CADDIE'S ROLE:MIGUEL ANGEL Jimenez arrived on the 18th tee at the famed Valderrama course in the province of Cadiz, Spain, last Saturday evening. He had brought with him an army of aficionados from his neighbouring province of Malaga. They were loud and loyal supporters of the local ex-caddie from Benelmadena, who has become such a charismatic talisman of the European Tour. He was playing well and they were vocally appreciative.

Miguel pulled his three-wood out of his white bag, exhaled, raised his chest and – therefore – his belly below, gave two ferocious practice swings and then wiggled over the ball. The crowd settled and Miguel Angel drew his club away, reached the top of his swing – and as he descended towards the ball a photographer clicked his camera audibly to all assembled.

Thankfully, the affable Spaniard hit an acceptable shot given he had his bubble of silence rudely broken by a professional photographer. However, Miguel admonished the snapper with some choice words, and as he did so his ponytail swished like a donkey’s tail in a fly-infested summer. The offender retreated without admitting culpability.

Next on the tee was the stern-looking, clench-jawed Swede Niclas Fasth, who was ending his round in the hope of retaining his tour card for next year. The stakes were high for the Scandinavian and even the spectators could tell this was a man on the edge.

He waggled his hybrid club deliberately on the tee, favouring the shorter driving club because of the assisting wind. The gathering looked on with mild interest, their hero having accomplished his task. Fasth drew his club back and this time the photographer, despite the warning from Miguel, decided to release his shutter even earlier than he had on his previous offence. The Swede’s ball rose off the top of his club and high into the air, narrowly missing an overhanging tree and plopped down some 130 yards from the tee in the rough short of the fairway. If struck correctly downwind it should have landed about 260 yards down the tree-lined fairway.

Fasth, as if in a unified extension of his disturbed swing, lunged towards the photographer, unleashing, even more vociferously than his playing partner had moments earlier, an exasperated speech about the necessity for absolute silence for a professional golfer while in the act of his shot. You could sense his career was on the line all week long, not just on that 18th tee last Saturday.

The only thing that saved the photographer was, ironically, a Jaguar. The sponsor’s car was propped up beside the final tee in full view of the spectators but, more importantly, the TV cameras, which of course were relatively quiet compared to the loud photographer. It was the Jaguar car that separated the unpopular cameraman from the clutches of the furious Swede.

If played for long enough on a regular basis, golf will push you seemingly to the limits of sanity. The prospect of losing your playing rights will push a seasoned campaigner like Fasth even further, and the challenge of the relentless and uncompromising Valderrama brings an extra edge to an already fragile mind.

A question that has been posed frequently on tour is: why do professionals demand deafening silence while they are hitting their shots? It was so quiet on the seventh tee last week during our second round, despite a gaggle of local supporters as we were playing with Miguel Angel that day, I became aware of a bee hive in the distant undergrowth, buzzing away as my player settled over the ball. Surely it didn’t need to be that quiet?

I had time to reflect on the brouhaha at the recent Ryder Cup in Wales as I was listening to the silence in the south of Spain and once again wondered why we just don’t install a subtle speaker system in the playing areas of the course, exuding a general but consistent sound of life and humanity co-existing in the often too precious air on the golf course?

Then, of course, there would be no need for irate, frustrated professionals to growl at the spectators or set their caddies upon photographers. Golf and life could thrive in harmony.

If we can accept raucous behaviour at arguably the biggest golf event in the world, why do we demand the complete opposite the next week? Perhaps its time to accept the idle babble of an exuberant Andalucian gathering and then the photographers could snap away merrily in search of their winning shot without putting the players off theirs.