One size does not suit all.

Watching John Daly tee off to launch the PGA dressed in psychedelic trousers with a logo of skulls and an overhanging gut, flowing blonde hair and beard, I was reminded of a cross between  a superannuated surfer and a wizard in Lord of the Rings.

Yet at 54 the 1991 winner at Crooked Stick still possesses a magical touch and was a welcome contrast to those clones coming off from the college conveyor belt who work out so diligently in the gym and pay lip service to the body mass index (BMI).

I do not suppose Daly remembers his last visit to a gym and is more interested in his next beer than his body mass.

I exchanged thoughts with a fellow Ruster on fatties in sport.

He was essentially a rugger man and listed a few corpulent players.

We stuck to those who were fat in their playing days.

In football I  thought of the keeper Fatty Foulke (Sheffield United) of yore who weighed in at 24 stone, he also  played for Derbyshire and – of those I saw – Mike Bailey of Wolves and Charlton, a great midfield organiser whose midriff spilled over his shorts.

Alan Tanner reminded me of Fulham keeper Jim Stannard who was 17 stone and when he moved to Gillingham the crowd pelted him with celery sticks.

The fattest cricketer I ever was was Colin Milburn, but the great Inzamam ul Haq was no “Slim Jim”  (nor was “Slim” Jim Baxter).

Don Shepherd of Gloucestershire was so rotund that a batter once run 5 when he was in the field.

However it is only in golf where the likes of Swede Carl Petterssen, with a diet of milk shakes and burgers, are playing regularly on the American PGA circuit weighing 22 stone that size really does not matter.

Craig Stadler known as The Walrus was another not too bothered by his size.

That must be reassuring for the club golfer tucking into his fry-up for breakfast this morning before going out for his/her monthly medal.