With the 150th anniversary Open Championship being played this week at St Andrews, the recent release of a book on the tournament's most celebrated gatecrasher is perfectly timed.

Authors Scott Murray and Simon Farnaby's new work titled The Phantom of the Open: Maurice Flitcroft - the World's Worst Golfer recounts the story of the shipyard crane-operator who first wrote himself into British Open folklore much to the chagrin of officials in 1976.

Flitcroft was 46 years old and a novice golfer who had just acquired a half-set of clubs and some instruction manuals when he somewhat unconventionally decided to enter the 1976 Open at Royal Birkdale. Hailing from the Cumbrian town of Barrow-in-Furness in England's north-west, Flitcroft lodged an entry form with an unsuspecting Royal and Ancient.

As he did not have a handicap as an amateur, Flitcroft instead ticked professional on the form and entered under his correct name. Somehow his paperwork was approved through the R&A's system and he duly gained an invitation to compete in the qualifier at Formby. The rest, as they say, is history.

Grinning widely under a floppy hat and chain-smoking as he stomped from rough to bushes chasing his hacked attempts at shots, the great imposter should have raised suspicions from the word go. His completed score of 121 was considered an estimate and his presence did not amuse his playing partners, who alerted R&A officials. Although Flitcroft's Open dream was over for that year, he had become an instant cult hero.

It was reported at the time that when a journalist knocked on his elderly mother's door to find out more about Flitcroft, she asked if her son had won.

He had in fact not been the Open's first imposter, following in the divot marks of the similar earlier exploits of American Walter Danecki many years before. Danecki registered scores of 108 and 113 at Hillside in 1965. Flitcroft was also not the last gatecrasher. Another American Bo Brit only lasted three holes wearing cowboy boots in 1985 before being lassoed by officials. But the home-bred Flitcroft was certainly the most persistent and inventive than his American counterparts.

Embarrassed by Flitcroft's brazen antics in 1976, the R&A tightened entry regulations the following year. Flitcroft again applied in 1977 but his entry was denied by R&A secretary, Keith Mackenzie, triggering the start of an ongoing battle of wits between the pair. Flitcroft challenged Mackenzie to a match at the Old Course at St Andrews to prove his credentials, but that strategy only succeeded in getting himself banned from all R&A tournaments for life.

Not to be deterred, Flitcroft was prepared to go to additional lengths to foil Mackenzie and began entering periodically under curious noms de plume, sometimes donning disguises to mask his true identity. In 1978 he reinvented himself as Gene Paycecki, an American professional, and again conned his way into the qualifier at South Herts. Flitcroft managed to duff his way around a few holes as Paycecki before his ruse was detected and he was banished from the course.

Five years later Flitcroft was back, dyeing his hair and adding a false moustache to transform himself into a Swiss professional named Gerald Hoppy for the qualifier at Pleasington. He racked up a score of 63 for nine holes before Hoppy was sprung and promptly bounded away by officials.

Flitcroft was nothing if not dogged in thumbing his nose at the establishment and he tried once more in 1990, entering the qualifier at Ormskirk as James Beau Jolley from America. There were sometimes hidden meanings behind the surnames of Flitcroft's aliases. The earlier Paycecki had secretly inferred pay check and Beau Jolly was pronounced beaujolais, as in the wine.

But as Beau Jolley at Ormskirk, Flitcroft barely had time to uncork before the R&A were on to him at the third hole. Three over at that point, he was annoyed that the officials had interrupted his chance at a par and would not let him complete the hole.

Flitcroft may have never actually made it past the qualifiers into the Open field, but he remains one of the true symbols of the ultimate sporting underdog. He is the type of wonderful eccentric that the English breed best.

More recently there was Karl Power, whose audacious stunts included impersonating his way into a Manchester United team photo, walking out to bat for England against Australia at Headingly, playing a short game on the Centre Court at Wimbledon before a Tim Henman match, beating Michael Schumacher to the winner's podium at the British Grand Prix at Silverstone and dancing the Haka for the England rugby union team on the field in Rome. Flitcroft may not have been as multi-talented in his sporting hoaxes as Power, but somehow his mischievous humour and charm made him more endearing.

Flitcroft sadly passed away from a lung infection in March 2007 aged 77, but his legend lives on across the globe. There is a member-guest tournament at Blythefield Country Club in Michigan carrying his name which Flitcroft competed in as guest of honour in 1988. There is also a club in New York State that has named a trophy after him. A fansite even exists on Facebook. And now there is Murray and Farnaby's new book to ensure the hilarious tale of Maurice Gerald Flitcroft survives for the enjoyment of future generations.

(Chris West is a Melbourne-based sports writer, weekend golfer and unabashed Maurice Flitcroft fan.)