Riviera was a grand dame of the game, a dowager empress. Hogan made it famous, and its corridors between the eucalyptus groves became hallowed ground, a shrine of golf. It achieved this grandeur with the immaculateness of its challenge. No water holes had to be piped in to artificialize its difficulty. The first time Bobby Jones played these storied acres, he shot a 73 and, as he came off the course, someone wanted to know what he thought of it. “Riviera?” said Jones, startled. “Well, it’s a fine course. But tell me--where do the members play?” But that was historic Riviera. That was Riviera before titanium shafts, space-age metal woods, four-irons you could hit 240 yards. The onslaught of modern technology--and the proliferation of young guys who played the game with no respect for tradition--seemed to dim Riviera’s luster. You could almost hear them wondering what all the shouting was about.It was depressing for hard-liners. It was like hearing Babe Ruth couldn’t hit the slider, Dempsey couldn’t punch with Tyson. JIM MURRAY