Jim Lindgren at Volokh tells the story of how his brother holed a 35 foot birdie on the 18th green at St. Andrews, when he visited the old town to play golf. As he recounts it, "When his putt dived into the hole, the 100 or so people around the green broke out in applause".

Lest someone think Mr. Lindgren exaggerates, I often was part of the small crowds that would watch the golfers come up to the 18th hole, a relatively easy final stretch flanked perilously by a road packed with touristy shops to the right. The Old Course was on the way from my dorm to afternoon lectures at the history faculty, so I would sometimes stop and watch a few groups play through.

The local townsfolk (and students) liked nothing better than to give the (majority American) tourist golfers a little feel of a professional's life on that last hole - they'd groan with sympathy when balls found the great hollow called "The Valley of Sin" at the front of the green, clap for those who trickled the ball past the valley and onto the green - yell out encouragments to the occasional person with a case of nerves. It was all a pleasant, congenial atmosphere - and even more so when the weather was poor, and someone managed a good shot anyway. Sadly, it's a scene that couldn't even be imagined at an equivalent, perfectly manicured, American course. Which is rather a shame.