Let's face it, the poison to the fun of the pro game is the allure to its participants: MONEY. The money has done wreckage to the game. Money is responsible for the wacky technological advances that have rendered the formerly interesting golf game of fifteen years ago into Mr. Roboto in Sansabelt slacks. Remember when players hit long irons into most par 4's at Firestone? Remember when Doral played like a monster? Now, with precious few exceptions, it's monster drive, short iron and hope to make a putt. Borrrrrrring. (Technology is great for us commoners, of course!)
Also, with so much money at stake, the players are taking a robotic, scientific, way-too-nutritious approach to their profession. There used to be characters on the PGA tour, now we have dullards like Chad Campbell, Trevor Immelman and the like. These guys strike me as remarkably soulless shotmakers, men who are working on the balance sheet, not the trophy case. And who can blame them? Yesterday, the biggest putt of the day came when Immelman sewed up second place for the second week in a row when he shoulda, coulda, dint win. And Lanny and Jim were applauding him for knocking it in!
The only personality left in the golf game comes in the form of a handful of players and a handful of golf courses that still have some character. There's that word again. Give me some characters. I'll pass on the vanilla, thank you very much.