It is hardly being dauntingly original to jump on the bandwagon at this late stage to blame the all-exempt tour for two consecutive American defeats at the hand of the Europeans in the biennial Ryder Cup matches, the most recent having been suffered last September, the first ever on American soil since the series began in 1927. But because my obstreperous sparring partner on CBS Television Gary McCord was, more than anyone else—as a verbosely persuasive member of the PGA Tour’s Policy Board—responsible for this sorry aberration, I can hardly pass up the opportunity.

McCord’s self-imagined stroke of genius, like so many he has played in 15 winless years on tour, has turned an inspired capitalistic endeavor into a too-often boring socialistic exercise in mediocrity. In the tough but good old days of Monday qualifying, which weeded out the wheat from the chaff, the rich got richer because they hungered for victory. Nowadays even the complacent “fat cats,” as they were labeled by both Jack Nicklaus and the renowned agent Mark McCormack in recent controversial articles, can prosper without winning.

In 1987, 96 players on the PGA Tour earned six figures in official money. Yet only 36 won a tournament. Of 37 who made more than $250,000, only 23 actually won. And of 14 who made more than $500,000, three—Greg Norman who was admittedly, cruelly ambushed along the way, Chip Beck and South Africa’s David Frost—failed to record a single victory. Both Beck and Frost are still vainly seeking their first win here.

By contrast, if one equates the pound sterling to say $1.80, only 24 Europeans topped six figures on their tour in dollars. But of these only eight FAILED to win at least one of the 27 tournaments—to the PGA Tour’s 44. Victory is still very important to Europe’s elite.

The balance of world professional golf power has swung very much in Europe’s favor, a fact that many Americans are not exactly anxious to acknowledge. There is still a very strong isolationist lobby among the players on the PGA Tour, most of them sufficiently limited talent as to be afraid of their own future fortunes, or otherwise.

Under the present rules of the PGA Tour, if a foreign player joins it he is required to play a minimum of 15 tournaments per year in America. If he does not become a member he is restricted to five sponsors’ invitations per year, not including the three majors: the Masters, Open and PGA Championships.

Seve Ballesteros was suspended for the entire 1986 season, and his name removed from the PGA Tour’s media guide because he failed to play the mandatory 15 events here in 1985. The brilliant but arrogantly obstinate Spaniard hadn’t a leg to stand on because Bernhard Langer and Norman chose to abide by the rules in effect at the time. Nevertheless, many great American golfers were outraged by the ban put into effect by Deane Beman, commissioner of the PGA Tour. But as usual in these unworthy squabbles it was the public who suffered the most. Surely the time is overripe for change on both sides of the Atlantic, and an end to this petty bickering that victimizes, most of all, the paying customer.

The PGA Tour remains just about the last bastion of integrity in major American professional sport, however. It imposes and adheres to a rigid internal discipline among its members. It is happily free of drug and alcohol-related problems that are bedeviling the highly paid performer in most other major professional sports. Its annual gifts of millions of dollars to charity are unmatched in the entire world of sport. Its prize money escalates apparently inexorably as corporate involvement increases by leaps and bounds.

But there are several disturbing aspects of this blossoming affluence besides it spawning a generation of spoiled, ungracious and ungrateful fat cats. There is also a sad lack of regard for tradition amongst the majority of the players of the post Palmer-Nicklaus era. For instance, I am sure Curtis Strange will one day come to regret that he regularly passed up the opportunity to win the British Open when playing at the height of his powers. One could go on and on.

There is a boring preponderance of 72 holes stroke-play events on the tour forever played at a funeral pace that sets such a terrible example for youth and club golfers alike—plumb-bobbing be damned! The International tournament, even with its curiously bastardized update of Dr. Frank Stableford’s perfectly good points system, has captured the imagination of players and public alike—blessed relief. Although a points system that disregards the pars for which we will constantly strive is open to suspicion, the International deserves to succeed if only for its original thinking.

I would like to see more such innovations. In 1964 in Scotland the Braemar knitwear company, alas shortly to become the victim of a takeover bid, came up with a brilliant seven-club tournament at Turnberry. Each professional nominated his choice of weapons on the 1st tee, and went at it with half a bag full. The results were fascinating. If memory serves me right, Lionel Platts, a husky Ryder Cup player, subdued the wind and weather with a 72-hole total of 4 under par for victory. Ballesteros might be unbeatable today under such a format.

While on the subject of needed change for the better, if I were commissioner of the PGA Tour I would ban logos stuck all over players and their golf bags; allow only plain visors to be worn; forget stadium golf—Augusta National did it much better and more subtly; and make the PGA Championship revert to its original format, match play.

But most important of all, I would forget any idea of resurrecting the “split” tour. I would negotiate immediately with governing bodies of professional golf throughout the world, and set up a sort of “super” tour for which players would qualify worldwide. Peter Thomson envisaged such a tour many, many years ago, and golf needs it badly—and now.