AT 2.30pm on a bright, bustling day at the 142nd Open Championship, a young man moved with enviable, profound assurance through the crowds towards the clubhouse at Muirfield.

He avoided eye contact, walked purposefully but not hectically, and was only saved from anonymity amid the mass of press, officials and R&A personnel by the presence of the security guards flanking him. He swerved slightly to avoid a woman consumed by her phone rather than by the celebrity of the golfer bearing down on her, missing a brush with greatness. He entered the clubhouse with a click of golf shoe. Tiger Eldrick Woods had finished practice and was ready to go to work.

Just more than 15 minutes later, the greatest golfer of this age was in a patch of whin, muttering the word "unplayable". He had begun his quest for his 15th major victory by bashing a 3-iron wide left, off a tree and into the sort of rough normally found around disused factories.

As he swished his club to make his escape, he was surrounded by excited spectators. They were aware of their brush with greatness and would only step back from it with the forceful insistence of a clutch of stewards, security men, policeman and, more than probably, members of the UN Peacekeeping force.

At 5pm, Woods was over par and standing on a fairway with 21 others – more people than are on the field during a particularly tasty Scottish Junior cup tie. There were dozens of media, with and without cameras, on the sidelines. Just beyond them, there was a rippling excitement amid thousands of spectators who came to rest whenever Woods stopped to play a shot.

On the ninth tee, he seemed to take a deep breath. The world No.1 was contemplating his destiny as 10 holes and miles of dust-blown fairway and glacier-like greens lay before him. Louis Oosthuizen, one of his playing partners, limped off to a paramedics' buggy with a neck and hip injury. Woods endured.

This resilience ensured he rested last night for the battles of this morning with a feeling of deep satisfaction. Famously, Woods is a light sleeper and his fractured dreams last night may have been about further brushes with a greatness he generates by the application of his extraordinary talent, but also by a force of will.

Yesterday was not one of those Woods processions of old. This, he said, was a grind. Muirfield was as fast, as punitive, as a showgirl with a grudge. The greens required skates rather than cleats. "I putted the ball off the green today. And it really was not that bad a putt," said Woods, amazed by his new-found fallibility.

However, the tougher the course became, the more Woods showed that greatness has deep resources. The golfer who performed a flip hook at the first, shouted Goddammit as he hit it through the green at the sixth and dropped his head as his subsequent putt rose to meet the green, paused and turned back as if it had seen something awful, became the consummate professional who came back with authority. Woods birdied three of the four holes immediately after the turn and came back in a sparkling 32 as the sun dipped but the greens became slicker. "It got so fast and so dry that it was hard to get the ball close or even lag-putt the ball at the right speed," he said. But he completed the final nine holes six shots to the good of Graeme McDowell, a golfer of wonderful proficiency on difficult courses, whose US Open win stands as a medal to steadfastness under testing conditions. "Tiger played phenomenally well," he said. "Really did what he did best."

What Woods does better than anyone, of course, save for Jack Nicklaus, is win majors. The Tiger has 14 to the Golden Bear's 18 but Woods has not won one in five years. This is not long for mortals but it must seem like dog years to Woods. Compatriots Keegan Bradley, Bubba Watson, Lucas Glover, Stewart Cink and Webb Simpson have won majors since he last did. Justin Rose and Rory McIlroy have done it on his turf. His playing partners yesterday – McDowell and Oosthuizen – are more recent major winners than the great Woods.

Damaged immeasurably by the scandal over his sexual conduct, hampered by injury, most recently a troublesome elbow, Woods has become accustomed to the gentle questions over his major prospects that carry a sly spin that seeks to tempt him into vainglorious predictions or doleful reflection.

There may be much about Woods that stymies any feelings of affection. Those who have penetrated the citadel find him distant, self-centred, casually rude.

Those, though, who have had a brush with his greatness while he is at work are forced to bow to a regal, if regularly ungracious, presence.

At shortly after 8pm last night after a difficult shift in which he hewed an admirable score of two-under from an unforgiving course, Woods stood in front of the massed press and answered 14 questions with a practised ease. "I could see how guys were complaining about it," he countered, when asked if the course was unfair.

This was the great man avoiding unnecessary controversy in his words, while his actions posted a score that takes him deep into contention for another major.

The dust lies on the fairways of Muirfield and the debris of broken hopes of a clutch of top golfers litters both Twitter and newsprint. The most significant statement was made by Woods in the shape of 69 blows. He is desperate to exert his greatness and brush away all impediments to glorious history.