Island hole must be cast adrift in interests of sanity
JOHN HUGGAN
AMERICA’S Golf Channel, in its typically-understated way, calls it "the most famous hole in golf". It is certainly the most overrated, given that it is a mere flick with a short iron for most of the field assembled for the Players Championship.
But whatever your opinion of Sawgrass’s one-dimensional island hole, there is no doubt that the less golf-savvy members of the gallery, the vast majority, love it dearly. Where else, for example, could they get their daily gambling fix?
In the interests of research, your intrepid reporter, after the lightest of lunches, took himself out to the penultimate hole just to see what all the fuss is about.
And the answer, based on perhaps 90 minutes spent by the green, is: not much. Which isn’t surprising, for last year only 30 balls ended up in the water over the four rounds. The 17th may be the golfing equivalent of a hairpin bend on which spectators gather to watch the inevitable crash, but statistically it isn’t exactly living up to its billing.
So why is it that NBC television are using as many as 12 cameras to cover a mere 137 yards? Why have they spent all kinds of cash installing the so-called Cable Cam to give one more view of top professionals hitting pitch shots?
Don’t ask me. It’s a mystery.
Having said that, there was one guy out there having what passed for a good time. Well, if yelling: "Go in the hole" every time a golfer makes contact with the ball is your idea of enjoyment, that is. The young man, who was wearing a tweed jacket, pink shirt, green New York Yankees baseball cap, khaki trousers, tan trainers and a glaikit expression, seemed to think his loud exhortations were very clever indeed. But I suspect he was in the minority there.
Among the players I witnessed at 17 was Phil Mickelson, who was paired with Australian Stuart Appleby and Nick Price of Zimbabwe. "Which one is Phil?" asked a voice from the back. Which is easy to criticise, given that Mickelson was the only left-hander in the group, but, hey, maybe our resident expert had him confused with one of the two Australian left-handers in the field, Nick O’Hern and Richard Green.
Then again, maybe not. It is hard to give the benefit of any doubt to someone who dressed in the dark.
Next up was former USPGA champion Jeff Sluman, one whose memories of the cursed 17th must be less than favourable. Way back in 1987, the diminutive redhead was all set to hit a putt from six feet or so to beat our own Sandy Lyle in a sudden-death play-off for the title. I say all set because, just as Sluman drew his putter back, a bozo in the crowd decided that was an opportune moment to jump into the pond. Which maybe wasn’t a huge surprise. He was, after all, the only man present wearing Speedos.
Needless to say, Sluman missed the putt, and later lost the play-off. This time round, too, he was just as unsuccessful with a more lengthy birdie putt, and had to settle for what was just one of a seemingly interminable streak of pars at this supposedly-exciting hole.
Playing with Sluman was a guy the drawsheet identified as Nick Faldo of Orlando, Florida. Surprisingly, this little piece of information failed to confuse anyone in my immediate vicinity, even Mr Green Hat. Then again, maybe they think the great man is indeed a Florida native.
Still, any doubt over the identity of the chap in the Lloyds TSB cap was removed when he made a routine par: on the green, two putts. The hat, in retrospect, was a mistake, as it precluded Nick from doing that little routine of his when he tapped in for par. You know, the one where he touches the brim of his imaginary cap and makes as if to trip as he picks the ball out of the cup. Stop it Nick, just stop it.
On a more serious note, the presence of this rather silly hole does nothing to enhance the stature of what is otherwise a top-notch event. Just about the only thing going for it is that it does seem to get into the heads of even the best players. Jacksonville native Mark McCumber, who won the Players Championship in 1988, is one who accords it more than its due respect.
"I used to make a point, even when I was practising, never to goof around when I got to this hole," he says. "Even when I’m playing with my brothers and I’m seven under, I never want to hit the ball in the water through being careless."
All in all, though, this hole is not one of the more sensible creations of the notable architect, Pete Dye. Just about the only thing they could do to remove it further from proper golf is to make use of the other island in the middle of the pond. Think of it: a par-four played from the tee to one island, then to the other. Mr Green Hat would love it.
Then again, the whole thing could be dug up - or in this case, filled in - to be replaced by a proper golf hole, one where a variety of shots is possible and one where the golfer is faced with some kind of decision other than whether to hit the big wedge or the wee 9-iron.
Two decades ago, Golf Digest had perhaps the best idea for this comic-book hole. During the magazine’s search for America’s Worst Avid Golfer, one Angelo Spagnolo strolled round the Stadium course in 257 shots, 66 of those expended at the island hole. After depositing more than a few shiny Titleists in the briny, Spagnolo resorted to chipping his way round the lake and across the narrow pathway back right of the green.
Now that’s entertainment.