Nobody cheats at golf. The Royal and Ancient game has a code of behaviour which would rival that of the Knights of the Round Table and players regularly call shots against themselves for breaches of the rules which would almost certainly have gone undetected. True or false? Both.

Lots of people cheat at golf. They do so by improving their lie, by replacing their marked ball on the wrong spot, by counting the number of shots they have taken in a manner which which would not be acceptable in a primary school arithmetic class.

Yet very few professionals, or even leading amateurs, are guilty of such practices for two very good reasons: 1, they are men and women of integrity and 2, if they are caught at it the penalties are likely to be draconian-like, being suspended for a decade or more. And the stigma never goes away.

All the more surprising then that Nick Price, a former world No.1 and Open champion, should declare at the weekend: ''All through my junior, amateur and professional career I have played with guys who ''fudge'' as we call it.''

I must confess to being unaware of what this meant until Price went on to explain that it involves moving the ball a small distance on the greens to avoid putting over a spike mark. Other professionals supported his view that players have been known to behave like this though Bernhard Langer, who regularly holds prayer meetings on the circuit, was suitably shocked. ''I think you should ask Nick again if he really knows what he is saying.''

Price did not exactly retract but, by the following day, the number of fudgers known to him had dropped to only three or four and he was loudly claiming that there were fewer dishonest players in golf than in any other sport.

Still, it had not been the best of weeks for the lilywhite image of the sport. The US Masters champion, Mark O'Meara, playing in the European Players' Champion-ship in Hamburg, had come face to face with Sweden's Jarmo Sandelin for the first time since an incident in the Lancome Trophy last September. The American won by a stroke from Sandelin who then accused him of replacing his ball nearer the hole. Swedish television appeared to show O'Meara doing this on the fifteenth green in the final round.

Sandelin insisted the trophy should have been returned. ''I could never have kept it in such circumstances,'' he declared.

O'Meara, considered by many to be one of the finest sportsmen on either side of the Pond, admitted he could have made a mistake. ''But bend the rules? Never. I have been playing a long time and my intentions and the way I play the game have never been in question.'' I would have no hesitation in accepting that statement.

It would be fair to say that professional golf, where stakes are often astronomical, might expect to have a few more of these disputes. There are more cameras on the course than ever, thousands of amateur rule-enforcers ready to pick up the phone to the authorities.

In such an individually competitive game, not everyone is going to like all his opponents. Not a lot of smiles have been exchanged between the pair since Greg Norman accused Mark McCumber of cheating in the World Series tournament three years ago. McCumber said he was removing an insect, not repairing a spike-mark and the referee accepted his explanation.

It is widely accepted, too, that some players more than others, are looking for sympathetic rulings from officials. The number of moles burrowing in the rough appears to increase every year.

In major pro tournaments, I would stop the practice of players marking opponents' cards and disqualification following when someone signs for a wrong score. Scorers should be appointed. But, argue the purists, that would mean different rules for amateurs and professionals. I can live with that. The banning of over-size drivers in pro tournaments may be on the way; no-one is suggesting the rest of us are hitting it too far.

Golf will, for the most part, remain an activity where sportsmanship flourishes and chivalry rules. In the 50p a corner competitions the gamesmanship will go on.

The best exponent of that black art was a chap who was my partner in a council contest between the local authorities of Perth and Edinburgh played at Rosemount. As we stood on a tee at one of the concluding holes my team-mate remarked, in a loud voice: ''The last time I was here, I hooked it straight into that pond.''

Whereupon one of our opponents, the Chief Constable of Perth, hit his drive in the water. He took it quite well at the time. Only later did he whisper that should my partner park his car anywhere in that fair city he could expect to recover it from the pound. ''I will drive it in myself,'' he hissed, much as he had done at the pond.