To much of the world, golf's Open Championship really is in the British Isles. It's where the world's golf tours come together. This country has the best tour but not the only one. The official name of what we call the British Open is, yes, The Open Championship. The official name of The Masters is The Masters Tournament. The official name of the U.S. Open is The United States Open Championship.

What they all have in common is a belief in the use of "The" with a capital T, but golf has seldom been accused of humility. Nor has The Ohio State University, for that matter.

Americans love things American. There's no reason to apologize for that. The above is meant merely to point out that the world has a high regard for what Americans often call the British Open. Many who do not stand at attention for the Stars & Stripes think the biggest tournament was held this year in Scotland, not California or Georgia.

This international sporting scene takes some getting used to. Between the World Cup -- let's not quibble about the name of the sport, or vuvuzuelas, for that matter - and The Open Championship of St. Andrews' Royal & Ancient (this year), it's the best of all worlds in the unlikely event that Aunt Clara, who always calls at 5 in the morning to wake up "your mama and them," is a sports fan. For the rest of us, awakening when nature calls and finding the Ivory Coast kicking a ball around against North Korea results in a bit of culture shock. Wake up one morning and a mere child named Rory McIlroy is treating St. Andrews as if it's Goofy Golf, and the next morning St. Andrews is treating McIlroy as if he's the Goofy Golfer.

I found it interesting that ESPN showed The Open Championship live, and ABC went for Memorex. Does that mean early risers have cable? Or does it mean the folks who don't have cable (or, of course, satellite) just can't tear themselves away from David Gregory asking questions of Barbara Boxer?

Anyway, watching The Open Championship live requires some dedication, and in retrospect, this dedication seems to have been in vain, since the climax involved someone named Louis Oosthuizen winning by seven strokes.

Previously I had heard of an Oosthuizen but thought most chiropractors were capable of getting rid of it.

For four sometimes rainy, always windswept, days on the North Sea, Oosthuizen was the best golfer in the world. He avoided traps out of which I couldn't possibly have escaped. I'm not talking about getting the ball out. I'm talking about physically getting out, or climbing out, as it were. I fear that 1,000-year-old bridge on the 17th hole would have given way had I attempted to cross it.

In short, Oosthuizen strikes me as a very brave man.

Winners of "majors" do not always blossom into superstardom. For instance, Paul Lawrie won it in 1999, and ever since, he has mainly played Bobby Thomson to Jean Van de Velde's Ralph Branca. (For you of little sporting history, Thomson hit a famous home run off Branca in 1951.)

But seven strokes! He could almost have given Tiger Woods a stroke a hole on all the par-4s ... and still won.

One would expect to hear more from this wee (that's Scottish talk for little) 27-year-old from South Africa. Perhaps the world has found its next Gary Player.