HE was on the 14th surveying a putt when the roar came rolling down from the 18th.

Did Lee Westwood wince, even imperceptibly? Did he believe that tumult, unmistakably hailing Phil Mickelson as the victor of the 142nd Open, should have been for him? Did he fear he would never hear such a noise directed undiluted at him? Did he know all was lost on the wind of an East Lothian Sunday?

This is all conjecture, of course. But there is brutal, unyielding fact. It is that the Englishman failed to win the Open while leading by three shots with 15 to play. He knew he was undone on the 14th, though the damage came earlier.

"Unbelievable," said Westwood, 
as his tee shot on the seventh hit the bunker. It did not, however, strain the belief systems of seasoned watchers of the Worksop player. Westwood was directing his remark at some disturbance behind him on his downswing and at his choice of club, but the ball's waywardness 
was not a surprise to those who accompanied him on the opening holes and those who have watched his career with a compelling interest piqued by his ability to play beautifully controlled golf yet come up short in major tournaments.

The Englishman, now 40, was later honest about his contribution to problems on the seventh, stating he hit the wrong club, and was frank about other mistakes he committed in a round that had all the smooth momentum of a wardrobe falling down stairs.

There must be context amid the criticism. First, Westwood is a very good player. His iron play is of the first rank. He putted well all week. He is also a winner: twice on the American tour, 22 times on the European Tour, and in Australia, Japan, Macau, Thailand and Indonesia. He has also performed sterling service in the Ryder Cup.

But, indisputably, he does not win majors. Crucially, he has had his chances. Westwood has now finished in the top three of eight majors in the past five years. He may be scarred by the whip of near misses rather than driven on by it.

He stood on the tee just after 2pm yesterday with a two-shot lead over the field. A colleague whispered: 
"He can make one more mistake than anyone else with that advantage." Westwood made more than just one mistake. He was in the sand so often there was a move to enlist him last night as a Desert Rat.

The intimations of the mortality of his Open ambitions came early. An understandably cautious first hole was followed by a beautiful 
shot into the second green but, pertinently, Westwood's birdie putt came up short. He was lucky to escape with a bogey at the third when finding rough with two consecutive shots, he birdied the fifth after finding the bunker, the seventh was bogeyed after his tee-shot thudded into sand. 
There was a bogey at eight, the rough and a bunker was found at nine, though par was saved.

This was anything but steady. 
It also lacked conviction. He turned in 38, but already the field was crowding in on him with whispers of the exploits of Ian Poulter, Henrik Stenson, and Adam Scott drifting down the fairway towards him.

He steadied, but he could not find the way to win. He was highly competent in making seven pars on the back nine, highly fortunate in restricting the damage of two loose shots on 13 and 16 to bogeys. 
The irrepressibly brilliant Mickelson found four birdies in six holes on the back nine, including one created with a shot of almost reckless bravado on the 18th.

Mickelson was striking out, desperate to seize the Claret Jug. 
It was slipping inexorably from the grasp of Westwood. He admitted looking at the scoreboard on the 15th green, but the roar when on the 14th would have told him all he needed to know about the destination of the championship.

There was a moment that summed up the notion that the plaudits go to the brave and the bold and there is nowhere in sport more cruel than to be on the 18th in the last group at the Open when the Claret Jug has effectively been won an hour earlier.

As Westwood made a perfunctory par on the last hole of what had become an ordeal, there was a localised commotion behind the grandstand, where Mickelson was signing autographs while attempting to reach his wife and family.

There may be attempts to excuse Westwood's collapse, but they will not be made by the Englishman. "There wasn't really any luck involved. I just didn't hit good shots when it mattered," he said. If he had shot level par, he would have been in a play-off. Instead, he compiled a 75.

Of his record of near misses in majors, he said: "It just doesn't wind me up or get to me any more. I'm not too disappointed."

The philosophy was Westwood's but the poignancy was felt by his interrogators. As the golfer stared straight ahead, a television on his right was showing Mickelson receiving the Claret Jug.