Who knows how different world history might have been had Mahatma Gandhi abandoned peaceful protest in favour of ten-pin bowling or if Adolf Hitler had forsaken invading comparatively defenceless countries and had focused all his energies on mastering the banjo?

Golf, too, might have been a very different game had those early pioneers not chosen a windswept stretch of inhospitable looking dunes behind the beach upon which to footle about but had instead attempted to bash balls around a frozen lake or up and down a multi-storey car park. Those who are even now mocking this speculative musing might care to consider that the hole we so frequently fail to knock the ball into is only the size it is because that was the standard circumference of drainpipes at that time. Drainpipes, being both regular and readily available, were considered ideal templates. It’s a matter of great personal regret that manhole covers were not chosen instead.

All this contemplative reflection occurred to me as I wandered down Main Street in Tupelo, Mississippi to gaze into the window of a corner store from where Mrs. Presley bought a guitar as a birthday present for her young son Elvis. Apparently, he really wanted a gun but the peaceable Mrs. P wouldn’t accommodate him. Supposing, just for the sake of argument, that a persimmon three wood had caught his eye. Given his majestic hip thrust, it is entirely possible that he would have gone on to enjoy a glorious golfing career instead of wasting his time strumming a guitar and fending off women. With Elvis firmly established as the world’s greatest golfer, the way would have been clear for Arnold Palmer to enjoy a succession of number one hits.