Rule of thumb

A helpful memo to U.S. golf fans at The Belfry

Memo to: American fans attending the Ryder Cup.

Re: Heckling Rule.

Ladies and gentlemen,

Please be warned that this Ryder Cup is now more serious than Tolstoy.

Machine-gun guards now accompany the golfers. There are steel erections up everywhere and that's not even counting the Viagra tent. But most important, there is now a No Heckling rule.

Anybody heard heckling the players will be ejected from the premises. Nobody wants a repeat of the Brookline boorishness of 1999. Or the Bethpage badgering of Sergio Garcia’s Engless Waggle. Or the hopelessly failed Be Nice to Monty campaign.

Therefore, we beg of you not to yell at unknown Welshman Philip Price, "Hey, buddy, that area is for players only!"

Or at unheralded Swede Pierre Fulke: "Hey, Pierre, isn’t this one of the holes where you get a shot?"

And please don’t dare holler at Spanish star Garcia, "Can I have your autograph, Mr. Hingis?"

We are trying to set a new tone here. No more badgering Lee Westwood with: "Hey, Lee, call us when they find your neck!"

No more watching the somewhat overweight European Darren Clarke walk by and screaming, "Police! Arrest that man! He’s stealing hotel pillows in his pants!"

Or ... "Hey, Clarke! Move around a little, will ya? You’re killin' the grass!"

If you see Colin Montgomery, please don’t accost him with: "Hey, Mister, didn’t you used to be somebody?" That kind of thing will cause you to break out in handcuffs.

And please don’t bark at the remarkably deliberate Irishman Padraig Harrington: "Hey, Paddy! Any way you could go ahead and putt soon? We’ve got a Monday flight!"

Or … "Pick up the pace, will ya Paddy? I’ve had to shave twice!"

Similarly, it’s now against the rules to say to 45-year-old Bernhard Langer, the oldest player in the Cup: "So, what was Old Tom Morris really like?"

And if Westwood is hitting it wilder than Seve Ballesteros himself, do not holler: "Hey, Westy, only one fairway per hole!"

We want to keep this civil. The days of antagonism and blatant partisanship are over. This is the Loving Cup. Sure, some of the European players have their shortcomings, but that’s no reason to prey upon them. For instance, don’t call out to 5-foot-7 Irishman Paul McGinley, "Nice outfit, Paul! Does it come in men’s sizes?"

Nor would it be appropriate to ask Jesper Parnevik, "Any extra nannies hangin’ around?"

It would be considered a violation of the No Heckling rule to yell after a particularly bad Thomas Bjorn drive: "Even if that thing was wrapped in bacon, Lassie ain’t findin’ it."

Technically, the rule also covers testing your cell phone’s new ring during a Niclas Fasth putt, or making it slightly more difficult for Westwood to find his ball in the rough because it’s under your Foot-Joy.

Instead, why not offer words of friendship and encouragement to our European friends?

For instance, you could say to the short-hitting Phillip Price on a par 3: "This is reachable for you, Phil." Or, as the erratic-putting Parnevik is lining up a three-footer, you might encourage him by saying: "Cozy it up there close, Jespy!" And anytime a Euro doesn’t quite get across the lake at 18, it’d be a sign of empathy if you’d holler, "Two more skips and you’d have made it!"

Another good way is to simply use Americanisms the average Euro won’t understand. For instance, instead of hollering, "Hit it into the rough, Monty!" you could holler, "Find Brillo!" Instead of "Slice one into the water, Sergio!" you could yell, "Howsabout throwin’ a little Boston Carver into the Jacques Cousteau?" And why holler, "Choke, you jerk!" when you could scream, "Swallow the apple, Spam-brain!"

American fans must do this if they don’t want their European friends hollering unsportsmanlike barbs at American players. To wit:

"Hey, Tiger! We just bought a vacation home in Cablinasia!"

Or at peculiarly-swinging American Jim Furyk, "Hey, Furyk, don’t take that swing out of town ‘cause you’ll never get parts for it!"

Or to four-times-married Hal Sutton: "Hey, Hal, pick a wife already! We’re running out of rice!"

And it would be downright wrong, wouldn’t it, to yell at Mike (Fluff) Cowan, Furyk’s beaver-moustached caddy, "You were right to dump Tiger! He’ll never amount to anything!"

I mean, how would you feel if European fans began hollering at the American wives and their famously gaudy outfits, "So, who shot the couch?"

By following this important new rule, we can return these Ryder Cup matches to the wonderful spectacle of sportsmanship and good will they were in days of old.

At least until we can get one held in Brooklyn.

 

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