Carnoustie, Scotland. -- Just as the erudite and scholarly Bobby Jones came to love the university town of St. Andrews and its most famous course and Jack Nicklaus, the master strategist, sensed immediately the answers to the myriad questions posed by the peerless links of Muirfield, the coming together of Ben Hogan and Carnoustie for a 1953 Open Championship he would win by four shots was a perfect match of temperaments and ideals.

Photo: © AllsportUK/Allsport Ben Hogn with the claret jug after winning the 1953 British Open at Carnoustie.

In almost every significant way, the course, the town and the man were the same. A small, working-class settlement on the bleak North Sea coast of Scotland, Carnoustie, whose links is almost universally hailed as the least forgiving of them all, epitomised the dour personality of the tough and taciturn Texan.

Their strengths matched up, too. Carnoustie's medal course is not a place where a golfer can survive on short game alone. Tee-to-green it asks, nay demands, both length and precision on a grand scale. All of which sounds just like the Hogan who came, saw and conquered 54 years ago.

But while the character of the course has not changed, the game of golf certainly has. So, while the "wee ice man" (not 'mon;' no Scot ever says 'mon') would remain one of the best at the upcoming championship, would he be good enough to hold off a deeper level of competition?

"Cross generational comparisons are always tricky," contends Frank Hannigan, former executive director of the United States Golf Association and a man who watched 'Bantam Ben' at his best. "But if I were to guess I'd say that Hogan would adapt to modern equipment to remain the best driver in the field. He would hit shots as close to the hole as anybody. But I have a hard time seeing him making enough putts to win. A great putter in Hogan's time would be average at best today."

The wise Hannigan has a point. Even at his peak, Hogan's putting was far from his strength and the best ball strikers know more than most how tournaments are typically won and lost on the greens. Take Colin Montgomerie. That the Scot has not tasted victory for more than 18 months has all to do with his inability to get the ball into the hole quickly enough, rather than any significant deterioration in his long game.

Still, how well Hogan could do against Tiger Woods et al, would, to a large extent, depend on how the course was presented.

"If the vile rough of 1999 were to be repeated, then Hogan would win easily," maintains Hannigan. "He would have loathed the set up, but conquered it as he did that of an equally silly course in the US Open, Oakland Hills of 1951." On that occasion, Hogan shot a final round 67 to win by two shots and claimed afterwards that he had "tamed this monster."

The other big difference between 1953 and 2007 is the level of publicity a 40-year old Hogan would generate on his first visit to the world's oldest and most important championship. He created a bit of a fuss back then; today the impact would be enormous even by the excessive standards of the 21st century. Could such a private man exist comfortably within today's golf culture of constant media and celebrity? It says here that he could not.

Photo: © Golfobserver file After winning at Carnoustie, Hogan got a parade throught the streets of New York.

Then again, maybe it wouldn't have made much difference to a man so singular of mind. Certainly, he never had much trouble saying 'no.'

Sitting in the Carnoustie locker room after his victory in 1953, Hogan was approached by an elegantly dressed man who presented a card and introduced himself as the representative of Peter, King of the Belgians. The king had read of Hogan's intention to visit the continent before returning to the United States. His majesty wondered if Ben and his wife, Valerie, might care to stay in his castle and partake of a round of golf.

Hogan looked at the card. Then looked at the man. Then, still looking him right in the eye, he handed back the card and said: "I don't play golf when I'm on vacation."

For all that, final confirmation of Hogan's fate comes from the haunting image of him hunched miserably over a four-foot putt, unable to make a stroke. Golf's 'yips' never respect even the sternest reputation and Hogan, late in his career, was a chronic and abject 'yipper.' The 'ice man' did eventually melt.

Put him down for a tie for fifth behind four men who, although they all hit fewer fairways and greens in regulation, made the putts when they counted on Sunday's back nine. No one, however, would command a bigger ovation from the packed grandstands around the 18th green. The people of Carnoustie know one of their own when they see him.