This first dawned on me a generation ago when a learned colleague bemoaned the appalling behaviour of cadet journalists on his newspaper.

“Mate,” he confided sadly, “they go straight home, open a bottle of mineral water and read a serious book. They’ve got no get up and go at all. It breaks my heart”

In happier days the players did not desert the course immediately after their round for a session at the gym, followed by learning some new jargon from their sports psychologist or a session with their swing guru before retiring early.

The late and great Arnold Palmer walked into the clubhouse at Huntingdale during the Australian Masters and shouted the bar. ‘Champagne’ Tony Lema, who should be considered for canonisation, was sponsored by a wine maker and ensured the scribes had plenty of the sparkling product whenever he won. Alas, he died in a plane crash in Illinois in 1966. (Glen Miller the band leader died the same way over the English Channel in World War II and I think of the swing plane whenever ‘In the Mood’ is played on the wireless.)

While no one will doubt the health, social and golfing benefits of alcohol, not all clubs have always done their best to promote it.

Years ago, Royal Canberra served rum and Bonox to ward off the cold. For those too young to remember, Bonox is a beef concentrate put out by Kraft in 1918 which is added to boiling water and sometimes called beef tea. You had to be freezing to even think about drinking it and when mixed with rum it would kill a brown dog.

Founders of the Melbourne Golf Club in 1891 did what they could for the temperance movement by serving a concoction called the ‘Dog’s Nose’, which was equal parts scotch and beer. Individually, both are fine drinks that have contributed greatly to the advancement of civilisation but in combination would also take out the proverbial canine.

RIGHT: The world-famous Arnold Palmer - a mix of iced tea and lemonade - turns into a John Daly with the additona of vodka. PHOTO: Getty Images.

Very keen to foster the advance of the human race was the Rich River Golf Club at Moama, which was home to the Classic – an Order of Merit event won in 1986 by Bob Shearer and by Peter Senior the following year. Shearer, who enjoyed an ale, won by eight shots while Senior, a total abstainer, won by the measly margin of two. Enough said.

Two abiding memories of the Classic are of a fine press tent and a lethal drink. The tent was pitched between the 1st and 18th fairways and one side was removed in the morning so we could watch the 1st tee without leaving our desks. Later in the day the other side was taken off to reveal the 18th green. Caroline Wilson, writing to deadline for the defunct ‘Melbourne Herald’ newspaper on a typewriter, had to fight off a wine steward with her elbow as he leant over her shoulder to show the bottles on offer for lunch.

The press room was on the floor below and doyen of the writers, Don Lawrence, came up with an arrangement whereby he banged on the ceiling with a broom and the barman lowered bottles of beer on a piece of string to the window below.

The drink, called a ‘Golf Ball’, was equal parts Drambuie, scotch and ice-cream done in a blender. This would make a rabbit bite a bulldog and a colleague, who had more of these than was judicious, swore off drink for life and has not touched a drop since 1987.

Another benefit of what is sometimes mistakenly called the demon drink is its capacity to inspire ingenuity. During the Australian Open at Gailes in Queensland in 1951, the bar was tiny and getting a drink required much pushing, shoving and a long wait.

The press room was on the floor below and doyen of the writers, Don Lawrence, came up with an arrangement whereby he banged on the ceiling with a broom and the barman lowered bottles of beer on a piece of string to the window below.

In the 1950s few, if any, clubs opened the bar before lunch time. At Northern Golf Club in Melbourne those who fancied an early drink sent their caddies a couple of hundred yards up the road to the licensed grocer. To make sure the kids weren’t buying for themselves, the grocer stuck his head out the door to get the nod from the distant, thirsty players.

For any campaigning non-drinkers who feel the urge to write in and complain, calm down and mix an Arnold Palmer, which is equal parts cold tea and lemonade. It is said the name stuck when a woman saw the great man order it and said, like Meg Ryan in the movie When Harry Met Sally: “I’ll have what he’s having.” It is greatly improved by a measure of vodka and is then called a John Daly. Cheers.