Let's put it in South Africa and hope that nobody brings a vuvuzela. Let's rotate it between South Africa, Australia, Argentina and various countries of Asia. Let's put it near Seoul and watch the money pile up.

Whatever, wherever, let's add a fifth major tournament to the golf calendar because the four-major construct has become geographically kooky. In a game that's globalization has run amok, one country hogs 75 percent of the majors while the other 196 share one.

For a good while, this made fine sense. After all, we the people of the United States hatched the majors concept -- or at least two of us did, in the form of a mighty figure (a golfer, Arnold Palmer) and an almighty one (a sportswriter, Bob Drum). In the 20th century, the United States won 227 of the 371 majors, or 61 percent.

So far in the 21st, the United States has gone 29-for-53, or 55 percent.

Yet in the era of human history known as Since Tiger Woods Last Won A Major, it's 6-for-19, or 31.5 percent, and in the decade at hand, it's 4-for-13, or 30.8 percent. Look at the United Nations of winners since that broken-legged Monday at Torrey Pines in 2008: Argentina (1), Australia (1), Germany (1), Ireland (2), Northern Ireland (4), South Africa (3), South Korea (1), United States (6). Go back four more majors before that, factoring in for selectivity there, and tack on another for Argentina, another for Ireland and another for South Africa.

In fact, the overlooked, outnumbered Southern Hemisphere has matched the United States' 4-for-13, as of Adam Scott's merry 12-footer on the second playoff hole on Sunday at Augusta, which ended -- of course! -- a Southern Hemisphere-vs.-Southern Hemisphere playoff. Four of the last six green jackets have gone to people who grew up beneath the black line that stretches around the globe (and which I once unsuccessfully tried to spot from a cruise ship). Two other men from down there, Angel Cabrera and Louis Oosthuizen, have reached playoffs in the last two Masters.

This kind of surge could fill a person with hemispheric pride if only people tended to feel hemispheric pride. I've never heard anybody in the Northern Hemisphere running around bragging hemispherically about, say, Roger Federer, although his worldwide fans do sometimes tilt toward an aesthete's huffiness. The only hemispheric references I've seen in sports have come in rugby, where the powerhouses New Zealand, Australia and South Africa occasionally have stood up for their spherical half with the Europeans. Maybe we never bother with hemispheric pride up here because we're an entitled, snooty hemisphere. Maybe most of us run around so inundated that we never even stop to ponder our own hemisphere.

In golf, the Southern Hemispheric competitors venture far enough from home in life that it should add a tad to the impression of their wins. They and their caddies are almost always road teams even if that's less imposing amid golf galleries than in, say, the vicious cauldron of college basketball. They have come so far that some of them might even have taken time out from the putting green to behold the wonder of sinks draining oppositely. Five different men from medium-sized South Africa (population: 50.6 million) have accounted for seven major titles since 2000. They've joined men from four other countries -- Argentina, Australia, Fiji and New Zealand -- in the hard, hard, exacting honor of winning a major. They've helped their hemisphere go from 11.5 percent of major wins in the 20th century to 26.4 percent (14-for-53) in this one.

With that, a newly concocted major in South Africa would seem plenty appropriate. One in Australia would work on the accurate premise that in truth, all sporting events should be held in Australia. Straying north, one in South Korea would reflect that country's untold adoration of the game (shown most dramatically in the LPGA in one of the most remarkable shifts of our times). The idea of one in China might just interest profit-minded sorts. One that bounced around, as do three of the four current majors, might prove best, reflecting a jet-set humanity in a shrunken world. Coming off a geocentric 20th century in which the so-dubbed "fifth major" seemed to be only 226 miles from Augusta near Jacksonville, we're in a diffuse 21st in which 8,001 miles would make more sense, that being the distance to Cape Town, where a major would give more people the impetus to go and see Cape Town, which would behoove more people.

Departing from past habits, the new major wouldn't have to replace a current one. The Masters may have warranted banishment at certain times in its social history, and the PGA might take on the occasional unkind sneering as the "fourth major" as if that's some insult, but neither should have to yield as did the Western Open and the World Championship of Golf in days of yore. Four is an excellent number -- it works in tennis, also -- but five could suffice even if six would start to resemble excessive dessert.

On the bigger scale, it could serve as another cultural bridge in the bridge-heavy world of sports. As golf's times have changed -- for the better, intrigue-wise -- maybe the majors could change with them -- unless, of course, our countryman Woods regains protracted dominance.

In that event, never mind.