The doorman advised passing foursomes that the main hallway broke left.

A charity golf tournament was held inside the Woodland Hills Marriott the other day.

Some celebrities and some plain folks got together for a bellman’s version of miniature golf. Everyone was handed a putter and a ball, and they set off to putt-putt through 18 very short holes in the hotel’s lobby, hallways and larger suites.

Sand was sprinkled on the floor to form “traps” and potted plants acted as “trees.” The doorman advised passing foursomes that the main hallway broke left.

Cute idea. And money was raised for a good cause. But it seems these people missed a rare opportunity.

See, the Marriott is a reasonably nice hotel. Expensively decorated with ornamental vases and potted plants. Extensive use of glass.

Tremendous potential for damage.

Nothing quickens the pulse like an outburst of senseless demolition, so why not give everyone a full bag of clubs and let’em tee off? Imagine all the crashing and bashing about--that kind of action is a no-miss for network news. ESPN could supply color commentary. A historic event.

It could have started slowly, tension building. The first few holes crisscrossed a restaurant, so you could have ruined a few place settings and maybe somebody’s appetite. Merely a warm-up.

Holes six and seven ran through the hotel’s nightclub. Row upon row of expensive liquor bottles. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The possibilities would have been endless.

Hole 11, a nifty par three, was situated in the concierge’s VIP lounge. Here, experienced golfers could have faced a difficult chip shot to take out the chandelier. Ah, the spirit of challenge. Beginners could have opted for a simpler, straight drive through the picture window that lay just beyond the hole.

Onward to the 12th tee--the presidential suite generously furnished with Oriental artwork, glass table-tops and wonderfully delicate-looking lamps. Talk about a target-rich environment. Be sure to wear safety goggles.

Given half an hour and a decent selection of irons, my grandmother could have made a shambles of this room . . . and she has a pitiful short game.

Best of all, several fairways cut across heavily populated areas. One tee in the lobby afforded a clear lie to the front desk, where unwitting tourists waited to check in. Another hole, bordering the pool, could have offered novices an easier shot at slow-moving targets.

Envision innocent bystanders scrambling for cover. Not since the golden era of Gerald Ford has golf enjoyed such excitement. The game needs a shot in the arm. A little adrenaline, a threat of physical injury to compete with spectator sports like, say, Australian rules football.

Alas, none of this came to pass: A putter simply can’t generate the power, lift and distance required for widespread breakage.

So contestants putted peacefully. Well, relatively peacefully.

“They’re arguing and shouting,” said David Smith, a former professional golfer brought in to supervise. “They seem to be having fun.”

Players were divided into teams, suited businessmen paired with television actors. The new Gidget was there and one of the old CHIPS guys and some soap opera actors.

Some of the stars were so well-known that they had to introduce themselves at length. “I’m an unknown, quasi-pseudo-semi-celebrity,” said Stephen Mendel, who said he acts in a show called “Night Heat” that he said airs each Tuesday at 1 a.m.

Several Hollywood agents were on hand too. They scurried about the periphery, trying to get their clients noticed. One woman, who represented a teen-age actor on a Fox Network sitcom, asked a television news crew from the same network to film her young star at play. She was ignored.

Meanwhile, a hockey player turned out to be one of the best golfers. But every once in a while, he’d glance uneasily at the other players, as if antsy to lay a hip check on someone, anyone.

In a perfect world, a vicious maneuver like this would have fit perfectly with the Destruct-O-Golf theme.

“No,” said Steve Duchesne, who plays defense for the Los Angeles Kings. “In the summer I’m kind of quiet.”

Another wasted opportunity.

You couldn’t even find a violently bad dresser in the crowd. Several people wore plaid, but there wasn’t a single pair of Sansabelt slacks to be seen. One woman had the audacity to show up wearing Batman earrings. Think she’d get two steps inside a stuffy club like Augusta?

Yet, despite the crowd and the setting, this tournament did have some similarity to real golf.

People cheated.

“Lots of cheating,” said one tournament organizer. “Terrible cheating.”

People drank a lot too. Every third hole passed by a bar. Now this feature should be incorporated into regulation golf. Want to see a pro like Greg Norman really lose it in sudden death? Feed him a half-dozen margaritas on the back nine.

Anyway, the 70 or so businessmen and actors seemed to have fun, and they raised $5,000 for the Celebrity Outreach Foundation, which gives money to groups like the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation, Planned Parenthood and the Greater Los Angeles Partnership for the Homeless.

Still, no pottery was shattered. No wood splintered or mirrors cracked. No broken glass.

Just think, this could have been something special.