For his visit to this year's British Open at Royal Lytham, the ensemble was Kelly-green, as in green shirt, sweater, slacks, shoes, socks. Even at 68-years-old, some things about Doug Sanders, the self-styled Peacock of the Fairways, remain the same.

Naturally, he is still remembered for what he didn't win at St Andrews in 1970, rather than the 20 tournament victories which came his way in the US.

And the reason people think kindly of him, has to do with his dignified reaction to the devastating loss the putt represented, rather than his handling of the actual miss itself.

At a few inches less than three feet, with a devilish break from left to right, Sanders reckons that the putt cost him about $10 million per foot.

"Oh yes, it was costly," he told me when we met at Grange GC in 1997. "It was costly in more ways than you could ever dream. You see I had waited for that moment. I was ready. I had done all the other things - except to win a major. But you can't go back and re-live your life." Yet, only a month previously, he had attempted to do just that, when he paid a return visit to the Old Course with, incidentally, 26 pairs of shoes in his luggage. How had he played the 18th? "I had a birdie," he replied with a smile. "Sank a 12-footer."

Then he added: "And when I was there, I set up a pile of those three-footers - and sank them all!" He went on: "Had that putt gone down in 1970, I could have signed contracts there and then for millions of dollars, because I had something to market. If I had won at St Andrews, Doug Sanders would always have been known as the guy who beat Jack Nicklaus in the British Open.

"But I missed it. I could possibly have been captain of the Ryder Cup team, like Tom Kite, who won the US Open in 1992. Guys like him are remembered for having won a major. But I can never be in the PGA Hall of Fame, because I haven't won one.

Orville Moody can be in it, though he won only one tournament (1969 US Open). You have to win a major to get into the Hall of Fame.

"I don't know what I would have given to be able to take that putt again. I missed it. I made the mistake when I walked up there. I made the mistake of not backing away. I made a mistake by not letting Trevino (Lee Trevino, his playing partner) putt first (before finishing out)." There is no consolation in knowing that other sparkling careers were similarly scarred in the other three major championships. But they happened just the same.

Away from his work these days as a television pundit, Ed Sneed will admit that his US Masters collapse on Easter Sunday 1979 still hurts. Like Sanders, he seemed certain to capture the major title which would have crowned his tournament career.

Five strokes ahead at the start of the final round, Sneed held a three-stroke lead over the field with three holes to play. Even a three-putt bogey on the treacherously sloping 16th green, didn't seem to dent his confidence. But the mood began to change at the next.

That was where his wedge approach covered the flag all the way, only to pitch on the green and then bounce down a grassy slope at the back. From there, he took three more strokes to get down: his lead was now reduced to one stroke going up the last.

A par would still secure victory over Fuzzy Zoeller and Tom Watson. But Sneed wouldn't be the first player to discover that a par on Augusta's 18th hole can become quite an elusive target, when you need it to win. After missing the green with his approach, he took three more to get down, so going into the first sudden-death play-off in Masters history.

As would happen years later, to the advantage of Larry Mize, and again in 1989 when Nick Faldo triumphed, the play-off started at the 10th and finished on the 11th where Zoeller made an eight-foot birdie putt for the title.

In the 1939 US Open, Sam Snead was in the same position as Sanders and Sneed on the 72nd tee: a closing par on the 558-yard par five 18th at Philadelphia CC, would be enough for victory. Unlike his two compatriots, however, Snead thought he needed a birdie.

Bob Sommers provides a graphic description of the action in his book The US Open: Golf's Ultimate Challenge. He wrote: "Tearing into his drive a touch too vigorously, Sam hooked the ball into a tight lie in the rough, 275 yards from the green. In spite of his bad lie, Sam believed he might get there with a good brassie, and even if he didn't catch the ball flush, he'd have only an easy pitch left. The birdie was within reach.

"His decision was a disaster. Sam topped the shot; the ball bounced and rolled up the slope and dived into a steep-faced bunker, probing into the fairway from the left, about 110 yards short of the green. Now he had a serious problem.

"The bunker face was about five feet high, low enough to clear with a wedge, but in trying to reach the green, Sam played an eight iron. The club didn't have enough loft. The ball slammed into the face of the bunker and wedged between the cracks of some freshly laid sod. Three strokes gone.

"From an awkward stance, he chopped at the ball through sand and sod, tore it loose, and sent it hopping into another bunker 40 yards short of the green. With his feet on the grass outside the bunker, Sam played his fifth shot onto the green, but the ball rolled 40 feet beyond the hole.

"He putted three feet past, then left his next putt short: an eight." Sommers went on: "An awful hush settled over the crowd as Sam staggered off the green and lurched towards the clubhouse. Women's eyes watered, and men patted him softly on the back. Other players turned away to save him embarrassment."

With a final round of 74 for an aggregate of 286, Snead was two strokes outside a three-way play-off involving Byron Nelson, Craig Wood and Denny Shute. Nelson eventually won a protracted play-off to capture the top prize of $1,000. Snead would never again get so close to winning the US Open.

From the time the fourth of the major championships became a strokeplay event in 1958, two of the game's great practitioners, Arnold Palmer and Tom Watson, had chances of joining the elite group to have won all four majors. Palmer was tied second in 1964, 1968 and 1970, yet he never squandered a victory chance the way Watson did at Houston, in 1978.

After sparkling rounds of 67, 69 and 67 Watson led from the outset. John Mahaffey, on the other hand, started with a 75 and was seven strokes adrift of Watson with one round to play.

Then Mahaffey did the unthinkable by closing the gap on the leader with a stunning, final round of 66 to Watson's 73. And in the sudden-death play-off which also involved Jerry Pate, he sank a 12-foot birdie putt at the second extra hole to capture the title.

In truth, the major championships have produced more tears than cheers, yet Sanders was right. With only a few notable exceptions, we tend to overlook the tears.