Right then, the venerable R&A, keepers of the Claret Jug and the world’s most enthusiastic embrace of damp wool, have gone and done it. They’ve announced the Open Championship venues for, well, forever. Or at least until the sun decides to go full supernova. This leaves precious little room for anyone to suddenly invent a revolutionary new golf course, or, frankly, for the rest of us to have a spontaneous existential crisis about the meaning of life without bumping into a golf tournament schedule. The R&A, bless their tweed-loving hearts, seem to think that trotting out the same old links is like returning to the comfy chair of Plato's Cave, only with more sand and fewer philosophers.
First up on the hallowed, and let’s be honest, often waterlogged, turf is Royal Birkdale in 2026. Now, Birkdale isn’t exactly a stranger – this will be its eleventh go-round. That’s about as frequent as I find myself contemplating my life choices after a particularly brutal round. It promises the sort of "terrific links golf" that, if you listen closely, translates to "a prime opportunity to lose your ball, your temper, and possibly a small portion of your sanity." Honestly, the place has hosted the Open more times than I’ve had decent lie on the 14th fairway. It’s got an enduring appeal, I suppose, even if it’s starting to feel a bit like a favourite jumper that’s seen better days.
After Birkdale, the faithful will be herded towards the spiritual home of golf, the Old Course at St Andrews, in 2027. This will be its thirty-first – yes, THIRTY-FIRST – appearance. It’s clearly the R&A’s golden child, the one they can’t resist bringing back for another hug. St Andrews feels less like a golf course these days and more like a historical reenactment society, where players try to hit a ball to a flagstick that might have been there when dinosaurs roamed. Cameron Smith, last seen making a dash for more lucrative fairways, was the most recent chap to conquer this ancient ground.
But hold on, it’s not all tartan rinses and repeats. For 2028, we’re off to Royal Lytham & St Annes. Now this feels a bit more like a special occasion. It’ll have been sixteen years since Ernie Els last ambled off with the Jug, a gap so vast it’s enough time for David Duval to emerge from his hermit cave, have a cup of tea, and then disappear again. Let's just hope Lytham has been busy perfecting its bunker strategy, because those sandy pitfalls are famously unforgiving. I'm picturing golfers weeping into their golf bags.
Beyond this meticulously plotted itinerary, the rumour mill is churning harder than a poorly struck drive. We’re hearing whispers of Muirfield, Royal St George’s, Royal Portrush, and even another nip back to St Andrews by 2032, followed by a likely return to Royal Liverpool in 2033. This level of forward planning is, I suppose, great for anyone who likes to book their holidays a decade in advance. For the rest of us, it takes some of the fizz out of the unknown, doesn't it? I’m starting to suspect the R&A are consulting ancient prophecies or maybe just a very old, very well-thumbed bingo card when they make these decisions.