August 28, 2013 Article

The Old Coot can’t keep still.

By Merlin Lessler

I went to the Dick’s Senior Open Golf Tournament a week or so ago. I didn’t know it, but when I purchased my ticket I entered into a contract that suspended my first amendment rights. The “quiet” police were in charge: on the greens, on the tees and scattered along the fairways. When a golfer stood over his ball to take a shot the militia took over, raising their arms, waving a “Quiet” sign and giving the gallery a dirty look to make sure it got the message. Apparently, the people who play golf have attention deficit disorders. They can’t pay attention to what they are doing unless all outside stimuli is eliminated. (I know, it should be are eliminated but it just doesn’t sound right.)

When I play golf, which is a much different game than the one the pros play, the quiet police are out on the course as well, but not in an official capacity. They are more like a vigilante group, supervising the quiet zone in the vicinity of their own foursome. The foursome I play with doesn’t have a quiet zone; we’re there to have fun! We have no delusions about our game. As we reach the apex of our back swing on the tee we can expect to hear, “Try to get it past the ladies tee!” Stand over a putt that might give us our first and only birdie of the day, and a stray golf ball will cross our line of vision, followed by a chorus of belly laughs. We’re not afflicted with golfer’s attention deficit disorder.

Golf is the only sport where “quiet” rules are in play. And, strictly enforced. Go to a basketball game and see how noisy the arena gets when a player stands at the line to shoot a foul shot that might win the game. It’s as pressure filled a situation as a tournament winning putt. The place is a noise factory. Cat calls, boos and yelps emanate from the stands. Arms wave, feet pound, yet no quiet signs go up. No shushes ripple through the crowd. The player dribbles the ball, stares at the rim and shoots.

Golfers could do this too, but they’ve been spoiled. All is quiet when Tiger gets ready to smash the ball off the tee. Then, a tree limb twitches in the breeze sending a bird into flight or an old coot sneezes (not me) and his shoot sails off course, into a clump of trees. He turns to the gallery, emits a dirty stare and mumbles through gritted teeth, something like, “Thanks a lot you old coot (not me)!” The quiet police swarm in and warn the lawbreaker (not me), threatening to have him removed from the course. 

But, if there were chatter, laughter, cheering and movement all the time, the golfers would be better off. They would get used to the din and not be startled by a minor distraction. It’s the quiet rule and the quiet police that are causing the problem, not us irreverent old guys standing in the crowd who can’t stop ourselves from creating a ripple on the calm ocean of silence. It’s our attempt to help golfers overcome their self-inflicted, attention deficit disorders. Won’t you join me in this humanitarian effort and help us keep intact our 1^st amendment rights? All it takes is a little snicker here and there.