It had to be more than a coincidence that the three very large men who escorted Tiger Woods through the wilds of Dubai last week were dressed in the Woods winning ensemble of red and black.
Anyone who has visited the most progressive of the Emirates, with its wailing mullahs, robed, bead-carrying Arabs and a few docile caddies mingled into the clubhouse crowd, will understand that this peaceful environment hardly merits such sentries. With fridge-like torsos and crew cuts, the guards marched through the inner sanctum of the Emirates clubhouse clearing a path for the world's number one golfer.
What Tiger's handlers fail to recognise is that the European Tour is not, thankfully, like the US Tour, where there is a ubiquitous autograph hunter (and possible gun-toter) around every dog-leg.
I was in the locker-room at the Emirates club during the Dubai classic when I was almost bowled over by the red-and-black-clad heavies. Tiger obviously had a sudden call of nature. It looked urgent, very serious, Tiger charged into the toilet, the torsos ground to an abrupt halt just short, they could feel the rush of air from the toilet door closing as Tiger settled in for a rare private moment.
It was a serious business waiting for the Tiger to perform. The guards folded their arms and scowled as they patiently surveyed the locker-room for potential assailants on trap two of the gents.
No doubt such attentive security is imperative in America, and it may be a worthwhile deterrent on the course or in the environs of the clubhouse at European events. But it is a gross insult to the 150 or so other competitors at the tournament to be hussled aside in their own locker-room by security guards.
When the trauma of his finish at the Emirates eased, one of my colleagues decided to try Tiger for an autograph (an abuse of his position I would say). One of the big frames responded monotonously, no autographs.
The disgruntled caddie slouched away singing quite audibly "who let the Dane win, who, who?" to the tune of the Baha Men's recent hit Who Let the Dogs Out? There will, of course, be strong representations for caddies to be banned from the locker-room in the future.
The offending caddy's only defence was that, in hindsight, it was quite funny.
There is no doubt a case for protecting Tiger. Perhaps the tournament organisers, his managers or even the American Embassy feel he should get such security. There is nothing that Tiger would enjoy more than to roam free in the locker-room, able to chat as he wished, just as every other player does, without this mobile wall of muscle and negative replies surrounding him.
He is different, he is special; but he is also human, and so are his fellow competitors.
It should be enough that he rides roughshod, competitively, over the rest of the field on the course without his minders doing likewise in a communal area. Let Tiger mingle freely, or give him a private area.
Despite Woods being the victim of a humorous, if somewhat insensitive caddie after his collapse in Dubai, he is not the only player to receive abuse from quick-witted toters.
While I was lurking in the Doha club last week, Robin Byrd, an American player, who has been on the lower ledge of the European Tour for the last couple of years, was discussing his caddie for the week.
As he shuffled a hefty gob of chewing tobacco under his lower lip and checked left and right to see that no one else was in earshot, he told us what he thought of his temporary porter. "Caddie? This guy ain't a caddie, he can't even spell caddie."
Fortunately, Edinburgh Jimmy, a senior caddie on tour, never stuck for a quick and definitive response, put the critical American in his place. In heavy Scottish vernacular, he replied. "Will, ye de bee makin' a gud paire then, caz yoo cannie spill galf." It was a bit close to the bone for the sensitive amongst us to appreciate vocally at the time, but he did have a point. Byrd missed the cut, again.
