WELL, that’s another of life’s annual little ceremonies over. I am, of course, talking about Valentine’s Day, that panic-stricken date on the calendar which leads to bumbling men like myself making blundering, half-baked romantic gestures that can be as painfully awkward as Captain Hook attempting to apply some ointment to an area of wincing sensitivity.

Of course, true love is so uncontrollably delightful, there's no need to set aside a mere day in its honour. Well, that’s what my darling wife muttered with a sigh as I presented her with a bouquet of prunings from a Weeping Willow.

Over at the golf in the good ole’ US of A at the weekend, meanwhile, it wasn’t love that was in the air, rather beer cans, bottles and anything else you could get your hands on.

When Sam Ryder made a hole-in-one in the Phoenix Open on the infamous, par-3 16th known as ‘The Coliseum’, the green was showered in more boozy debris than the Hampden pitch during the 1980 Scottish Cup final riot as revellers in the stands worked themselves into a whooping, hollering, high-fiving, frenzy. 

It was a good job the event was sponsored by ‘Waste Management’. I half expected to see my discarded Valentine’s bouquet amid the detritus.

This Phoenix showpiece, of course, is infamous for its vast, boisterous crowds – 200,000 barge their way through the gates on the Saturday – while that 16th hole, completely enclosed by grandstands, generates a raucous atmosphere as players are cheered, jeered and goaded by a drink-fuelled, baying mob. By the end of a long day in the Arizona heat, the place must reek like Noah’s Ark.

Things got even more lively on Sunday when Harry Higgs and Joel Dahmen both ripped their shirts off and paraded around the green in an orgy of shirt-twirling exuberance as yet more bottles and cans thundered down. That nobody – players, caddies, officials, marshals – caught a real sore one was something of a miracle amid the tsunami of trash although Mexico’s Carlos Ortiz did say that he was "nailed pretty hard with a beer can" after he’d made an ace during the closing round. If that had happened in any other sporting arena, there would uproar and questions in Parliament.

For some of golf’s more traditional, tut-tutting observers, the scenes of partial nudity – and the general frat-party mankiness – led to such high levels of prudery, it was akin to some prissy, Victorian patriarch spluttering his derision at his wife after she had the indecency to remove her bonnet during a boating trip on the Serpentine.

For others, the unbridled chaos would appeal to a wider, younger market and was a shot in the arm for a game that is still hamstrung by the perception that it’s stuffier than a taxidermist with a blocked nose. I’m not sure if the sight of Harry Higgs’ wobbling belly will “grow the game” and encourage folk to try golf but, hey, what do I know? Polarised opinions on the weekend’s spectacle are everywhere and the debate will continue. It’s good to talk.

As for your correspondent? Well, I’ll gladly admit that lairy crowds simply annoy me as their boozy, gurgling, hark-at-me exhibitionism drags various sporting occasions – and other events and performances - into the murky realms of half-wittery and beyond.

Saying that, I’m not going to lose any sleep over what is, by and large, a rare golfing rammy. It’s only one hole at one event. If folk find enjoyment in that kind of revelry, then fair enough. As Peter Alliss may have remarked with a wry whisper, “there will be a few villages missing their idiots today.”

Back in 1870, when Young Tom Morris was something of a superstar, The Open attracted a vociferous gathering of spectators who were, according to the newspapers of the time, "clearly completely new to the sport" and "decidedly unruly in most part." Perhaps things weren’t better in the good old days after all?

The Phoenix Open and its 16th hole has built a reputation down the years for being a week which sees golf burst out of its straitjacket. Like the Ryder Cup, engagement between players and fans is ramped up. It’s a different crowd that tends to go to these affairs and their involvement is actively encouraged even if there have been plenty of times, especially at Ryder Cups on US soil, when the line is crossed with abuse from the galleries.

Containing such behaviour to one or two events, then, is just about palatable. But what happens if it goes beyond just one or two events? We live in a mind-boggling age when a professional footballer thinks it’s fine to volley his cat across the kitchen and parade it on social media for a laugh. There must be plenty of oddballs out there who wouldn’t think twice about lobbing something at a golfer during another regular tour event or even a major championship, especially when emboldened by alcohol. It only takes one.

Golf often gets ridiculed for its traditions and values. Those cherished attributes of self-discipline and respect that are at the game’s bedrock are qualities that are not necessarily defining traits of this hyperactive modern world of ours. The game lets its hair down at the Phoenix party but let’s hope there’s not a lingering hangover.