In March, when a camera, again, interrupted his beautiful art, he snarled: 'The next time a photographer shoots a ******* picture (on my backswing) I'm going to break his ******* neck.'

His protective caddy, Steve Williams, has no affection for cameras either. He has confiscated them, kicked them and once threw one into the water.

One might say both men were slightly rude, but only because unthinking fans and unschooled official photographers often are.

In Singapore two weeks ago, Phil Mickelson flinched when a camera went off as he swung and drove into the water at the 18th. Said his caddy, Jim Mackay, dryly: 'That's by far the angriest I've seen him in 16 years.'

Elsewhere during the Barclays Singapore Open, phones serenaded golfers with tinny music as they teed off, spectators sauntered along when stillness was called for, a press photographer stood in the middle of the fairway and a marshal was caught clicking a camera while holding up a 'QUIET' sign.

It was more the exception than the rule, but a repeat at the Lexus Cup this weekend would be unfortunate.

Golf abhors disturbance. At the US Masters, on tournament days, you can consider yourself privileged to be allowed in, for nothing else is. No phones, cameras, bags, beepers, flags, radios.

This might be a bit difficult here, for I know Singaporeans who would rather part with their wives and credit cards, at the same time, rather than their phones.

But Peter Downie, director of golf at the Sentosa Golf Club where the Singapore Open was held, is certainly taking it seriously.

'We may have to look at metal detectors (like US events, to stop mobile phones). It may sound harsh, but we've got to have quality-run events,' he said.

Eventually no crowd wants to be stuck with an unfavourable reputation.

Downie, who does say 'Singapore is no worse than anywhere else in Asia', knows that golf's etiquette is intrinsic to its appeal, for at its best, it is a muted, thoughtful sport of gentle manners, like attending some vast, open-air athletic church.

It is an often classist game, not shy of snobbery, but in its civility lies its difference. Footballers may dive in the penalty area, but golfers call penalties on themselves.

Recently, US golfer J.P. Hayes, trying to qualify for the US PGA Tour, discovered he had mistakenly used a ball not approved for competition. Aware that he would be disqualified if he volunteered this information, he did so anyway.

As players police themselves, so, too, must the golf spectator. Should he want to howl and hoot, he can watch football. Should he want to distract an athlete at his highest moment of concentration, he is free to move while a basketballer attempts a free throw. Should he want to heckle players ('I wish you were a statue and I were a pigeon,' drawled a spectator once), he can visit the cricket pitch.

Freedom of speech and movement at sport can be fun, but golf's still, expectant hush, broken by applause and mournful 'ooohs', is special, too. Indeed, if the viewing experience at every sport was the same, where would the pleasure be?

Golf warrants silence primarily during the action. A golf shot is a minor masterpiece in concentration and technique, and noise disturbs this balance.

It interrupts the fine timing that is necessary to propel a tiny ball with a small piece of steel to an exact place 200 yards away.

Woods, underscoring how distracting a camera can be, said in March: 'Each time it's happened, well, three out of four times, I made bogey.'

Indeed, if a fan makes a golfer flinch, he is committing the worst sin, he is going from watching the action to influencing it.

Golf is unusual for almost no sport allows spectators so close (three metres at times) or has a crowd so fluid.

No doubt golfers can be tedious, like Colin Montgomerie, who could probably hear a butterfly belch at 50 paces.

But it's a privilege to be in such close proximity to a world-class athlete, like Annika Sorenstam at this weekend's Lexus Cup, and it comes with a few responsibilities.

For instance: The silent button on your phone isn't just for show. If you need to yell at your slow-talking mother-in-law, we don't need to hear.

Don't walk on the fairway, pick up the ball or blind a fellow spectator by opening an umbrella in his face.

Don't snap players till they've finished their swing, don't ask for autographs mid-round (this is their workplace) and remember the rope is not to keep golfers in but you out.

And, if a player is hitting the ball or you're standing in his line across the green, try not to fidget, fuss, scratch or semaphore wildly to your friends that you need three beers.

In China some years ago, an amateur golfer recently revealed, children played in bunkers and a woman with stilettos walked across the green.

Singapore fans are far more evolved, but room for improvement remains.

Scott Barr, the articulate Singapore-based Asian Tour pro, says: 'The best crowds are in Britain, everyone seems to be in tune with what's expected.' Yet he adds: 'It's not too bad here. Singapore is one of the better places in Asia. Korea, for instance, can be as bad as China.'

Barr knows it's a learning process. British crowds are old friends with tournament golf, many Singapore fans are merely learning about it.

Not all are understandably familiar with the game's rituals, and officials must educate them. Hand out leaflets, put up signs, print suggestions behind the tickets, put up posters in sponsor boxes, instruct media photographers where they can go.

Simply remind people that these seemingly quaint rituals are worth learning because they elevate the spectating experience. It will take time. And till that day comes, caddies will just have to learn what Williams once revealed was his hidden talent: How to say 'no cameras' in several different languages.

rohitb@sph.com.sg

Etiquette guide for spectators