tHERE are a variety of opening lines that deaden the heart, prompt the first intimation of inevitable disappointment.

"Hello Mr MacDonald, it is Barry here. I am doing the MOT on your car . . ."

"Listen, darling, it is not you, it's me . . .'

"Of course, Scotland will be given more powers."

And then there is the one for sports fans.

"We have just invented a new sport."

This one is called Footgolf. They say it is growing fast but none of the Ryder Cup players has tried it. I asked them. And in that quiet moment when they seemed to scrutinise their ball on the green so closely I thought it had the winning lottery numbers scrolled on it. One would have thought this period of reflection was the perfect time to answer a mild query. But apparently not.

This is my biggest problem with golf. This and the inability to play it. I believe sport does not just exist for men and women to become multi-millionaires. It has to exist surely for the rest of us to behave like idiots. Footgolf consists of people trying to kick a ball into a hole, golf is human beings striking a ball with a stick to the same purpose and baseball is . . . well, nobody knows what baseball is.

The point one is trying to make with all the ease of a nervous elephant playing Kerplunk is that, as fans, one must be involved. This is now restricted to making a series of noises. Once, of course, there was the opportunity to run on to the park to confront recalcitrant ref or misbehaving player. Strangely, the authorities have taken a dim view of this and there are now more stewards at fitba' matches in Scotland than there are fans.

There is a vast sentiment that suggests all noises should be supportive. Now this is inarguable in theory. One, for example, is a football supporter rather than a football denigrator. There is a good column to be written about the bon mots from these wits and half-wits. But I have already written six poor ones on the subject so will turn my attentions elsewhere.

My contention is that the golf fan should be able to shout support or discouragement at all times. This happens in Ryder Cup matches in the USA and one longs for it to be transported to home courses.

There are already the witterings of "you're the man" and "get in the hole" and I crave a sustained roar of "you're the hermaphrodite" and "stay out the hole". The crucial innovation, though, is to allow chants, jibes and Mexican waves on the downswing or as the player draws the putter back on the green.

It would be better, too, if these were critical and woundingly personal. There is routine criticism of footballers as being overpaid and unable to withstand pressure. But they face as much regular abuse as a Saturday sports columnist.

Yet they accept this as part of their trade. They do not appeal for hush at a penalty, they do not ask for calm when they are one on one with the goalkeeper.

They accept that venturing towards the crowd for an errant match ball invites the sort of abuse that is normally reserved for a manure salesman bearing samples at one's annual barbecue.

Golfers should show their true mettle by not only withstanding such interference from the stands but welcoming it. It is part of their craft to not only be able to perform but to do so in the most challenging of circumstances.

Imagine the scene. Peter Alliss whispering: "This four-footer for the Open/Ryder Cup/Cathkin Braes Tuesday challenge . . ." His pause is so pregnant that a midwife is called. Then there breaks out a chant: "Miss! Miss! Miss!" The ball slides past the hole and there is an outbreak of mass joy. Alternatively, it slips into the hole and the golfer can reprise the Tattie Marshall celebration that eerily resembles my last prostate examination.

My early attempts to bring this culture into golf failed this week at Gleneagles. My roar to a former member of the colonies that he should deposit his ball in the soft play area (traditionalists call it a bunker) was met with a robust riposte.

To be succinct, Footgolf made its debut in Perthshire with a long leg meeting a delicate area. In golf terms, I am now ground under repair.