Ron Kantowski has never confused professional golfers for clothing designers, but after a recent trend of conservative outfitting around the greens, the statement being made at the Frys.com Open is ..

Saturday, Oct. 14, 2006 | 8:02 a.m.

"Although golf was originally restricted to wealthy, overweight Protestants, today it's open to anybody who owns hideous clothing."

- Dave Barry, humorist

"Oh, this is the worst-looking hat I ever saw. When you buy a hat like this I bet you get a free bowl of soup. Looks good on you, though."

- Al Czervik, golfer, shopping at the Bushwood Country Club pro shop

Professional golfers have never been known for their sartorial splendor, although I must admit there was something perversely elegant about the rainbow-hued sports jacket that Rodney Dangerfield wore to the "Caddyshack" ball.

But I can't say that Jack Nicklaus looked elegant in that canary yellow shirt and those gray tartan slacks when he charged into the Masters record book as its oldest champion a few years later.

Uncomfortable, perhaps. But not elegant.

Plaid pants and polyester shirts. White belts and pointed collars. Two-tone shoes. For a while, there, every time you turned on the TV to watch the final group play the back nine, it looked like your Uncle Irv's bridge game, minus the black socks and sandals. And the colors were as awful as the styles. Nothing ever seemed to match.

It was just one more reason that you wished Payne Stewart, the nattily attired bon vivant of the fairways, was still around.

But thankfully over the past decade, on its way to becoming an annual $5 billion equipment and apparel industry, golf discovered earth tones in its bottom drawer. In sizes that fit, too. Now at least when a player yells "Fore!" it's to warn the gallery that his tee shot is headed its way, not that his pants are too tight. Or too red.

Believe it or not, there was a four-year period during the 1980s when the champion of the PGA stop at Sawgrass wore red pants. The bulls hated it.

Mr. Blackwell will be delighted to know that none of Las Vegas' former PGA winners wore red pants. But in 1989 Scott Hoch was dressed like a Dreamsicle - orange and white shirt, orange trousers - when they handed him the oversized check. Perhaps that explains why the two guys seated closest to his portrait in the press room Thursday were wearing sunglasses.

Eventually, wardrobes like Hoch's either went out of style or melted. But then Jesper Parnevik, he of the bicycle cap with the turned-up brim, and some of his European pals became fashion plates. Or got hit in the head by one, depending on what you make of their form-fitting shirts, double-wide belts and snug trousers that would make Tom Jones blush.

In 2001 Retief Goossen and Mark Brooks showed up for their 18-hole playoff at the U.S. Open wearing identical outfits - white shirts and khaki pants. Based on what I saw Thursday at the Frys.com Open at the Tournament Players Club at Summerlin, the chances of that happening again are getting more remote than the general parking lot. All you had to do was take a look around the practice green to discover that more and more of the touring pros are beginning to show their true colors.

Even if they're aquamarine, melon and lavender with lime green accents.

"I wouldn't do anything that stupid," said local pro Robert Gamez, when asked if he might consider taking something off the rack at Johan Lindeberg's, the Swedish designer responsible for Parnevik's mod new look.

On Thursday Parnevik wore a magenta shirt that fit like an offensive lineman's jersey. His pants were black, but gathered at the ankles. He wore a black wristband and there were patent leather accents on his shoes. And this was just the first round.

Dressed conservatively in a muted pink shirt and navy slacks, Gamez said Lindeberg and the PGA fashionistas should be marked for a double-bogey.

"I don't think it's that fashionable," he sniffed. "But that's just me."

Me, too, Robert.

A few seconds later, my corneas began to ache, with Alex Cejka's chartreuse mock turtleneck being the culprit. Cejka also had wedged himself into too-tight white slacks that flared at the bottom, Jimi Hendrix-style. All along the watchtower, as well as the first teebox, people began reaching for their cell phones to call the fashion police.

OK, I overstated it just a tad. But rest assured that Al Czervik wouldn't have been caught dead in Alex Cejka's outfit - soup or no soup.

Looked good on him, though.