Shadow Hangs Over L.A. Open--It’s a Towel

Anyone who thinks golf is for sissies hasn’t been following the sport lately.

Johnny Miller, a superbly conditioned athlete, pulled a groin a few weeks ago and struggled through the next few rounds employing a miniature-golf-course stroke. Bull riders don’t pull groins. Hulk Hogan doesn’t even pull groins, at least not his own.

But golf, in many ways, is the ultimate athletic test of mind and muscle.

Last week in San Diego, golf found a new way to bring a man to his knees. Craig Stadler hit his ball into some shrubbery. If this is baseball or football or tennis, a ball fetcher fetches the ball and throws it away, and an official hands Stadler a new ball.

But this is golf, so Stadler grits his teeth and wades into the underbrush. His ball is in a wet area, under a tree. The only way he can hit the ball is to assume a kneeling position. Let’s see Don Mattingly try this.

Since the ground is wet, Stadler lays down a towel. I once heard a late-night radio preacher offering prayer towels for sale. Now I understand what they were to be used for. Anyway, Stadler kneels on the towel.

Don’t ask why a guy nicknamed the Walrus would worry about getting the knees of his pants wet. Better you should appreciate the courage required of golfers, who are frequently called upon to crawl into places grown-ups have no right to be.

Stadler is taking his life in his hands. There could be quicksand down there. Or, since it is wet grass, worms. How would the image-conscious PGA brass like it if Stadler plays the rest of his round, on national TV, with wiggly worms stuck to his knees? Besides, with no knee traction in that slick grass, the Walrus could have pulled a groin.

He does the sensible thing. He puts down the towel. This, it turns out, is a violation of one of golfing’s new ancient rules. The exact rule is Rule 13-3 1/2, not to be confusedwith 33, which is how many revolutions Stadler spun when he found out a day later that he would not be presented his second-place check of $37,333.33.

No. 13-3 1/2 is a whimsical little rule that deals with improving your stance by using an unauthorized piece of equipment. Hey, if I had known you could improve your chances by kneeling on a towel, I would have tried it years ago. Off the tee. The guys I play with aren’t such sticklers for rules. We play gentleman’s rules, which means what you do with your ball in the underbrush is strictly between you and the deity of your choice.

But this is pro golf, and rules are rules. The thing is, you know the Walrus wasn’t cheating intentionally. Had he known a towel is not considered official equipment, he would have knelt down on something authorized, like his caddy.

At the end of the round, Stadler signs his score card. By signing, in golf’s eyes, Stadler fails to acknowledge that he cheated. You’d better believe Gaylord Perry and Conrad Dobler are thankful that they never had to sign a score card.

Still, Stadler is in the clear until the next day, when TV viewers are shown snippets of the previous day’s action, including the Walrus’ knee shot. Several viewers phone in to point out the infraction. Our Supreme Court justices should know the Constitution as well as TV golf fans know the rule book.

This home-viewer replay system could revolutionize sport, set a precedent. Unfortunately, it’s too late for Dale Mitchell, who died recently. Mitchell took a called third strike for the last out in Don Larsen’s perfect game in the 1956 World Series. Replays show that the pitch was outside.

But I digress. In this roundabout way, through minicams and couch vigilantes, Stadler is brought to justice.

The question now is, did the punishment fit the crime? In football, you might get off with a warning for kneeling on the opposing quarterback’s nose. Was kneeling on a towel, even had it been a stolen hotel towel, a $37,333.33 offense? Wouldn’t $10,000 deliver the message? Or is Stadler lucky the PGA didn’t get tough and send out thugs to break his kneecaps, or his niblicks?

One thing is sure, the Walrus incident has cast a dark shadow of fear over the L.A. Open, which is ready to begin at Riviera. The golfers are playing scared.

What will be the big story this week? Ben Crenshaw thrown off the course because the tassels on his golf shoes exceed the maximum allowable shag? Seve Ballesteros banned from playing golf north of the Equator because he takes too many strokes in the ball washer?

You can be sure Craig Stadler will be on his best behavior at Riviera. If he finds himself with a lie similar to that fateful one in San Diego, the Walrus will treat the game of golf with the reverence and dignity it deserves. He will remove his pants.