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In addition to DQ-ing the worst offenders, the committee will adjust a player's handicap based on exceptional play as early as day two, and a player may be adjusted more than once. Although the drama typically takes place at night, the committee does most of its work in the light of day, making calls, scouring online handicap systems and punching calculators, all while the World Am plays out.
Thursday night is usually the bloodiest, which is why committee members wear black-on-black. One year in the late '90s there was a mass execution: 21 players were called into the room at once, and all 21 slumped out, their heads hung. After tweaking handicaps all week the committee is in no mood for negotiating. It wants Friday to be free of any fudged handicaps.
For the integrity of the field, some players simply must go. Harbaugh usually begins with, "First, let me congratulate you on a couple of great days," and never raises his voice from there. Even as the guillotine falls, it's paired with a pleasantry: "The good news is you're a lot better than your handicap says. The bad news is you're out of your flight. You're welcome to keep playing — you're just not eligible for prizes."
The most common violation is failing to record enough scores leading into the tournament. It suggests no foul play and leaves everyone's pride intact. Such was the case for Robert Lang of Winter Haven, Fla. (not to be confused with Robert of Tennessee). Lang's back-to-back 77s alerted the committee, which discovered that he had posted few scores relative to the number of times he'd played (he played a regular scramble, making it impossible to figure out his own score).
Lang's time in Room 204 was without argument, and he said upon being DQ'd, "Hey, I could give a s---. Let's have a drink!" He admits fault, but he's not bitter. "The handicap they gave me was a 9.5, and I should have told them that I played as a 2.3 [the previous year]. But hey, I've had both my parents die in the last two years. I wasn't too worried about handicaps. My mom always said to have fun, and I'm going to have fun."
Like many others, Lang had clearly violated Rule 6-2 by failing to keep a strict accounting of his handicap. But other cases are more complicated. What if a player simply has a career week? How is that a crime? That's when it gets interesting.
Of the seven players marked for death on Thursday night last fall, a long-hitting, 50-year-old Kentuckian named Steve was the most borderline case. Kentucky Steve, who also competed on an amateur circuit called the Louisville Golf Tour, had faithfully recorded every score coming into the tournament and was a 3 handicap. The problem was he'd shot 67-69- 73-67. In his flight, his gross score beat everybody else's net.
Said tournament director Mays, preparing in Room 204 minutes before the committee would begin summoning players: "I'm a 3.6, and it would be extremely difficult for me to shoot those scores."
