Hopes go belly up in the fish pond

Martin Johnson, The Telegraph, 29 September 2003

It was Bobby Jones, in 1958, who said: "I could take out of my life everything except my experiences at St Andrews and still have had a rich and full life." The voice was full of emotion, as indeed was that of Kenneth Ferrie, who on Saturday afternoon expressed an opinion of the Old Course that was ever so slightly at variance with the great American amateur. "This place," said our Ken, "is a complete s***hole."

Given their respective contexts, the Royal and Ancient will neither be distressed nor surprised by two such variable sets of references. Jones was making his speech during a Freedom of St Andrews ceremony, and never played for anything as vulgar as money, while Ferrie was contemplating a putt that bobbled off line and has a soul that exudes the kind of romance you would expect from an anonymous tour pro trying to earn a few bob.

It takes time to fully appreciate the eccentric nature of the Old Course, where the old adage that golf was never meant to be fair is accentuated by the fact that this is, after all, a municipal bearing the scars of several thousand Japanese amateur fourballs over the course of a year. Of the three Dunhill Links venues, Carnoustie is comfortably the best conditioned, and Kingsbarns the most attractive.

Carved out of the East Fife coastline next to the North Sea, Davy Jones claimed a high percentage of the balls Dunhill so thoughtfully provided for their amateur guests, and it is certainly easier to run out of ammunition at Kingsbarns than it is at St Andrews. Having survived the North Sea experience, however, one of my own supply of balls now lies in an ornamental fish pond inside the grounds of the Old Course Hotel, as a fitting testimony to the perils of the Road Hole.

It's a Titleist 4 with a red spot on it, and its prompt return (post and package paid) would be greatly appreciated. I asked the American amateur in our group whether failure to do so would provide grounds for litigation, and, being not only American, but quite unable to see the amusing side of any golfing disaster (of which he had many) replied that he thought it probably did.

His final outing at St Andrews on Saturday came after rounds at Kingsbarns and Carnoustie in which our respective pros, Ferrie and Rolf Muntz, spent most of their time cowering in the gorse while David uncorked yet another shank from the four-iron he insisted in using off the tee. It was not the kind of affliction to take to the Old Course, which - with its double fairways, shared greens, and amateur hackers - reminds you what it must have been like flying over Dresden in 1945. Old Tom Morris did well to get old playing around here.

It is hard to do much damage off the first tee at St Andrews, although not impossible, as Ian Baker-Finch demonstrated in the 2000 Open when his opening drive caused pandemonium among the punters who were 200 yards away on the other side of the 18th. However, it is one thing striding on to the tee hearing the starter say, "On the tee, from Windermere, Florida, Tiger Woods", and quite another when he says, "On the tee, amateur partner for Rolf Muntz, David Pickei. And stand clear on the right, please."

Dave's caddie quickly discovered that his man required the full hands-on experience. "Is this a fast putt?" "No, it's uphill." "It's not level then?" "No, uphill." "Not too fast then?" "No, it's uphill." It's just as well Dave didn't get my man, as he'd have found it tough to work out what he meant by: "Lassie would nae find that one if it was wrapped in bacon."

Ferrie qualified by making birdies on four of his last five holes on Saturday, but I parted company with my partner after missing the cut, which put me in the same category as Colin Montgomerie. However, having got round the Old Course without any physical damage, I decided not to push my luck by asking Monty if he fancied a game yesterday morning.