Pardon me, mate, but let's put this in terms any limey could understand: You can sod off if you think today's Open Champion, Stewart Cink, is a 'villain'.
All Cink did was drain one of his patent gorgeous putts on 18 for a birdie to force the playoff. He didn't Sally Saladeater his putt for par and The Open on 18. And it wasn't his fault he drew Uncle Snappy out of his bag and put his ball into the Scottish Shit on the third playoff hole to eliminate any hope of winning.
Moreover, this isn't Nameless Turd Winning The US Open (really, I can't remember his name) a few weeks ago. This is Stewart Cink, one of the most respected guys on Tour.* (It causes groans and nausea over how good of a putter a guy is with the name of Cink.)
Here's the deal: Cink put himself into contention to win. As sometimes happens in Majors, the field comes back to you. The thing is, you still have to play incredibly solid for 72 holes to get to that point. Cink did. Watson didn't. Well-respected, long-tour with victories-under-his belt guy wins. Old guy loses with grace. That simple. No villain here.
Yeah, it's a bummer Tom didn't win one for the old guys; I was really rooting for him too. But Cink won one for bald guys with odd, hat-caused tanlines everywhere.
* No, not that fucking Tour, you yellow Spandex-wearing dweeb.