Fort Wayne – Sometimes I think it went like this: Six or eight guys sitting in a back room late one night, passing around a 100-year-old bottle of single-malt Scotch. Or two.
I am speaking, of course, of the genesis of the golf rulebook, which has come under scrutiny of late because of three incidents, each more ludicrous than the last.
Incident No. 1: That whole stealth bunker business at the PGA, when Dustin Johnson grounded his club in a bunker on the 72nd hole, incurring a two-stroke penalty because he stupidly failed to realize that a piece of ground with sand and grass and spectators traipsing through it was a “bunker.”
Incident No. 2: In which Juli Inkster got disqualified for swinging a weighted club to stay loose during a 30-minute backup at the 10th tee – a violation reported not by a rules official but by some loser watching on TV from home.
Incident No. 3: In which Jim Furyk got drummed out of the Barclays last week before it ever started, because he overslept and was five minutes late for his tee time in the pro-am.
What I want to know about all that is, who comes up with this stuff? And how squint-eyed hammered does he or she have to be?
Guy the First (pouring himself another belt): Hey, this rulebook looks awfully thin. What else can we come up with?
Guy the Second: How about a rule against grounding your club in a bunker?
Guy the Third: What’s a bunker?
Guy the Fourth: What’s grounding your club?
Guy the Fifth: Why should it matter if you can ground your club in a bunker?
(All the other Guys stare at him).
Guy the Second: Who invited this guy?
Guy the First: It matters because we say it matters. All in favor of making it illegal, say aye. All in favor also of waiting until after the fact to tell a player he was in a bunker, also say aye.
All the other Guys: Aye!
Guy the Third: Hey, guys? I think we need a rule to make our sport more accessible to the masses – and by masses, I mean 40-year-olds who still live in their parents’ basement, have no jobs and think the golf rulebook is more fun than sex, which they’ve never had, anyway.
Guy the Fourth: You mean like Guy the Fifth?
Guy the Third: No, seriously. I think we should make it so Mr. 40-Year-Old Lives In His Parents’ Basement can be watching a tournament on TV, spot some ridiculously pointless violation and get the violator tossed with one phone call.
All the other Guys: Aye!
Guy the First: OK, one more. I propose a rule that only applies to half the field: Make it an automatic ejection from a tournament if you show up late for your tee time for the pro-am that week.
Guy the Second: Seriously?
Guy the First: Seriously.
(Everyone thinks about that for a moment).
Guys Second through Fifth: Wow. That’s really … dumb.
(Guy the First looks around at all of them, glaring).
Guy the First: Fine. Be that way.
(Pause)
Now get out of my Mom’s basement.
