Golfers, as we all know, can be a peculiar breed. My dearly departed colleague Jock MacVicar, for instance, used to possess a quite staggering number of putters.

In fact, lifting his car boot was akin to gently prising open an ancient casket and gasping in slack-jawed bewilderment at the vast hoard of treasured antiquities that dwelled within.

I say treasured but, in reality, this tangled pile of putting paraphernalia, which had been banished to the dark nooks of his Honda Civic amid much cursing condemnation, merely served as a sombre shrine to Jock’s muttering futility on the greens.

At the conclusion of one particularly wretched golf writers’ outing, he shoved the putter into the back of the car with the same kind of silent, callous disregard that would be adopted by a hitman when he has to hastily bundle a tarpaulin-wrapped corpse into the boot. To be fair, most of us were doing exactly the same thing with our own infernal clubs.

What was it old Tony Lema once uttered about the fickle flat-stick? “Here is an instrument of torture, designed by Tantalus and forged in the devil’s own smithy.” Jock would, no doubt, have agreed with Champagne Tony’s withering observation.

As for the world No 1 Scottie Scheffler? Well, his putting woes may not have been quite as bad as auld Jock’s, but it had been causing growing consternation, particularly when that pesky lot in the golf media wouldn’t stop banging on about them.

Imperious from tee-to-green, Scheffler’s fortunes on the actual greens had led to him slipping so far down into the depths of the PGA Tour’s putting rankings, his actual putter was just about being explored by a maritime salvage crew.

The strange thing, of course, was that Scheffler was playing so well, it made those putting statistics look even worse.

At The Memorial last season, for instance, Scheffler gained 20.69 strokes against the field tee-to-green but lost 8.5 shots to the field in putting. And he still just missed out on a play-off by a shot.

Even when his putter was colder than a Morningside welcome, the rest couldn’t catch Scheffler at the top of the world order. Perhaps they have now missed their chance?

Over the last few months, the unassuming Scheffler has been grafting away with the English putting guru, Phil Kenyon, while switching to a mallet putter – presumably he had a rummage around in his car boot for one? – and the endeavours are bearing considerable fruit.

The 27-year-old’s five-shot romp at the Arnold Palmer Invitational the other week was followed by a thrilling victory in the Players Championship at Sawgrass on Sunday night. The last man to do that Florida double-whammy was a certain Tiger Woods back in 2001.

Five strokes adrift at the start of the final round, Scheffler mounted a barnstorming charge over the Stadium course that could’ve been accompanied by the sound of thundering hooves as he became the first man in the 50-year history of the Players Championship to win it back-to-back.

In two weeks, he has successfully defended two huge titles, a feat which requires a mighty dollop of physical and mental fortitude. That he won at Sawgrass, while nursing a niggling neck complaint, underlined his resolve and ferocious competitve spirit.

The prize was thoroughly deserved, the plaudits were richly merited too. Scheffler was the ultimate winner, but the game of golf was a winner too.

Sunday’s showpiece made us forget about all the wearying talk of infighting, framework agreements, equity plans, LIV Golf and the Saudi Arabian Public Investment Fund. Well, until all that wearying talk rears its head again. Listen, it’s started up already. The escape was nice while it lasted, wasn’t it?

Scheffler remains the undisputed No 1, even if the world rankings are compromised somewhat by the on-going LIV farrago.

His consistency is phenomenal – what Rory McIlroy would give for such constancy, eh? – and, inevitably, Scheffler’s latest conquest has heightened the giddy cries that he can go on and establish a Tiger-like tyranny on the global game.

That, of course, would require Scheffler to embark on a ridiculous period of sustained excellence. And he knows it. “We were playing at 'Riv' (at the Genesis Invitational) this year, and I hit my tee ball and this guy yells out, 'Congrats on being number one Scottie, eleven more years to go',” reflected Scheffler as he mulled over Woods’ astonishing longevity during his pomp as golf’s dominant force.

While all and sundry work themselves into a fankle about the prospect of Scheffler doing this, that and the other in the weeks, months and years to come, the man himself retains that wonderful sense of composure. Never too up, never too down, just calm, level-headed middle ground.

He is largely unaffected by the fame and fortune and all the talk of greatness tends to be greeted with a nonchalant shrug.

Given all the noise and nonsense that has consumed men’s golf, there’s a sense that Scheffler’s accomplishments over the last couple of years have not been given the recognition they truly deserve. Undervalued? Perhaps. But unrivalled? There's no doubt.

In a turbulent, fractured time, when egos, greed and entitlement have grabbed much of the attention, the wholesome, down-to-earth Scheffler is just the right man to be on top of the golfing world.