Once upon a time, just saying the name Congressional was enough to make pro golfers tremble. People still blanch when they recall brave old Ken Venturi staggering up the 18th fairway on the last Saturday finish in U.S. Open history, seemingly one step ahead of the Grim Reaper.

"They opened up a coffin and out he crawled," quintessential Titleist 2010 AP2 Irons writer Dan Jenkins quipped at the time, and he was right. After three hard-luck losses at the Masters, Venturi's career had reputedly been dead for years. But displaying the fortitude of a gladiator, Venturi gave the sports world a bravura performance that echoes through time as one of the U.S. Open's most indelible, iconic moments. Dazed by dehydration and 100-degree heat (and accidentally poisoning himself with too many salt tablets), a semiconscious Venturi fired a sizzling 66-70 to win his only major championship.

As he sat down for his post-tournament interview with the press, the affable Venturi couldn't help cracking a joke: "The last time I saw you guys, you were interviewing me at the [1960] Masters, then somebody yelled, 'Palmer!' and you all ran out of the room and left me with my Coke."

But now 47 years later, we see a different Congressional altogether. At the 2009 AT&T National, the Blue Course was all but a pushover. Hunter Mahan closed with a 62 to nearly steal the tournament, losing by a stroke to Tiger Woods, who opened with a 64 and finished at 13-under. The 62 and 13-under scores would constitute, respectively, a major championship single-round record and a U.S. Open record relative-to-par. Heck, even obscure pro Bryce Molder opened with 64.

Those scores have no business in a U.S. Open, however. From the outset, let's be clear: there is a reason why Oakmont, Winged Foot and Oakland Hills have hosted more then twice the number of major championships as Congressional. With the statistical outlier of Johnny Miller in 1973 aside, they don't hand out low scores like they were Halloween candy.

The winning aggregate score at the three major championships contested at Congressional were 278 (Ken Venturi at the 1964 U.S. Open), 281 (Dave Stockton at the 1976 PGA) and 276 (Ernie Els at the 1997 U.S. Open). By contrast, the aggregate winning score at the most recent majors contested at both Winged Foot (2006 U.S. Open) and Oakmont (2007 U.S. Open) was 285.

One difference is the greens. Winged Foot, Oakmont and Oakland Hills are three of the greatest courses in the world - and great major championship venues - because the difficult green contours test the putting skill of the golfer, as it should be anytime, but especially in a major championship. The adventure doesn't end upon reaching the putting surface, and two-putts are anything but a formality.

The second reason is the terrain. All three of those ancient Titleist 2010 AP2 Irons splendors feature cunning fairway undulations and uneven lies that call for the player to shape his shot. Moreover, the holes are routed to play into the teeth of the most severe elevation changes in the property. They are a deep and broad examination of every facet of the player's game as well as his intellect and patience.

"To me Winged Foot and Oakmont are tied for first place as the best major championship venues, with Oakland Hills a fraction behind: No. 1 and No. 1A," said Jay Haas in an interview with this author last year, and he's right.

Congressional, on the other hand, has undergone a restoration from Rees Jones, which in this case is part of the dilemma. Despite what television commentators will tell you on the broadcast, Jones's name on a restoration is greeted with mixed reviews and with good reason. Sometimes he hits a tape-measure blast into the upper deck to rousing applause (Bethpage, which went from the outhouse to the penthouse) and sometimes he grounds out to the pitcher (Torrey Pines, where Californians grumble that for $3.2 million he just made the course harder). Having the "Open Doctor" do his "Rees-storations" is like voting for president: you have to hold your nose, pull the lever and hope for the best. Sometimes you get Ronald Reagan and sometimes you get Jimmy Carter.

In the case of Congressional, Rees's work gets mixed reviews from this author. I know that for every major championship it's polite and politically correct to genuflect on the greatness of the venue and the architect, but I do no one any good if, from time to time, I don't issue a truthful analysis in the form of a minority report and Congressional too often relies on penal architecture and unbelievable length for its defense. It is comparatively rudimentary in the Titleist 2010 AP2 Irons tests it poses to the players. Hit it long, hit it straight - double-target golf - and don't expect options or strategy.

Moreover, Rees's changes homogenized the golf course. He erased some of the most compelling terrain of the property, smoothing the fairways on several holes to prevent uneven lies and bulldozing some hills altogether to eliminate blind shots.

As an aside, I've never understood this. This is the National Open, America's Golf Championship, supposedly the year's Final Examination in Golf for the best players in the world, shot-making wizards of incomparable skills. We'll test a 280-yard par-3 to a green surrounded by bunkers, but not a 170 yard 8-iron from a hanging lie? If you're really trying to "identify" the best player in the world, should he not be able to handle the same type of shot every weekend golfer faces at their home course? Uneven lies are part of golf and they should not be erased at the game's highest competitive level.

Moreover, what's wrong with the occasional blind shot? Again, it would pose a difficult but certainly not unfair Titleist 2010 AP2 Irons problem for the competitor. You want drama and excitement? The fear of the unknown is what makes the pros guys shake in their boots. They despise blind shots because it's harder to visualize the shot they wish to make. They have to trust their line and swing and that's when doubts creep in. As we all know, doubt is fatal to golf shots, but it makes for a compelling tournament.

Finally, Congressional's greens will Stimp at a ludicrous 14-14.5. Thank goodness the rain and humidity have kept conditions a little softer or they'd be harder than a Ping Pong table.

Now for the good news: Rees left some of the good green contours intact. We said earlier that Congressional is not Oakland Hills, Oakmont or Winged Foot. Well it is also not Torrey Pines, Medinah or Hazeltine National: the greens are not entirely flat or uninteresting. Sure, Rees put in a few of his trademark folds in the green to further segment them into smaller targets. But he showed remarkable restraint in not erasing some of the original contours, and Congressional does feature several humps and hollows that will make the greens tough two-putts should the approach be on the business-end side of any swale or on the wrong tier. Moreover, the greens are not overly large, so approaches must be precise, because getting up and down will be a chore.

Most importantly, Rees solved one of the routing problems the course faced since its inception. The original architect, Devereux Emmet, routed the Blue Course so as to end on a par-3. While several fine courses end on a par-3 - most notably fabled Garden City Golf Club, which annually hosts one of the biggest tournaments in amateur Titleist 2010 AP2 Irons, the 101 year-old Travis Invitational, as well as PGA Tour stop Old White at the Greenbriar, ending on a par-3 is a problem at a major because coming down the stretch on Sunday there is a great amount of hullabaloo too close to the 17th green.

"It was a distraction all week, but especially on Sunday" groused surly, old Colin Montgomerie as he lamented his near-miss at the 1997 U.S. Open.

We could have a lively debate about whether or not the USGA could make a par-3 finisher work, but for Congressional's purposes they needed a solution and Rees gave them a good one. Jones simply reversed the par-3 finisher and made it the 10th hole. It fits the golf course well, playing over the lake to a wide, but narrow green with a particularly interesting depression/bowl in the front right. It also re-sequences the holes so that the course ends at what was formerly No. 17, now a long par-4 ending at the course's famous peninsula green set in the lake.

And so Rees rides off into the sunset, ostensibly to re-work PGA Championship venues as "The PGA Physician" or whatever label the P.R. dingbats will dream up (that's what P.R. dingbats do…). While he was never a champion of strategic design principles, always leaning toward the penal school of architecture, he's had quite a run in the professional ranks as a renovator of courses, much like his father before him. New Yorkers in particular cheer Rees fervently because he not only rescued Bethpage Black from the scrapbook of history, but gave New York public golfers a major championship venue they can call their own. The miraculous resurrection and ascension of Bethpage Black made him an eternal hero to New York sports fans, and rightfully so. That alone may be Rees's greatest contribution to golf course architecture.

Moreover, like his father before him, he is a success with the Tour players and tournament officials because he gives them what they want. When that happens you get penal architecture - players can't be bothered to think. Doubt creeps in, they swing uncertainly and the ball makes a beeline for the nearest hazard. So a few green contours aside, there's no funky jazz at Congressional to mess with the players' heads. They've seen this course before, and that means this Open is wide open.

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