ST. ANDREWS, Scotland -- In golf's BT Era (Before Tiger), there was only one question that mattered: Are you an Arnie guy, or a Jack guy?
Arnold Palmer -- The King. Or Jack Nicklaus -- The Golden Bear. Palmer was the people's choice, while Nicklaus was the Weight Watchers' favorite. You rooted for Palmer; you respected Nicklaus.
My old man was an Arnie guy. Maybe it was the way Palmer flicked his cigarette aside, or how he hitched his pants, or how he would rather guzzle a quart of Pennzoil than lay up on a par-5. Nicklaus was more reserved, more deliberate. Ice Ages began and ended as he stood over a putt.
But here in Scotland there is no debate. The Scots are Arnie guys and Jack guys. Palmer, the first prominent American Tour pro to cross the pond, is the one who gave the British Open mouth-to-mouth in the early 1960s. Nicklaus, by his sheer dominance in the sport, is the one who held The Open's hand during the 1970s, when he won at St. Andrews twice.
Nicklaus's two favorite courses are Augusta National and the wonderfully bizarre and quirky Old Course here at St. Andrews. One was founded and co-designed by Nicklaus hero Bobby Jones, the other was won three times by an amateur named ... Bobby Jones.
"I remember I used to go down to Bob Jones's cabin before The Masters every year, and he talked a little bit about St. Andrews," Nicklaus said Tuesday morning. "And the one thing he said, 'You know, your golfing career as a champion is not complete unless you win at St. Andrews.'"
Nicklaus waved good-bye to the Masters this past April, and will do the same with the Old Course this week. He has cradled the Claret Jug three times, finished second seven times and cashed 18 top-10 checks. But Nicklaus is 65 now and hasn't made an Open cut since 1997. Unless he can channel argyle-sweater-attired 1978 Jack -- when he won his third and last Open championship -- Nicklaus will be home in Florida for his Sunday family dinner.
On Thursday, when Nicklaus makes his 38th and final appearance in The Open, the Royal Bank of Scotland will issue commemorative 5-pound notes with the Golden Bear insignia on the front, and two images of Nicklaus on the back. Only three living people have ever been featured on a UK bank note: Queen Elizabeth II, the Queen Mother, and Jack William Nicklaus -- Earl of Double Eagles.
Nicklaus earned 2,100 pounds when he won his first Open in 1966. Finish dead last in this week's event, you'll get a check for 9,000 pounds.
Times and tournament checks change, but not Nicklaus. His mind insists that even with its modest lengthening, the Old Course remains playable and, gasp, even winnable for him. His body, which can no longer survive a practice session without post-swing pain, tells him otherwise.
"I'm here as a competitor," Nicklaus said. "And we'll find out whether that competitor can play through Sunday and try to do the best he can. And once the competition is over for me ... obviously I still look at a scenario when I walk down somewhere late Sunday afternoon. That's maybe not the most realistic scenario, but I still look at it."
Late Sunday afternoon. That's when the leaders are playing.
This is quintessential Nicklaus. Old Tom Morris has a better chance of making the cut than Nicklaus -- and he's buried up the street -- but this is the way Nicklaus thinks. It's the only way he can think. No wonder he loved it when Royal & Ancient executive director Peter Dawson recently said that Nicklaus would rather be treated as "a competitor than a monument."
Nicklaus is somewhere in between the two. He has his own bank note, his own club and apparel line and his own jet. He is playing his final Open at St. Andrews because Dawson and the R&A arranged it. They don't do that for Duffy Waldorf. And only Nicklaus gets to say farewell twice: once here in 2000, and now the mulligan good-bye in 2005.
You know this is a big deal when his own sons negotiate to carry his bag on the Jack Farewell Tour. Jackie Jr. caddied for him at the Masters. Steve, who lost a 17-month-old son in February, used the always reliable "Pops," when asking his dad if he could caddy for him at the Old Course.
"If he wants something he says, 'Pops,'" Nicklaus said.
We all want something. Steve, who carried his old man's bag here in 2000, wants symmetry. The Scots want a chance to offer a proper ovation for the golfer BBC announcers often call "The Great Man." I'll settle for a few moments when Nicklaus resembles the Nicklaus of 1966, or '70, or '78.
"There's nothing I've enjoyed more in my life than playing golf and being competitive and being part of what's going on," he said. "But when you're not part of the competitive part ... it loses its glow. And I haven't been part of the competitive part of it for several years now, realistically."
Before making his way to the first tee for his practice round, Nicklaus was asked by the interview moderator if he would sign the table top. It's something of a press-center tradition here at The Open for past champions and near champions to scribble their names on the dark wood. Nicklaus took the black Magic Marker and jotted those same 12 letters he's signed a million times. A few minutes later, as everyone filed out of the room, I stepped onto the small, green carpeted stage and glanced at the growing collection of signatures. On the left bottom corner of the table they had signed their names: Ben Crenshaw, Nick Faldo, Justin Leonard, Seve Ballesteros, Todd Hamilton, Mark Calcavecchia and Ben Curtis, among others.
Nicklaus's signature, written bigger and with more flourish than the rest, was located by itself in the middle of the table.
As it should be.
Gene Wojciechowski is the senior national columnist for ESPN.com. You can contact him at gene.wojciechowski@espn3.com.