As a breed, golfers are the most long-suffering of all sporting participants. We may moan about the weather, the state of the greens, the depth of the rough, the committee…….. anything, in fact, connected with the game but the grumbles rarely reach rebellion stage and we dutifully put up with all what is thrown at us, even when it costs us money.
If we lowly golfers were not such a compliant lot — and, let’s face it, no-one has to obey so many seemingly petty rules and restrictions — there might have been serious ructions when millions around the world were forced to throw away their drivers at the beginning of 2008 and pay up to £300 for a replacement.
As the clock turned midnight on January 1 2008, all drivers possessing a thin metal face deemed to give an unfair advantage became illegal for every golfer on earth.
The trampoline effect these drivers had on the ball was banned five years earlier for the pros and three year later
for the top amateurs and those who play representative golf for their clubs and countries.
Then they banned them for the rank and file. We couldn’t even use them in friendly matches even if our friends didn’t mind.
Neither could they be carried around for sentimental reasons because there’s a penalty for having a ‘non-conforming club’ in your bag whether you use it or not.
Can you imagine players in any other sport meekly surrendering an essential piece of expensive equipment they had bought in good faith? It so happened that I felt very comfortable with my so-called illegal club and I still haven’t found one that suited me better.
Now, four years later, hacklers are entitled to ask if it was really necessary.
Are the pros, who don’t pay for their clubs anyhow, hitting the ball less far without the trampoline clubs? No, they are hitting it miles further, distances never before envisaged.
As for the ordinary players there is still an uncomfortable feeling that we were conned. It was said at the time that the illegal driver could add three yards to a drive. Not to mine it didn’t, unless it was three yards further into trouble.
Not long after the ban, a golf magazine claimed that a group of players they’d issued with conforming drivers were hitting the ball further that they had with their illegal club.
I can’t claim it has been a strictly scientific survey but ever since I have made it my business to speak to scores of golfers at clubs both here and abroad and have yet to find one who is not hitting the ball further with the replacement club he was forced to buy. Even I do, occasionally.
If the governing bodies were concerned about the trampoline trend they could have banned any further development in that direction instead of penalising the millions already in possession of the errant clubs
The only beneficiaries from the ban have been the manufacturers. Considering they made them in the first place you’d think they would have acknowledged their contribution to our plight and offered a part-exchange deal to those forced to buy new. Not a chance.
I played the other week with a five handicapper who was sporting one these fancy new drivers. He couldn’t believe how far he was hitting the ball. ‘It’s like cheating,‘ he said.
The hard up hackers were the ones who were cheated.

The capacity for self-delusion demonstrated most vividly these days by politicians and newspaper moguls is also to be found flourishing among certain golfers.
I don’t mean pros or top amateurs, whose scores keep them in close touch with the brutal truth, but those whose golf largely consists of playing with the same foursome or four-ball partners. The further you can stay away from marking a card the less you need worry about the true state of your game.
Even regular players in the monthly medal can usually find a convincing reason for an upward curve in their scoring graphs and, generally speaking, there is nothing wrong with deluding yourself .
But if you want to risk a run-in with reality I suggest you try letting an 11-year-old caddie for you like I did a couple of years ago.
It wasn’t by design. Mike, one of my regular playing partners, asked if I’d mind if two of his grandsons, both keen new golfers, accompanied us in the August medal last weekend.
Despite our early start of 8.16, Michael and Spencer reported bright-eyed and eager and Michael, the older of the two, was deputed to take command of my motorised trolley.
Normally, I’d prefer not to have a caddie. It adds pressure because even if they don’t say anything they carry an air of what in the army is called dumb insolence.
But he was such a pleasant and polite boy I had no fears. However, I would have preferred to have impressed him with my opening drive instead of topping it 50 yards into thick, wet rough.
I sploshed my second another 50 yards, didn’t do much better with my third and put my fourth into the cross-bunkers.
After I’d taken a nine he said, encouragingly:‘ Never mind, you’ll soon warm up.‘
And so I did. With the help of a 30 footer from just off the green I got a par on the next and took a creditable six on the long par five third.
On the fourth tee I hit an almighty slice which flew over the trees and landed on the ninth fairway.
‘Best to hit a wedge back over the trees,’ said Michael.
I selected a nine-wood and aimed to get it further down the fourth with height and distance. It dropped tamely in the middle of the trees and I hit another before I reached the fairway.
You don’t require further details but Michael was treated to one of my more calamitous rounds.
I can’t say that his presence unnerved me. I am capable of calamity whatever my playing circumstances.
Perhaps, I felt a little inhibited in that couldn’t let rip with my usual fusillade of foul language. All that bottled up cursing could have an effect.
I did hit some decent shots and after one of them Mike reminded his grandson that he should say ’good shot’ on such occasions.
When I hit a beauty to the 16th green, there was a pause before Michael said:’ I would have said good shot but I was yawning.’
I don’t think he meant it unkindly and he was tired and anyone would be watching me score well over the over the 100 I was trying to break.
I was determined to do better next time but I’ve been pushing my own trolley to that bitter destination of 100 plus ever since.