Columnist Ron Kantowski: Let’s turn back the clock in golf

Thursday, April 19, 2001 | 10:17 a.m.

Ron Kantowski's column appears Thursday. Reach him at ron@lasvegassun.com or 259-4088.

Perhaps to get myself ready for the invasion -- if you can call a bunch of 55-year-old guys riding around in golf carts an invasion -- of the TPC at Summerlin this weekend by the Senior PGA Tour, I anted up the $3.95 to watch "The Legend of Bagger Vance" on the dish the other night.

It was pretty lame.

Granted, when it comes to movies I'm no Roger Ebert, and when it comes to golf, I'm no Roger Maltbie. But if the group of "Tin Cup," "Caddy Shack," and "Happy Gilmore" were standing on the No. 2 tee box, Bagger probably wouldn't hit first -- regardless of how bad the other three had played No. 1.

The movie is about a guy trying to find his swing. It might have been a little more believable, had director Robert Redford hired that Danny Noonan guy from "Caddyshack" for the lede role. At least Noonan could hit a 7-iron. "Bagger" star Matt Damon couldn't hit a 7-iron if it was hanging from the speed bag in a boxing gym.

His swing looked so awkward that I'll bet even Jim Furyk winced.

But I made it all the way through "Bagger." Watched all 205 minutes before signing my scorecard.

It wasn't the cast (DeNiro wasn't in it) and certainly not the story that I found so captivating. But then it dawned on me. I watched the movie in "letterbox" format sitting tap-in distance from a 52-inch television. It was Redford's lush cinematography which pre-empted another night of channel surfing.

Virtually every scene had at least one wide-angle shot of a sprawling, dew-covered fairway shrouded in a foggy mist. The ones that didn't featured knickers and lots of tweed, owing to the film's 1920s backdrop. But even better than than the old clothes were the old golf clubs themselves.

The last time I saw a putter like the one the Walter Hagen character brandished in "Bagger Vance" it was propping open the hood of a 1962 Oldsmobile. And the woods were made out of it. They were numbered "1," "2," and "3," not for a chain of convenience stores.

Which got me to thinking how cool it would be if life imitated art when it came to golf.

How cool do you think it would be if every old pro playing at Summerlin this week dressed up like Billy Casper and varnished his driver, rather than polished it with some space age alloy?

Obviously, the Senior Tour stumbled onto something when it discovered that golf fans would pay to watch heroes of yesteryear (minus Tom Watson) finesse the little white ball around the links. I say take it a step further, just like they do at those vintage auto races that are so popular with another set of well-heeled patrons. Let the players look the part as well as play it.

Some of the field could wear knickers and argyle socks, while others donned a 1970s look, with wide collars and plaid slacks. Nicklaus and Johnny Miller could hold a garage sale at the pro shop and donate the flare-trouser money to charity.

I'm only half-joking. While the money has never been better on the Senior Tour, the interest level these days isn't exactly as high as the rough at St. Andrews. Turning the Senior Tour -- or at least selected events on the tour -- into nostalgic celebrations of golf might be the shot in the arm it needs.

It's either that, or turn Rodney Dangerfield loose in the new "Al Czervik Desert Classic."