Stinkin' decorum

 Wyndham Clark wrestled Shinnecock Hills to the ground and pried the U.S. Open from its grasp yesterday, hanging on to beat Sam Burns by a skinny stroke after leading by a fat six going into the final round.

Futzed around and put up a 3-over 73 Sunday, Wyndham did. Burns shot a 67 to leapfrog Scottie Scheffler and a pile of others. The win was Clark's second Open title, and he led this one wire-to-wire.

And the gallery hated it.

Maybe it's just a New York thing, although the Blob is loathe to stereotype. But this was not the genteel golf-clap crowd at which those outside the golfsphere like to poke gentle fun. These were the knuckleheads from "Caddyshack", pooping in the club pool and shouting "Noonan!" and "Miss it!" as poor Danny lined up his winning putt in the Bushwood caddies tournament. 

They clapped and cheered, but only when Wyndham flubbed a shot. They shouted "Don't choke, Wyndham!" in the middle of his backswing. Security escorted a few of the worst offenders from the premises, so at least some measure of decorum was maintained.

The fans -- or at least a vocal chunk of them -- decided they didn't need no stinkin' decorum, of course. But then, as a friend of mine occasionally reminds, fans are (bleep)holes.

These (bleep)holes in particular apparently were cut from the same cloth as the (bleep)holes who heckled Rory McIlroy and some of the other Europeans last year during the Ryder Cup, which was also played at a New York track (Bethpage Black). Again, not to stereotype New Yorkers in general as (bleep)holes or anything. I'm sure some of them actually were not raised by wolves and know how to behave in public at least half the time.

Which, you know, is the company golf used to keep.

Not any more, apparently. Now it's just the upper deck on an NFL Sunday in Philly, only better dressed.

Not that the players are a lot more civilized, these days.

As some guardians of the game have observed, there's a serious outbreak of f-bombs among the golfers when they "over-pure" or simply hack a shot these days. Also a thrown club here and there. Which, according to the guardians, never happened when Jack and Arnie and Tom Watson went around collecting majors like boxtops.

They have a point. Maybe even more than a point.

Part of all the ungentlemanly rooting against Wyndham Clark yesterday, for instance, is because Wyndham Clark has not always been a gentleman himself. He's kind of arrogant, although most of his pampered lot are to one extent or other. And in last year's U.S. Open at historic old Oakmont, he threw a toddler's fit after missing the cut and destroyed three lockers in the players' dressing room.

An orange slice and juicebox calmed him right down, however. OK, so I made that part up.

In any case, not always the most likable guy, our Wyndham. Which doesn't excuse the (bleep)holes who taunted him, of course. And it's another point for the guardians when they bemoan the erosion of standards in professional golf, both on the course and behind the ropes.

It used to be a gentleman's game, or so the lore tells us.

Now, apparently, it's just a game. Like, I don't know, demolition derby or something.

OK. So not that.

Yet.