LOS ANGELES (AP) — Four days in the Arizona desert, particularly the weekend of the Phoenix Open, provided a clear reminder of what the PGA Tour has sorely needed.
A sport best performed in silence is most entertaining when there is noise, as long as it's the right kind of noise.
For the PGA Tour, there has been far too much clangor to start the new year.
And it's not just the sound of beer cans pelting the 16th green at the TPC Scottsdale that caused undue delay (funny how pace of play was no longer considered such a big problem) and enough damage to the putting surface to nearly affect the outcome.
Lost in the debate over whether golf needs more tournaments like Phoenix (it doesn't) is who is responsible for causing all this commotion.
The fans. Lots of them.
Golf is at the one-year mark of spectators slowly being allowed to return to tournaments after being kept away by COVID-19. The traditionalists who felt golf was out of control in Phoenix might want to recall the alternative. In that context, Phoenix was refreshing.
A year ago, golf was never more dull because it was never so quiet. For players who always wondered what it was like to be Tiger Woods and play before a big crowd, the absence of fans allowed Woods to experience what it was like to be them.
Phoenix is among the loudest — bordering on the most obscene — atmospheres in golf, at least among regular tournaments. Most players have learned to embrace it. Those who don't can always stay home.
The danger is Phoenix fans trying to live up to their reputation, and this year was a step in the wrong direction.
If PGA Tour brass killed off the caddie races on the 16th, it's hard to imagine how leadership would be excited about two players taking off their shirts (without even making a birdie) to inspire more chucking of drinks onto the green.
Carlos Ortiz made an ace on Sunday and left his shirt on. He also had a few nervous moments.
“A lot of people cheering for you and then you start trying to watch out for your head because I got actually nailed pretty hard on the back with a beer can,” Ortiz said.
He still loved it, perhaps because he lived to talk about it.
If it ever reaches a point where the tournament has to erect netting in front of the grandstands, similar to behind home plate at a baseball game, fans will have no one to blame but themselves.
Even so, it's good noise.
Not so good was the noise from Charley Hoffman, whether it was a stupid message he posted on Instagram or opening his mouth the next day trying to explain himself.
It's bad enough that golf fans have had to listen to Phil Mickelson talk about the “obnoxious greed” of the PGA Tour while taking seven-figure appearance money in Saudi Arabia.
But Charley Hoffman?
Hoffman was hit with a rules violation Friday when he drove into the water, placed his ball in play and then stepped away only to see it roll into the water for another penalty stroke. It would seem he could have dropped in a safer area. His next drop didn't move. Regardless, the rule is irritating.
Hoffman made it about more than the rules.
He referred (not for the first time) to the USGA as amateurs running the professional game. He blamed the PGA Tour for the location of the hazard line. He said there was no accountability. And he suggested that's why "guys are wanting to jump ship and go and play on another tour.”
Dumber still was his explanation the next day that he hinted at the Saudi threat because if he just complained about the rule, no one would notice.
“So I put a jab in there on purpose just so that the media would catch it,” Hoffman said.
He then professed his support for the PGA Tour and that he has no intention of playing for whatever league Greg Norman and his Saudi-financed group has in mind. The PGA Tour no doubt can sleep easier knowing Hoffman isn't about to leave for another tour.
Lost in all this nonsense was Scottie Scheffler earning his first PGA Tour win in a playoff over Patrick Cantlay, who hasn't finished out of the top 10 in six months (OK, he didn't play for three of those months). The top 10 in Phoenix featured five players from the top 10 in the world.
And this week at Riviera, the field features each of the top 10 players in the world on what many players consider the best course on tour. It won't be a circus because it doesn't need to be, and neither do any other tournaments. That's part of what makes Phoenix special.
The Masters is inside two months away.
Mickelson and Bryson DeChambeau, two players making the worst kind of noise, won't be at Riviera and odds are no one will miss them.
The fans will be there. Golf surely missed them, minus the shower of beer cans.
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