They most certainly could: soft fairways help competitors keep their tee shots out of the penal rough, damp greens play slower and easier than dry ones, and players might be permitted to “lift, clean, and place” their muddy balls. The result could be a slew of birdies. And if players do dismantle the course, the United States Golf Association, which runs the Open and likes to think of it as the ultimate test in golf, will be very upset. But I won’t be. The sight of someone shooting twenty under par, or even lower, to win the title would be quite a spectacle, and it would also force the U.S.G.A. to tackle an issue that it’s been avoiding for years: the incredible distances that the modern golf ball flies. This, rather than trifling issues such as the popularity of the belly putter, is what has really changed the nature of professional golf.
Modelled on famous courses in Scotland and England, Merion, where, in 1930, Bobby Jones completed what was then golf’s version of the Grand Slam—British Amateur, British Open, U.S. Amateur, U.S. Open—has always been a test of skill rather than brawn. Even lengthened by almost five hundred yards for this year’s Open, it is pretty short by modern standards, with five par fours that measure less than three hundred and seventy-five yards. For players like Tiger Woods, Rory McIlroy, and Adam Scott, who will play together on the first two days, that makes some of the holes potentially drivable. Alternatively, they are a long iron and a flick.
Even the longer holes at Merion—and one of them has been extended to more than six hundred yards—won’t necessarily present much of a challenge. Top players hit the ball so far these days that distance isn’t really a factor. En route to victory in the 1950 Open, Ben Hogan, playing the eighteenth in the final round, hit a 1-iron—the most difficult club to play—onto the green from about two hundred and twenty yards, a feat which was for years considered remarkable. (A plaque marks the spot Hogan hit from.) Today, such a shot would be a routine 4- or 5-iron. If it were downwind, some players would hit 6-iron, or even seven.
Isn’t that just progress, which should be saluted rather than bemoaned? Tough question. For a sports fan, progress—bigger, better, faster, stronger—isn’t always a virtue. Sometimes, it threatens to obliterate the heroic performances, and performers, of the past, making them seem pedestrian. How would Chris Evert, with her wooden racket, fare against Serena Williams? Julius Erving against LeBron James? Valeriy Borzov against Usain Bolt? Hogan against Tiger Woods? The honest answer is not very well. (In the case of Hogan, some golf experts would disagree. But at five feet eight with a slight build, he probably wouldn’t have had the strength or swing speed—even with modern equipment—to compete with today’s players.)
by John Cassidy, New Yorker | Read more:
Photograph by Ross Kinnaird/Getty.
