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By
David Leggat
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Conservative golf has to duck when a court yells "fore!" writes DAVID LEGGAT.
Imagine the scene. It is Sunday afternoon at Augusta National. The final pairing in the Masters are making their way up the 18th fairway of one of golf's greatest theatres.
Crowds line the fairway as the joint leaders tread the deceptively steep journey to the green.
They roar for both - one a celebrated champion of the game, the other a younger man, a journeyman until this moment when history is brushing his fingertips.
They are willing both to don the fabled green jacket.
Now hold the thought.
One of the leaders is striding out, the other is driving a cart.
No prizes for guessing who the good ol' boys of Augusta would be silently cheering for, or who the members of the club would be more comfortable with in the Log Cabin for the ceremonial presentation of the green jacket.
The US Supreme Court's 7-2 decision to allow Casey Martin to use his cart if he qualifies for the US PGA Tour is a landmark decision, not just for golf but for competitors with disabilities across the American sporting spectrum.
It would be nice to think that the court's decision was laced with a modicum of morality, a generosity of spirit, a sense of having, for once, allowed the heart to rule the head; that the justices did The Right Thing, then went home feeling warm and fuzzy and hugged their grandchildren.
And world peace will break out next week.
The Supreme Court does not work like that, but it ruled that the Americans with Disabilities Act did not allow the US PGA to keep Martin - now plying his trade on the secondary Buy. Com Tour and trying to regain his full Tour card for next year - off the course.
The US PGA was always going to be cast as the villain in this drama, and you can imagine its chief executive, Tim Finchem, giving Martin the good news through ever-so-slightly gritted teeth. Now that golfing body may have felt the decision would open a par-five fairway filled with hazards. It may have envisaged other golfers who have picked up injuries in the course of their careers claiming their injury entitles them to a cart.
But there is a difference.
Martin, an old Stanford University team-mate of Tiger Woods, by all accounts a pleasant man but - so far at least - an average golf pro, was born with a circulatory problem in his right leg. His condition could eventually lead to amputation. Consider the reactions of leading American players when the decision was announced.
Was I alone in detecting a certain patronising tone in their comments?
Yes, we're real pleased for Casey. He's a nice guy, but ... was the gist of it all.
Among the more bizarre observations was that of Australian Stuart Appleby, who maintained, reasonably enough, that walking has always been an integral part of golf.
But then: "Walking is hard and it is a difficult part of golf."
Some context is needed here. We are talking about a small, select group of men who occupy an unreal, cocooned world. They are also renowned as an extremely conservative body. New Zealand professional Greg Turner recently observed that about 80 per cent of them live in Florida, are diehard Republicans and would certainly have voted for blinking George Bush at the last election - or words to that effect.
These are men who, while on Ryder Cup duty, refused to visit the Democrat then occupying the White House. Whatever you may think of the peccadilloes of a President, an Oval Office visit is a big deal for Americans.
One argument put up is that by driving from tee to fairway to green, Martin gets an unfair advantage - call this the Appleby Clause - because he doesn't get as tired as those able to, er, foot it.
I've always thought the most important thing about golf was what you did to a small ball with a club in your hands, and in any case walking keeps the muscles warm and working.
Just as driving on the open road is better for an engine than stop-starting around the city, constantly getting in and out of a cart, one could argue, makes it harder to maintain a well-oiled golf game.
The chances of Martin driving up the 18th on an Augusta Sunday with a green jacket hanging on a hook in a cabin in his sights are remote. He is a good, if unexceptional player. But part of me relishes that thought, along with the sight of the good ol' boys choking on their mint juleps.
