Top-five finish offers no consolation to thirsty Els as major drought continues

When Sergio Garcia trotted urgently off the third tee on his way to a portable convenience yesterday, he shot the briefest of sideways glances at the big man waiting with apparent insouciance to putt on the adjacent fifth green: Ernie Els. An accompanying glance at the scoreboard would have told him that Els had narrowed the gap between them by two shots, possibly rendering the Spaniard's comfort break just a little less comfortable than it might otherwise have been.

There are not many names more capable than that of Els, as it rises inexorably up the leader board, of putting the willies up the man at the top.

One of them is the name Woods, of course, but it merely flickered on yesterday's leader board. Ominously, Tiger birdied the fourth and fifth to move to three under par, but he could not sustain his charge, bogeyed the eighth and 11th, and with climatic conditions as benign as they had been all week, a sudden card-wrecking hurricane looking highly improbable, he doubtless acknowledged inwardly that his dream of three successive Open titles was over. He will have to start all over again next year. In the meantime, he might also ponder on his continued failure to win a major coming from behind: Jack Nicklaus won plenty of his 18 majors - the record Woods so yearns to break - by doing just that.

For Els, the dream of a fourth major and a second Open title, following his victory after a four-man play-off five years ago at Muirfield, was very much alive. They call him the Big Easy, and his genial demeanour encourages the perception that he is a gentle giant, plodding serenely through a gilded life that even began in privileged circumstances, in one of the richer suburbs of Johannesburg. But it should be remembered that the Big Easy is also the nickname of New Orleans, a steaming, emotional kind of place. At any rate, it hurts Els mightily not to have won a major since 2002, and he was straining with every sinew yesterday to get his huge mitts around the Claret Jug again.

Supporting him in his venture was much of the Carnoustie crowd. With the notable exception of the Ryder Cup, patriotic considerations do not greatly influence galleries at golf tournaments, as evidenced by the way Els was applauded off the first tee and up the fairway, "C'mon, Ernie" ringing in his ears, while his British playing partner Paul Broadhurst was all but ignored.

By this time the rain that had bucketed on Carnoustie all night and all morning had eased to an innocuous drizzle. Nor was there a breath of the wind that normally rolls in off the North Sea. So thanks to the tireless work of John Philp's greenkeeping staff, who were dispatched to some of the more flooded bunkers with buckets, and whose efforts reminded those with very long memories of similarly soggy scenes during the 1937 Open won here by Henry Cotton, the course did not present its usual ferocious challenge. It was there, if not exactly for the taking, then certainly for some impressive scoring.

For a while, until Andres Romero and Padraig Harrington began letting off fireworks, Els looked like the man most likely to post a seriously low score. Although a 12-foot birdie putt slid agonisingly past the hole at the first, he nailed a wonderful 25-footer on the second. "Good work, Ernie, I've got a tenner on you, son," a Scottish voice declared. Els birdied the next, following a superb approach shot; the tenner was looking like money wisely invested.

When the South African putts as beautifully as he hits every other club in the bag, there is no more formidable competitor in the game. But the real thing of beauty is his languid swing on the tee, even if it is not matched by his new driver, an ugly square-headed implement which looks like something a blacksmith might wield. It served him particularly well at the par-five sixth, Hogan's Alley, where he invoked the ghost of Ben Hogan with a thunderous hit down the left side of the fairway. He was left with 260 yards to the green, which he attempted to negotiate with what looked like a four-wood, but the ball came up short, leaving Els with a fiendish chip over a bunker on to a down slope to a cruelly positioned pin.

The skill with which he executed it, leaving himself with a virtual tap-in for his third birdie of the round, lent some credence to his denial in an interview with the BBC on Saturday of his compatriot Gary Player's accusation that there are leading golfers taking performance-enhancing drugs. Els said that he doubted whether there was any drug which would help a player find added length off the tee as well as added touch around the greens.

Whatever, with Garcia a couple of holes behind still leading but beginning to falter, and Els reaching the turn in 33, the bar staff at the Jigger Inn in St Andrews must have been rubbing their hands in anticipation. Els chose to stay in the auld grey toun's Old Course Hotel during this championship, taking a six-minute helicopter ride to and from Carnoustie every day. And the Jigger, attached to the hotel, is said to be one of the favourite watering holes of a man partial to drinks other than water.

He did not, as it turned out, spend last night supping from the Claret Jug.

A bogey at the par-three 13th, after bunkering his tee shot and playing an uncharacteristically sloppy shot out, was rectified with a birdie at the next, but another bogey followed at the 15th, and Els ended with a 69, taking no consolation from another top-five finish after his third place last year at Hoylake.

The cheque will easily cover his helicopter bill, but for the Big Easy, in this summer of abundant rainfall, the drought goes on.

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