Each to his own. In Qatar, it is bad form to let anyone see the soles of your shoes. In the U.K., judging from the reaction it gets, people should not sniff or cough, especially since the advent of COVID-19.
When it comes to what’s done in Russia, you should neither whistle indoors nor shake hands in a doorway. Again, if you are predisposed to give someone a bunch of flowers, you must make sure that there is an odd number of stems. “It’s better to give one than 20,” advised my guide on the day before the 2000 Russian Open at Moscow Country Club.
Up at the club, the president of the Russian Golf Federation – the role was a government-paid position – met me with the news that golf soon would be Russia’s national sport. And that 3 million out of 10 million Muscovites would be playing within 10 years.
In the unlikely event that has come to pass, they cannot be making much headway on the international stage. In March of this year, the International Golf Federation and the R&A, along with other such bodies, banned all Russians and Belarusians from entering all tournaments run under their jurisdiction because of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.
That day at Moscow Country Club, I asked to be pointed in the direction of three typical club members in the pro-am. The president found me two bankers and a lawyer, none of whose on-course etiquette, it has to be said, was setting a good example for the next generation.
As I followed them down the first fairway, the amateurs’ natural spokesperson looked at my notebook before coming across to say that he and his companions were suspicious of golf writers. Only weeks before, an American magazine man had had fun at their expense. He had written of one of them, “He called himself a banker,” and of another that he was a member of the KGB. “Rubbish,” said my informant, whom we will call Grigori Blazenov.
For some reason, this proud bearer of a ’99 Ryder Cup golf bag, which he had won at an auction, decided that I was not a threat and returned to what was presumably his usual modus operandi.
Where most golfers would be inclined to take a practice swing before hitting for real, Blazenov calmed down by the simple expedient of calling a friend. Furthermore, when an incoming call came at a time when he was nearing the top of his backswing at the third, the call took precedence. He returned to the swing a few minutes later and the ensuing shot – he had used a 6-iron – paved the way for a net eagle.
By then Blazenov’s companions had put away their phones for a moment to tell him that my note-taking was making them feel uneasy.
A few whispers later and Blazenov came across to say that I would enjoy watching their wives who had just turned up on an adjacent fairway.
It was the meanest of tricks.
The women spoke only amongst themselves and, when I went to help find a ball in the bushes, they stopped and stared. The point they were making was that this was their search and I was to mind my own business.
After they had found it for themselves, the lost-ball lady made a grand recovery to which I automatically called, “Well played!”
With that detonating 10 more seconds of hostility, I returned to the clubhouse where an American lady was happy to explain.
Older Russians, she said, are not to be broken down by smiles, however winning: “If they do not know a person, they do not know them.” As for the men and their phones, she said that none of that was unusual.
It was business as usual when Blazenov took it upon himself to make the winner’s speech at the pro-am presentation. When his phone rang in the middle of it, he paused to tell his audience that his mother wanted to congratulate him.
Lewine Mair
E-MAIL LEWINE