.

Moments later, across a street and over a tee box, a chilling wind swept across the 18th fairway of the overheated Old Course.

“Can you feel that?” Tom Watson shouted to the several hundred folks sweating on the adjoining road. “Can you feel that?”

Yes, they could, but for a different reason as, moments later, Watson began walking home with that gale force named Nicklaus.

Down the final fairway, arm in arm, Watson and Jack Nicklaus strolled late Tuesday afternoon, the beginning of the end of the competitive career of history’s greatest golfer.

It was only the completion of a practice round, but eyes stung with the realization that one cannot practice saying goodbye.

Nicklaus wept for himself. Watson wept for his friend. Later, describing how the week had been affecting his family, Nicklaus’ caddie and son Steve wept for all of them.

“There were a few tears,” Watson said later. “I’m sure there will be a few more tears.”

In a world where many retirements are valid only until the next tee time -- really now, can’t one play golf forever? -- Nicklaus slogged through 18 holes Tuesday, making one thing clear.

It’s over. This is the end. It’s not a lark or a whim. It’s over.

No more majors. No more regular tournaments, other than his own Memorial.

You won’t see him hanging around. You won’t hear him begging in.

Enough is enough, for his body, his mind and his family.

“There is a time to quit,” Steve said.

This is that time. Nicklaus’ 38th British Open will be his last, the record showing 164 majors and 18 major victories and, just as amazing, 17 seconds in majors.

Nicklaus has been saying all summer that he’s finished. But only Tuesday, it seemed, did even he start to believe.

He began the day saying that, at 65, beset by physical problems and family tragedy, his golfing soul was gone.

“I love playing golf ... but when you’re not part of the competitive part of it, it loses its glow,” he said, later adding, “I practice, I hit balls, and I’m miserable.”

Miserable, as in, he hasn’t won a PGA tournament of any sort in nine years.

Miserable, as in, he hasn’t made a cut in a major in five years.

And, more than all that, of course, miserable after losing his 17-month-old grandson Jake in a drowning accident in March.

Nicklaus spent as much time talking about his new Sunday family dinners as he did about any placements or green conditions.

“Many families around the world do that,” he said. “We never did. I played golf every Sunday. “Frankly, it’s been wonderful. I’ve just enjoyed having the kids over and having the grandkids and having the house be torn apart. And I really look forward to that.”

Not once during the 30-minute session did he say he looked forward to playing the sport he once owned.

“Today, I go play golf, I go home and do my exercises and I still feel miserable,” he said. “So that’s not the way to really enjoy playing golf.”

He left the news conference and headed for the course, where, after a long practice round, it finally appeared to have sunk in.

After sitting momentarily for a photo on the Swilcan Bridge over the 18th fairway, he insisted that Watson join him.

Then he badgered their playing partners, Mike Weir and Kenny Perry, into joining them.

Then he ordered the caddies to join them, and asked the photographers to give the caddies the photo.

Then it was only Nicklaus and Watson, walking arm in arm slowly down a fairway that they will cross in competition together Friday for probably the last time.

The fans cheered, but not like American fans cheer.

“Mr. Nicklaus!” they shouted. “Mr. Nicklaus!”

He’s so revered in this country, he will soon join the Queen and Queen Mother as the only living people whose image will grace a Scottish five-pound note.

He’s so respected in this town, the rotating Open was actually brought to St. Andrews a year earlier than planned so he could play this course once more before he turns 66 and loses his eligibility as a former champion.

“I thought that was coincidence,” Nicklaus said with a grin.

It is not coincidence, it seems, that on his final golfing journey, Nicklaus has his family with him.

It is not just about golf, they said, but healing.

“This is going to be emotional, with all we’ve been through,” said a teary-eyed Steve, the father of Jake, who wandered into a hot tub and drowned. “Being together, doing this as a family, it helps us get through this.”

Most assume that Nicklaus will not make the cut. Nobody thinks he has any chance to win.

Nobody, it seems, but Nicklaus.

He doesn’t want to go out as a human monument, as plaid memorabilia.

He doesn’t want to be a symbol, like Arnold Palmer; an entertainer, like Chi Chi Rodriguez; a character, like Lee Trevino.

He wants to be remembered only as a golfer, one reason he was the best ever, the main reason his career is over.

“I’m here as a competitor,” he said. “We’ll find out whether that competitor can play through to Sunday.”

He cried on the course Tuesday, yet he wants to be remembered not for the tears, but the tautness.

“To us, winning is still more significant than saying goodbye,” Steve said.

On the 17th hole, Watson stopped Nicklaus’ errant chip shot with his foot, the crowd cheering in appreciation. Nicklaus calmly picked up the ball and moved it to a more likely landing point farther from the hole.

On the 18th, after his three playing partners had left the green, Nicklaus remained, alone with his son, attempting and missing a 10-putt, again and again.

He finally sank one. The fans roared. Nicklaus waved.

Then his son tossed down another ball and the red-eyed legend putted again, the first smeared pages of the final chapter, the calm before the storm.

Bill Plaschke can be reached at bill.plaschke@latimes.com. To read previous Plaschke columns, go to latimes.com/plaschke.