Matt Cleary joined the multitudes following the marquee group of Smith, Day and Lee at Royal Queensland for the PGA Championship, and wasn't able to, well, see very much. And he has a plan to return the game to the fans.
On a hot July day in 1997, some mates and I found ourselves in upstate New York and the dignified surrounds of Westchester Country Club, where Tiger Mania was in full-throated mashed-potato mode.
It was the Thursday of the Buick Classic and if there were 10,000 people there, 9,000 were following the group of Tiger Woods and… I can’t remember who else it was, it doesn’t actually matter.
For it was the Tiger Show, and they were hanging from the trees. They were yelling out to him, “Hey, Tiger!” Hoping he’d look at them, this 21-year-old phenom who’d just won the Masters at Augusta by 12 shots.
So, we followed him for a few holes, and watched him bogey the first, and do his best as the teeming multitudes roared when he plucked the tiger-skin head cover from his driver… and, well, it was all a pain in the arse, all the yelling. And you couldn't see any of Tiger's, you know, "play", so we brushed it to get a beer.
And off we choofed for for greener pastures.
And enjoyed our very own Ernie Els show.
Because while all the lunatics were straining to see the back of the young man’s melon from 150 metres away, we positioned ourselves roughly were the Big Easy would be whacking the ball with driver.
And there we watched him smash six-iron 200 metres with that mighty, languid style. We were like 20 metres from him, this world-class golfer who'd already won the U.S Open, and was about to win the next one, and who would win that very Buick Open.
He was awesome, Ernie, and we had him just about all to ourselves.
Which brings us to the bridge between the eighth green and ninth tee at Royal Queensland, where teeming multitudes are being held back by rope and gateway guardians.
The marquee group of day two of this shortened PGA Championship of Australia – Min Woo Lee, Cameron Smith, Jason Day – is doing their thing around the green, and we, the people, the consumers of the action, are way out behind the ropes with only an idea where the hole is, what the putt’s doing, what they may be thinking.
Golf at this level isn’t for the fans, it’s policed for the players. It’s officious. It’s not up close and personal, it’s far away and impassive, removed. It's like watching footy with the thought police.
One of the beauties of the Queensland PGA at Nudgee and the NSW Open at Murray Downs was that spectators could wander around with the players. And watch their play from behind them.
And they should get something like it going for our major showcase events. Because at the moment, they’re a showcase for watching the thing on television.
Yes, there are perhaps 15,000 people on the property, and they do need corralling. But they should put the ropes behind the players. The fans should get to follow the groups all the way down the fairway for the entire 18 holes, not just the very last one so it looks good on telly.
Look at those scenes from LIV Golf in Adelaide, all those fans, excited, jam-packed, following the superstars, and getting a cracking view behind them. Kids will remember that for life.
The fan experience for golf needs to be less ropes manned by bouncers guarding an exclusive night-club the fans will never get in, and more for the people.
They can’t do it? They do do it.
Small pods of elites, corporate lanyard-wearers, get the "exclusive", “inside the ropes” treatment because they've won life's lottery and got to be a sales exec for a super fund, or something, or knows a mate who is.
And there they stand respectfully behind the players, near the scoreboard attendants, and see the golf from the best seat in the house.
And in the egalitarian dream that is Australia, that should be the choice for everybody who wants to follow a group. And if that's 5000 people behidnd the marquee group, bring it. Flood the zone.
Yes, it would be unwieldy. But attendants could string a rope and themselves across the fairway. They can work it out. They should give it a go. Make it work.
Anyway, back in present tense, and as I’d done with Tiger in ’97, I brush the hordes and head off to find some other excellent golfers who give the ball a smack.
And they are legion. Indeed, the very group behind the marquee sports Marc Leishman and Harry Higgs and a bloke called Rasmus Neergaard-Petersen from Denmark who some wags near me coin the “Swedish Chef”.
And I hang my arms over the hoardings on the ninth tee box and watch these three men absolutely freaking pump it.
The power of their driving … it is prodigious. It’s pure. The sound of it off the face of the driver. It’s like Viv Richards cracking one of out the middle of an SS Jumbo.
And the ball travels so very far away.
As do the players, eventually, and it would be nice to wander behind them for the entire 18 holes.
Would it really be that hard?
Because, really - who’s the event for? The players and the corporates?
Or the people who pay to get in?
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