Looking on the bright side – literally – of his spectacularly horrible trousers, John Daly said, "the good thing is that if you get dressed in the dark, any shirt is going to match." Really John? Surely you mean that no shirt is going to match.
Yes, Daly's look is fun, and livens things up a bit as the players traipse around the course, but you will never get a fashion journalist to say it's anything other than terrible. His slacks – made by golf brand Loudmouth – look like an acid trip threw up on them.
Then there's the rest of the outfit; the baby blue hat could have come from the gift shop of a Florida waterpark, and he's wearing more pastel than a mother of the bride. And, guess what? The talented couture tailor who made his arresting pair of statement slacks had enough fabric left over to make a mini-skirt for Daly's girlfriend in a cut-price homage to Posh and Becks' matchy-matchy outfits. Make it stop!
And now, as if mine eyes could take any more punishment, we move on to the sartorially sacrilegious Ian Poulter. I'm looking for something positive to say – for the sake of it – so here goes, the royal purple jumper is quite distinguished. But, what's that sound? Brrriiing brrriing, brrriing brrriing; the Bay City Rollers called and they want their trousers back. Given this riot of colour, a toned-down ensemble could be what's needed to counterbalance such garish displays, and Tom Watson is certainly subdued in his colour choices. Unfortunately, his head-to-toe beige look resembles a giant digestive biscuit. Sorry chaps, but these clownish looks are well below par.