PORTRUSH, Northern Ireland — A head girl named Gracie wears a headset—over here, "head girl" means something like "class president"—and the information travels the airwaves from Score Control, a hub near the media center. Not long after the new scores crackle in her ear, Gracie and her fellow students from Coleraine Grammar School and Dominican College spring into action, picking up plastic tiles with letters and numbers and sometimes full names from nearby shelves, and placing them backwards—to their eyes—in the giant structure in front of them. Diffuse light comes through that giant yellow wall, but aside from a few cracks, they can't see much on the other side.
But everyone can see them … or last the result of their work. They're the nerve center of a 50-year-old tradition here at the Open Championship that continued this week for the 153rd edition of golf’s oldest major. These are the iconic yellow scoreboards perched above the grandstands on the 18th green, and Gracie's teen-aged gang are inside them, surrounded by wooden planks and scaffolding and a stairway spanning the three floors of the board. (One thing here—you better learn to duck if you don't want a bump or three on the top of your skull.) It's their job to make sure the fans outside, and the TV cameras, and everyone walking the course in the nearby vicinity, are up to date on the drama of the championship.
The twin yellow giants have become a charming icon of this tournament since they were first implemented in the early '70s, and because they're so instantly recognizable they transport you to a specific place, not unlike the white-and-green manual boards used at Augusta National for the Masters. It's true that the boards themselves, and all the students and advisors within them, could be replaced by something digital, and apparently there was recent discussion along those lines, but the R&A fortunately recognized that there's something irreplaceable and delightful about the analog structures on the final hole.
Remarkably, the students only receive a few hours of training. That happens on Tuesday, when teachers from the Cranleigh School in England, who have been doing this for 30 years, give hands-on instruction to the students, schooling them in the finer points of quick, accurate reporting.
It's one of those jobs that's easy to screw up—put a letter in backward and you risk becoming a meme. There's a friendly rivalry between the two scoreboards to see who can operate with greater speed, but they also look out for each other, peering across with binoculars to make sure there are no errors. Along with the direct headset line to Score Control, handheld radios provide another avenue of communication, and despite the quick onboarding process, it had the feel on Friday of a well-oiled machine.
[ed. Looks like Scheffler running away with another win this year. Snore. Update: yep.]