Star quality leaves purists unimpressed

Julian Muscat, The Times, 27 September 2003

Mention St Andrews and people drool over the home of golf. Hear them rave about Els, Singh, Harrington and Clarke. Throw in Jodie Kidd, Hugh Grant, Samuel L. Jackson and Sir Steve Redgrave if you really want to titillate. Bring them all together, give the public free access, and what do you get? A Good Walk Spoiled.

Apologies to those unfamiliar with Mark Twain’s description, but it fits the dunhill links championship. You’d think that this $5 million (about £3 million) pro-am hybrid represented the perfect fusion of sport and celebrity, the sexy twin currencies of contemporary life; a shared platform to go with the shared greens of St Andrews. Unless it undergoes a radical facelift over the weekend, however, this will have been a mix of oil and water.

It is interesting that sport and celebrity should make such uncomfortable bedmates. For sport, read Ferguson; for celebrity, read Mrs Beckham. Ne’er the twain shall meet. They are two planets of fantasy with nothing in common, save a magnetic influence on Mother Earth. And the folk of St Andrews are all Ferguson: bristling with passion for the game, the whole game and nothing but the game. They voted with their feet on Thursday.

Even the hot-dog vendor was apologetic. “Ye enjoying yerselves?” she inquired of an American couple. “We’re having ourselves an OK day,” came the reply. “Ah,” she countered, “come back on the weekend. It’ll be better then.” It wasn’t all bad, in truth; it just wasn’t the way it was billed.

Sparse crowds gave aficionados unobstructed views of the pros while celeb-spotters enjoyed unadulterated sightings of their metaphorical paramours. The problem was that those outside the ropes were outnumbered by the players, caddies and officials inside them. The atmosphere was muted: one thing you never do is ask a celeb to perform in front of an empty house.

For the pros, it was business as usual. On the line is an $800,000 first prize and a rise up the Order of Merit. In these circumstances few can do magnanimity. It’s hardly fair to expect it of the modern player, counselled mentally, as he is, in the uncompromising art of winning.

Joakim Haeggman, of Sweden, is a case in point. Having censored his caddie for offering a less than perfect ball for his tee-shot at the 15th, he promptly hooked his drive. As he scowled at its flight, he turned to scowl at the distant chatter of two men behind him. Dark mutterings in his native tongue; then to his caddie: “Don’t tell me it’s in the bunker,” as though it was somehow the caddie’s fault.

BUT Haeggman was saving his real wrath for the chatterer, who was now approaching. Whereupon he broke into a broad smile on the realisation that it was Pierre Fulke, his compatriot. The moment was sour. It conveyed the gambit in which the making of millions at something you ostensibly love becomes a gruesome, tiresome chore. So you scowl at the rest of the world and smile only at your own, the ones who truly understand your terrible predicament. Fun? I’d rather walk underclad around the blustery Scottish coast. Which is what I did.

It was to offer redemption. A feature of any first visit to a celebrated venue is the realisation that television has preacquainted you with it. Entering beside the Old Course Hotel was to recognise instantly that I was standing by the 17th, the famous Road Hole, with its deep bunker and stone wall flanking a forbiddingly narrow green. Beside it was the view down the 18th towards the clubhouse, which prompted a feeling of déjà vu.

St Andrews is a bleak place but one dunked in beauty. The walk away from the clubhouse on the front nine got better and better as what galleries there were thinned right out. In the wilderness, gatherings of between five and 20 followed each match. They were like small herds of animals, huddled together for warmth on an underpopulated stretch of tundra. Not how it was supposed to be, I guess, but the more uplifting for it.

A good word, too, for the marshals, who were helpful and courteous despite having to dispense much that might have offended. Wandering the wrong side of a rope, I was ushered back with the words: “You’d have to pay £5,000 to walk that way, sir.” I had no doubt that it was true, yet his demeanour implied that you’d have to be mad to pay it, and that it didn’t strike him that I was certifiable.

That much was fathomable; what was not was a scoring system that suggested all the pros were being outplayed by the ams. Was this foursomes, four-ball, better-ball — or something else entirely? It was hard to discern. And from a travelling fan’s perspective, the event suffered for being played at three different venues. The stellar cast was split three ways and elaborate plans to reach St Andrews from Sussex were rewarded with the news that the best action was unfolding at Carnoustie, 40 miles up the coast.

You can’t complain too much when entry is free. But here’s a better suggestion for all concerned. Why stage a pro-am-celebrity-cum-whatever at the home of the purist? This is golf for the townies. The whole concept would be better served at swanky Sunningdale, with its nearby urban centres of celebrity adulation.

Now that would be a perfect fit. Large crowds would enjoy the gig as much as the participants profess to — even if many didn’t show it. Sports fans could eschew an event that is more GM than organic. This type of thing must be serious or fun. If it tries to be both, it will invariably be neither.

HOW I RATED IT

Atmosphere: 11/20 Sparse crowd negated sense of anything important going on; many four-balls played in spirit of routine day at office; natural beauty was a saving grace

Entertainment: 9/20 Participants dispersed among three courses; play painfully slow (six-hour rounds commonplace); mood oscillated between sombre and fun

Venue: 17/20 St Andrews much better walked than watched on TV; viewing excellent for absence of galleries; marshals excellent; discernible sense of course’s history

Value for money: 10/20 Day trip not the best way of going, although cost increases significantly with overnight stay; free entry compromised by expensive flight at short notice

Facilities: 6/10 Limited catering outlets; very limited shelter; pleasure of visit governed largely by weather; walkways round course good

Food and drink: 5/10 Diet and prices typical of sporting event in Britain, if slightly better presented (hot dogs, burgers, bacon rolls £2.60, chips £1.60, doughnuts £0.60-£1.80, hot pork/beef baguettes £5, good selection of hot drinks from £1)

THE ST ANDREWS EXPERIENCE: 58/100

WHAT IT COST FROM SUSSEX Flight (London-Dundee): £215.50. Trains/taxis: £62.40. Food and drink: £8.40. Cost of entry: free

TOTAL COST: £286.30 Tips for the trip: Book flight well in advance for big saving; train links to course poor so use flight savings for taxi from Dundee airport (£17.50 one way); best shelter under corporate stand by 17th green; thaw out in Bunker Bar of Rusacks Hotel, adjacent to 18th fairway (non-residents welcome)