Dustin Johnson returns to the scene of the 'crime'

— -- HAVEN, Wis. -- The signs are everywhere this week. Literally. The golden-hued, 8½-by-11-inch sheets of paper have been carefully hung in each of the two player locker rooms on boards marked "Important Notices." Just in case PGA Championship competitors scurry past without looking, these signs are also plastered to the walls in a place they can hardly miss -- right above every urinal.

"All areas of the course that were designed and built as bunkers, filled with sand, will be played as bunkers (hazards), whether or not they have been raked," the signs read. They go on to advise players that bunkers outside the ropes, even those strewn with trash and pockmarked by tire tracks, will still serve as hazards throughout the tournament.

Nobody in the field needs a reminder of why there are so many reminders. They're all because of one player and one very famous incident.

In the annals of major championship history, some tournaments are remembered more for the player who crashed and burned toward cataclysmic disaster than the one whose name was forever etched onto the trophy. Roberto De Vicenzo signing an incorrect scorecard at the 1968 Masters. Greg Norman's chances taking a slow death march around Augusta National in 1996. Phil Mickelson driving into a corporate tent at Winged Foot to close the 2006 U.S. Open. Tom Watson breaking our hearts with a final-hole bogey at the 2009 Open Championship.

Then there's the 2010 PGA Championship, recognized less for Martin Kaymer's playoff victory over Bubba Watson than what preceded it. On the 72nd hole at Whistling Straits, Dustin Johnson hit a wayward drive into a dirt-laden bunker that was also filled with spectators.

The rest has been forever immortalized as one of golf's all-time blunders. Failing to recall those locker room notices -- yes, they existed then, too -- Johnson grounded his club before hitting his approach shot. Both he and the organizing committee shared blame, but it was Johnson who reaped the misfortune. He was forced to assess himself a 2-stroke penalty, keeping him from being included in that playoff.

Five years and so many close calls later, Johnson returns to the scene this week -- still without a major championship title, but also without much regret for what happened that fateful Sunday afternoon.

"I don't really think about it," he insists, "unless someone asks me the question."

The exact location of Johnson's folly -- Dustin's Dustbin, if you will -- won't be visible this week. The bunker remains, but it's been buried under a spectator grandstand to the right of the 18th hole.

There are, however, more than 1,000 bunkers on this golf course, a number still disputed because some of them are barely big enough to hold a couple of paying fans and their beer cans. Do the math, and that's an astounding average of at least 55 bunkers per hole.

Coupled with what took place five years ago, it's enough to make players give a little more attention than usual.

"I think we all kind of know," said Zach Johnson, "based on that incident, [we're] better safe than sorry."

"We'll just stay out of all those areas," Rickie Fowler explained hopefully, "and if we get in there, we'll make sure everything is done properly."

Expect that to also be the case for the 6-foot-4, 190-pound driving machine affectionately known by the initials DJ. Earlier this summer, Johnson lost the U.S. Open when he 3-putted the final green at Chambers Bay; he followed by turning an Open Championship title contention into a T-49 result, thanks to a pair of 75s to close.

He very well might now be saddled with the dreaded Best Player to Have Never Won a Major label -- golf's answer to the world's most backhanded compliment.

For a player who so rarely shows much emotion, he allowed Wednesday that losing impacts him more than he usually lets on.

"It's frustrating sometimes, but I try not to let it bother me," he said. "It's hard to win majors, it really is. You ask any of the guys out here, it's tough, especially the ones that haven't won. I mean, even the guys that have won, they will tell you how tough it is."

He quickly dismisses any notion that he's growing weary of the criticisms.

"I'm not tired of it yet. Ask me in five or 10 years and maybe I'll be tired of it by then. But as of right now, I'm not."

As he returns to the scene of perhaps his greatest opportunity to win a major, Johnson is neither wrapped up in sentimentality nor despondent over what could have been.

This might surprise you, but he isn't taking any extra precautions, either.

At some point this week, Johnson might stop himself in the locker room and read one of those golden-hued signs. He might take specific notice of the language. He might laugh at just how many are posted throughout the area.

Not yet, though. He doesn't see the need.

"I haven't looked at them, but I don't need to," he explained. "After what happened, I'm pretty sure I know what's going on."