Caddie's Role: Rain delays in the suburbs of Hamburg are great opportunities for idle banter amongst caddies, players and others who are just trying to kill time until a final decision is taken to cancel play and release everyone for the rest of the day.

With hourly announcements of further delays to the Deutsche Bank Players' Championship, the conjecture grew on Thursday last in the Wiking Hotel in Henstedt-Ulzburg, the official caddie lodgings of the week. It was a convenient location for a rain delay given it was just a five-minute taxi ride to the course. We didn't have to lurk around the clubhouse in wait of an announcement, but could hang out in the comfort of the hotel instead.

As soon as play was officially called off we got on to a discussion about the origin of the fist pump in modern golf.

Most modern sports are given to quite expressive forms of emotion. The days of polite hat-doffing are well and truly from a past era in golf.

There seems to be a direct link between the advent of psychologists and mental coaches and the more expressive celebration of a holed putt. This is not to say there were not scenes of elation in times past.

Chi Chi Rodrigez was probably the most creative of the expressive golfers in the 1950s. He used to handle his putter as if it was a sword, always replacing it promptly in its imaginary scabbard after he sunk a good putt, wiping the blood off it with his hankerchief along the way.

Nobody has consistently bettered the theatrics of Rodrigez since. There have been some singularly special moments, like the heroic matador scene of Seve Ballesteros on the 18th at St Andrews at the British Open in 1984. He celebrated in true Spanish style after his winning putt had hung on the lip for a moment to add to the drama, celebrating the occasion as if he was a matador killing off a prize bull he had battled hard with for days.

He punched the air, he smiled, he punched again, his smile widened and so as the punches increased in ferocity the smile grew accordingly. True, unrehearsed emotion.

This is what seems to be lacking from modern ceremony of a celebratory moment, the spontaneity, the real feeling of happiness. To me modern celebration looks like a carefully controlled release of tension and aggression.

So many players hiss a seething "Yeesss" as they deliver an uppercut to the air after any putt over six feet finds the bottom of the cup. It seems like their psychologists have given them strict instructions to uncork the pressure valve for a controlled release.

So play was finally called off by early afternoon on Thursday as the dark cloud over Hamburg blackened and dumped even more rain upon the European Tour. It was the first day of the Ashes in London. The caddies interest turned from golf to cricket. Where were the cricket fans going to watch the first day of the Test? The chairman of the bagmen, Martin Rowley, scanned the local telephone book and began dialling in search of a pub that might be screening the cricket match, a tough ask in Germany.

Eventually there was an answer at the Naked Turtle pub. He was told they didn't open till six in the evening as a rule, but if there was going to be enough business they would consider an early start, and yes they did have satellite TV.

Martin described the clientele and tried to explain their passion for the contest between England and Australia. The doors were to be opened by two. The Aussies set up camp on one side of the pub, the English assumed their position on the other side and the Scottish and Irish outwardly sat on their impartial fence in the middle but inwardly took glee in the exploits of the devastating Australian fast bowler Glenn McGrath.

We got back onto the histrionics of the modern golfer. Of course the antics on the modern cricket pitch were glaringly obvious, with post-wicket celebrations falling just short of the melodramatics of soccer players after a goal.

There seems to be no end to the team pile-ups in recognition of a feat that traditionally warranted polite applause from the outfield and a warm hand from the crowd.

The conclusion at the evening drinks break of the first Test at the Oval was that the etiquette of the refined game of golf seems to be under threat with the modern aggressive fist pump. If you were to look for any one culprit I suppose the main man, golf's now undisputed number one player, would have a lot to answer for in this department. His fist pump would land most opponents out of the ring. Then again, the bar has been raised in golf to new heights, maybe the fist needs to rise with it.

Call me old-fashioned but golf is a game played traditionally in groups of two, three and four. Spontaneous celebration is, of course, most welcome; aggressive air-punching as if there was nobody but the puncher on the golf course, is the start of the inexorable decline in the traditional etiquette of a game that reflects the good things about humanity and competition.