THE TRUE TEST

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 162, 29 September 1927, Page 9

THE TRUE TEST

MEDAL OR MATCH? ’ PROFESSIONALS V. AMATEURS It is a curious aspect of golf, the reflection of which is to be found in the conditions governing the two national championships., that amateurs and professionals have different ideas as to the proper method of testing *a player’s ability. Amateurs believe in the match. Professionals will have none of this—at any rate, in their classic contests. They say that the only satisfactory examination of a golfer’s form is to be secured by counting his score, exactly as the competitors at rifle-shooting count their bulls and inners and magpies and outers. The personal question is ruled out as an unfair influence. Everybody must produce his shots as if he were performing in isolation, and the aggregates at the finish of four such rounds must decide the issue. It is equity by arithmetic, says a writer in an English exchange. DIVERSE SENTIMENTS These diverse sentiments have prevailed from time immemorial, and they are as strong to-day as they were when Old Willie Bark won the first open championship in 1860 and when A. F. Macfie secured the first amateur championship in 1885. No game but golf could offer the opportunity for such divergence of practice. It must seem very odd to the followers of football, cricket and indeed all other pastimes. Whether they are amateurs or professionals, they know only one form of the sport in which they are concerned. It is worth while considering which party is right in golf. I am inclined to think that the better reasoning is on the side of the amateurs. The result of their championship might be more convincing if all the matches were over 36 holes instead of being limited—save in the case of the final—to 18 holes. If the professionals had desired such an arrangement, they could have had 36 holes matches for the open championship, with a certain number of players to qualify in each district for this supreme stage of the contest. The scheme has been virtually offered tjO them, and they have discussed it —but without change. They argue that score play is the only form of the game which provides an unremitting test of ability; the onlly way of ensuring that fortune shall have no favourites in the nature of men who get through single rounds easily and thus come up fresh to conquer others who have been struggling to the point of exhaustion. NOT A PARAGON At first blush the view of the professionals may look sound. Figures are always impressive. The argument is seldom combated, even by those who think that match-play is the true form of the game. Having been an open championship camp follower since the days when Vardon, Taylor, Herd, and Braid were in their prime, I feel constrained to say that scoring for four rounds is by no means the paragon of equity in golf tests that the professionals are wont to paint it by the reasons of their faith in figures. It is too much at the mercy of the quick changes in wind and weather, and of other details that depend upon the luck of the ballot for starting-times. It can at least be said of a match that the conditions

are the same for the players. The early starters in a scoring competition usually have an advantage. They go out to set the pace without distraction. Those who come later have to follow the pace, with the knowledge of exactly what is required of them if they are to achieve victory, and the strain of increasing excitement brought about by the concentration of the crowd on everybody who has a chance of the leader. This alone makes a scoring competition an unsatisfactory testMacdonald Smith complained bitterly at Prestwick two years ago that lie had been robbed of the open championship by the disgraceful behaviour of what he called “the rabble,” 15,000 strong. It was simply that James Barnes, who won, had finished in peace even before Smith began his last round. Roger Wethered, chasing Jock Hutchison for first place at St. Andrews in 1921, did actually tie with the Chicago professional, but Wethered would have won if the strain of this thrilling finish had not been so great that he missed liis approach to the last hole. He was beaten in the replay. George Duncan pursued Walter Hagen at Sandwich in 1922, and failed to tie because, at the end of a wonderful round, he broke down under the tension to the extent of hooking his spoon shot to the last hole.

HERE AND THERE W

Few clubs have more than one “nineteenth” hole, but the Hutt Club can lay claim to that honour, in somewhat peculiar circumstances. Recently a visitor to the Hutt Club thought he had accomplished one of the wonders of golf when he holed out in one at a short hole, and so pleased was he that the ensuing ceremony was a delight to him. It was only after nearly everybody in the clubhouse at the time had assisted in a worthy celebration, at some expense to himself, that he was informed that the hole was no longer part of the course. It was the nineteenth, in fact, that temporary expedient put into use while the new holes were being made; a short mashie shot chiefly dignified by the possesion of a teeing ground at one end and a tin cup at the other. In the case of this visitor the two nineteenths coalesced, as it were, ' but a club member who recently did this hole in one at the conclusion of a brilliant round refused to celebrate the occasion, and rightly so, on the ground that it was not a hole at all. L. D. and J. L. Petley had a close go in the first round of the' Miramar club championship. In the morning, Hurst was sinking a surprising number of long putts, but Petley had rather the better of the long game, and they finished square for the first eighteen. In. the afternoon, Petley found his putting touch and gradually took the lead, finishing 4 and 3. J. D. G. Duncan is coming right back on his game after a long spell play. He and P. D. Daniell were closely matched, and at the close of the day Duncan won 1 up.

ON THE PUBLIC COURSE

The following lines, inspired by play on a public: course, are appropriate now that Auckland is talking of a municipal course:— He saw the sun rise o’er the hills As at the tee he took his place, And waited for the starter’s call To launch him in the oft-repeated race. Same sun marched up the azure arc The hour of lunch passed sadly by; But still the player strained his ear As slowly crept his number nigh. Long has that orb fallen beneath The far horizon’s glowing rim; But still the golfer’s on his round With Night’s dark figure chasing him.