As the US Masters reached its tense conclusion on Sunday night, there must have been blind panic behind the scenes at the Augusta National Golf Club. Here, after all, is an event where, prize-money aside, the players are also competing to win the coveted "green jacket", which is immediately awarded to the winner each year. As the big-boned trio of Kenny Perry, Chad Campbell and Angel Cabrera all staked their claim, it was hard not to wonder whether the organisers actually had a green jacket big enough to fit any of them.
On the face of it, the Masters play-off was a case of survival of the fattest, a battle between three men - all tubby, yet all terrific. It was fitting, then, that the biggest unit of them all, the barrel-chested Argentinian Cabrera, was the one who finally wobbled his way into the winner's enclosure. Contrast that with the sport's superhero, Tiger Woods. A living deity carved out of granite, Woods begins each day with a gruelling dawn workout, honing his physique and pushing himself to the limit just so he can go out and come sixth behind a bunch of guys who never say no to the sweet trolley. The truth is, Tiger should live a little. Fewer dumbbells; more Dunkin' Donuts.
A generous girth, of course, has never really been a problem in golf. Not only is there no running or extreme physical exertion involved (apart from when the post-round buffet opens), the players even get some other mug to carry their bags around. Indeed, many players play better when they are at their heaviest. Colin Montgomerie, for example, battled long and hard to shed his padding over his career, but only ever played to his potential when the belt buckle was loosened by a couple of notches.
Then there's John Daly, the human Big Mac who won the Open in 1995, and, of course, Phil Mickelson, who seemed to have the Masters title in his grasp on Sunday but, having recently lost 20lb, found he no longer had the necessary ballast to keep his body steady over those crucial putts as Augusta's notorious swirling winds wreaked their havoc.
The beauty of golf is that, like darts - another non-Olympic sport - it offers hope for the gutbucket. It's a game where you're only ever a few more shots away from the clubhouse bar, and where the pursuit of peak physical fitness comes a very distant second to the pursuit of Peak Freans.
