I DO not play often – or well – but I must admit to an unfathomable enjoyment of golf.

Not the guiltiest of guilty pleasures I know, but it is something I do not always share with people in early conversations, as they would blow me out of the water hazard were we to get together on-course. My best game is reserved for video games, away from prying, judgmental eyes.

That said, I can think of far worse ways to spend a warm, sunny day than thwacking a little dimpled ball around some well-manicured fields. Or, more accurately, wandering around overgrown grass trying to find my ball after the latest wayward shank. My rounds are more treasure hunt than terrific.

I consider myself a real duffer from tee to green, but I still go back for more. Four million players in Britain cannot be wrong, right?

However, I have a real issue with golf. Of course, no other sport can make you look as laughably incompetent as this one and even on a Sunday gadabout I often feel the peer pressure from the regular (and undoubtedly better) players I am holding up in the group behind.

But it is the game's ingrained blazer-wearing elitism that really gets my goat.

An otherwise perfectly pleasant pastime, golf is a poorer place for the sheer weight of fastidious rules and the stuffy sticklers who refuse to let the game move into the modern era.

Muirfield is one of Britain's top courses, synonymous with major events. Sixteen Opens have been held there but a 17th will not come in the foreseeable future. The reason? Members have voted against allowing women to join their little boys' club. They would rather be sidelined from hosting one of the world's top events than open the doors to members of the contrary gender.

Such discrimination cannot be good for the sport, society or anyone involved. It is divisive, archaic and serves no purpose. And my ire extends across the Atlantic to the double-breasted blazer wearers over there.

Take Dustin Johnson's US Open victory last weekend, marred by the pernickety insistence of match officials that he may or may not have been responsible for the merest movement of the ball.

Playing partner Lee Westwood backed Johnson's claim he was not to blame, and that should have been the end of the matter – no advantage was gained, player integrity is central to the game, crack on and play it as it lies.

But no, some over-officious official waited a further seven holes to tell Johnson there may or may not be a penalty to incur once he gets round to signing his card, which turned out to be the case.

Ludicrous behaviour. Fortunately Johnson went on to win but why he had to play the final third of the round not knowing where he stood cannot have been for the good of the game.

A good walk spoiled? Not entirely, but sometimes golf does itself no favours whatsoever.