Johnson column: Golf’s rule book gives plenty of room for Banana skins

By Martin Johnson

The rules fiasco from the final round of the US Open is still the subject of animated debate and has yet to be satisfactorily resolved. Namely, did Jordan Spieth move? And if so, was he being addressed at the time?

After studying the video tape for well over a week now, I am willing to testify that the only part of Spieth I witnessed moving on that Sunday afternoon at Oakmont was his lips. There must be a name for it – compulsive conversation disorder perhaps – and it explains why he spends half his golfing life on the clock. Or in his case, the sundial.

No wonder his caddie looks worn out. “So, a little fade with an eight-iron you think?” “Yeah.” “You sure?” “Yeah”. “So, you like the club?” “I love it.” “Maybe just take a bit off it?” “No, just a nice smooth one.” “Wind off the left, right?” “Yeah”. Hurting?” “Helping”. “So, you like the club?” “Listen, do you want it in writing?”

Instead of faffing around over Dustin Johnson, and trying to establish whether his golf ball moving half a nanometre was down to the player himself, a gust of wind, an underground tremor, or ­someone sneezing in the gallery, the USGA officials would have been better employed arming themselves with red hot pokers, for the insertion thereof during Spieth’s interminable pre-shot routine.

But no. Golf is the kind of game in which earnest discussions as to whether or not a spider’s web constitutes a loose impediment are considered far more important than whether the spider can spin it in less time than it takes Spieth to select a club.

If you want to make your head throb, and the library doesn’t have anything from Salman Rushdie on the shelves, try reading the Rules of Golf.

Not so long ago, a friend of mine entered a club competition and won it. He wrote his name on the card, along with the date, his tee time, and the name of the event. What he didn’t write down was his handicap, and given that this ranks as a similar misdemeanour to dropping a spare ball down your trouser leg when no one’s looking, he was disqualified. The best bit of all, though, was that he still had his ­handicap cut for low scoring.

Another golfing chum is currently scouring the nation’s pet shops for a salamander, and when he finds one, he’s going to tame it, and carry it around in his golf bag. The reason being that he recently found his ball in a hole that his playing companions ruled did not belong to a “burrowing animal”, and therefore did not qualify for relief ­without penalty.

After which, a study of the rulebook informed him that the definition of a burrowing animal is one which ­excavates in order to have a kip, or keep out the rain. Which rules out bone-burying creatures such as dogs, but includes “rabbits, moles, groundhogs, gophers, and salamanders”.

So the next time he’s in a hole, and there’s the prospect of an argument, he’ll just slip his pet ­salamander out of the bag to sit there and claim residence. Clever or what?

There’s not a golfer out there who hasn’t broken the rules, often without even knowing. Which is hardly ­surprising. Let’s say you hit your ball into a bunker, and get there to find it obstructed by a set of false teeth left there by the previous occupant. You may not know it, but you can go right ahead and pick up the dentures, wrap them in a handkerchief for handing in at the pro shop, and proceed with your shot ­without penalty.

However, should the interference come from a Cox’s orange pippin rather than a set of false teeth, it’s status alters from an obstruction to a loose ­impediment – and it’s not to be moved. And you can argue all you like that there isn’t an orchard within a hundred miles, or that the apple came with a small ­Co-op label attached, it won’t make a jot of ­difference. It’s only when the apple still has the false teeth embedded in it that it becomes confusing.

There are potential banana skins everywhere (which by the way have the same status as apples in a bunker) and beware also of dispensing advice, even with the best of intentions. Your playing companion drives into a water hazard, and re-tees another ball. “No, no” you say. “Much better if you drop it down by the hazard.”  What a nice chap you are, and try to keep smiling while you penalise yourself a couple of strokes.

Grey areas abound, though, I’ll have to check whether shouting: “If you don’t hit the bloody thing soon, Spieth, it’ll be dark!” constitutes giving advice or not.

Most of us, from time to time, have been visited by the shot that dares not speak its name, but quite apart from the mental damage sustained from hitting one at right angles off the pipe, you also need to know the Rule should the shot incur physical distress as well.

Let’s say your ball hits one of your playing companions straight between the eyes. Well, it’s entirely right and proper that you offer whatever ­sympathy is appropriate while he’s loaded, semi-conscious, on to an ­emergency golf cart (provided you do so without unduly delaying play – after which you are entitled to announce: “I am replaying, as the laws permit, my shot without penalty.”

As for the poor chap you’ve ­clobbered, the good news is that he escapes being penalised two shots for unduly delaying play (Rule 6-7) if the committee invokes Rule 6-8a, which permits a player to discontinue play due to illness or some physical problem – such as, in this instance, a fractured skull. But only if he reports to the ­committee “as soon as practicable”.

In which case, we have the potential scenario of the golfer being wheeled into a hospital operating theatre, and before the surgeon has time to say: “scalpel please, nurse” someone bursts through the door and pipes up: “I represent the committee of the Royal Snootingham Golf Club and when the patient comes round please be kind enough to inform him that he is ­disqualified from this morning’s Fur and Feather, as, despite having lost several pints of blood, he was still conscious when being loaded into the ambulance, and failed to inform the committee of his intention to leave the course.”

“I have to tell you” replies the ­concerned surgeon “that his chances are no better than 50-50.” “In which case” comes the reply “the committee will doubtless overlook this serious breach of the rules, and rest assured that the deceased will be afforded the ­traditional courtesy of having the club flag lowered to half-mast. Good day to you, sir.”

Tagged Martin Johnson, USGA