Insert typical joke here about getting beaned by a ball or having an angry fellow competitor throw his putter, which beelines for your forehead as if it's had a homing device installed inside of it. Yeah, those risks exist, we suppose, but you're more likely to be eaten by a shark in Vegas.
The real danger here is a twisted ankle, a wrenched neck, an aching back. It's hard enough to beat the best players in the world when you're in perfect shape, feeling no pain, hungry to hit. The Advil usually starts around age 25 or so. And it doesn't leave until your stomach is torn up to such an extent that the scars never leave you.
It's a house of cards—if you're not aggressive in fixing your body, your already elusive swing confidence eludes, and then, one day, it's just gone. Ask once-promising pro David Duval for deets.