Becoming a Player

When Colt Knost asked a group of tour pros what an amateur should score to be considered good at golf, Scottie Scheffler said scoring in the 80s would be all right. Rory McIlroy, by contrast, thought that one should break 80. I found Scottie’s answer more encouraging, even though the word “acceptable” does a bit to reduce the spirit of something one has invested a great deal of time in achieving. Still, I would stick with it.

It was reasonable to provide a numerical response when the question was about scoring, but Collin Morikawa introduced a small complication by not giving a score and instead talking about finishing the holes and staying clear of double bogeys. This point struck me. While I could see the advantage of a clear cutoff, I also doubted what I would really know about a player after learning he scored a 79.

Although I would know he is capable of playing well enough to shoot a 79, I would want to play a round with him before making any further comments.

I have been giving a good deal of effort to lowering my own scores. It has always been important to me to lower my handicap, particularly when it seemed my practice wasn’t leading to much improvement on the course. I enjoy seeing the improvements reflected in the numbers, and I would like to see much more of that. Yet recently, when I think about the golfers I respect, I find myself focusing on what happens before the scores are recorded.

It is necessary to distinguish between learning the golf swing and learning how to play the game. I have spent a reasonable amount of time on the first. There is always something to improve—the takeaway, the transition, or the moment the club strikes the ground. When a few shots go well, the new idea may seem like the answer; but when I have a bad round, I look for a different one. At times, I don’t give an idea enough time to settle down compared with the time it took me to discover it.

Experience and hard work matter; I never improved unless I made an effort to understand what I was doing. The difficulty lies in fitting all that instruction into the course while also being required to give a lesson when I should be playing my hole. Following a bad iron shot, I can become so caught up in thinking about the swing that I almost fail to notice where the ball has come to rest. Yet I must play the next shot from that spot.

Any adjustments I might need can generally wait until after I finish the hole.

It has become obvious to me as a result of playing more serious golf at Cobble Creek. Even though I enjoy a well-hit drive, I've come to find the less impressive elements of a good player’s performance just as interesting. For instance, the way the game settles down to a simple pitch, the approach aimed comfortably away from the flag even though I should have been tempted to take it, and the long putt that ends in such a position that the next one becomes a tap-in.

These little points are easy to miss when one is looking forward to something spectacular.

You then add up the scores and check how much they have achieved.

The person I am observing knows his limits. Even if he doesn’t hit the ball very well, he has a good notion of where it is likely to come to rest. When he looks at a hole, he can pick an appropriate place to put the ball. He understands that his longest ever seven-iron should not be used as a guide when there is water in play. I fully understand this kind of reasoning when I look at another person's club choice.

Even with a gap in the trees, it can still have a big effect on you since you can see the green through it, and that makes the target feel solid. You remember once hitting a low punch shot that curved in that direction. The sensible route back to the fairway now starts to feel like a confession you’d rather not make. The thing I’m trying to work out is how to assess that shot without, at the same time, having to come to terms with the one which got you into this mess.

Of course, there are cases where you should try the shot. I am not so cautious as to deprive myself of the pleasure of attempting something difficult, especially when the game gives me the chance. Part of learning how to play consists in learning to recognize those specific situations. Another point is that a sensible decision can still lead to a poor shot; this happens when you are still getting used to carrying out the shot.

There is a valid reason why I am against introducing a handicap requirement if you want to become a player. You can make better decisions even if you still struggle to hit the ball reliably; you can choose the right club, account for the wind, and still miss the green. Although the number on the card may appear familiar, you have worked out the figure in your own way. I hope this leads to better scores in the long run. At present, it seems reasonable to admit that you are in the process of learning.

The course also involves some sort of accompaniment—so which one? Which tees should you play on? What was the weather like? Spending afternoons in the wind in western Colorado can turn a perfectly ordinary round into something quite ordinary by the time it shows up on the scorecard.

And even if the weather is good, two rounds with the same total can call for very different things from you; in one case you might have managed it fairly easily, while in the other you could have spent four hours looking for ways to keep your composure. That is the kind of round I would like to get better at.

There are many opportunities available. In our Tuesday night league, playing a four-footer is only a minor effort until another player is ready to test whether you can make it. The money involved in our regular games doesn’t reflect the care we put into them. I enjoy this point. I want to find out what I can achieve when there is a consequence, even a small one, and when the next ball has to count.

I am now beginning to regard the player who stays in the round even if his performance is not good as someone worth respecting. Since there is still a hole to play, a putt to make, and a chance to help his partner, it is tempting to decide early on, “Today isn’t your day.” I can see why that explanation is attractive at the outset; by staying involved, you keep the result in doubt a bit longer and leave it possible that you might do something useful before the round is over.

One reason is that you have had difficulties before. In previous instances, you have fumbled your way around in a hole in front of people who respect you for your golf and have had to walk to the next tee as a result. You also have enough recoveries to know the first few holes don’t always show how the rest of the afternoon will turn out. Although I am gradually gaining both kinds of experience, I would prefer to build it up in less embarrassing situations, since the game has its own way of teaching.

It lets me notice more details. For instance, I can see the space between my ball and the green, or I might realize that a stance I thought was perfect from the tee left an awkward angle. Occasionally, looking back on a hole makes something obvious that wasn't clear to me when I was playing it. The more I learn why certain shots are so difficult, the more an unfamiliar course interests me. As a result, I don’t just want to get through the course; I also want to understand the area.

You might, of course, go in a cart, but I prefer to walk as that would undermine the credibility of my circumstances. Whether my clothes are smart or not, how often I play, or the fact that I'm drinking a beer makes no difference. A man who plays once a week could quite possibly have a good knowledge of the game. What I’m interested in is the attention he gives to the game when he’s playing. There is also room for someone who wants a pleasant Saturday with friends.

Golf needn’t require everyone to share my desires.

One should also be aware of what is happening outside one’s own ball. A round can reveal far more than a handicap ever can. Even if I am unhappy with my own play, I can still see that someone else has just hit his best shot of the day and let him enjoy it. On the other hand, if while walking to the green I take the time to explain my own misfortunes, I may never realize what that shot meant to him.

I have given this more thought recently because I know just how important a little encouragement can be when you’re working to keep up in a good group. No one needs to go to all that effort; it’s enough if a player you respect notices your shot or treats you like someone who belongs in the game. The more I am invited to play in better games, the more I long to remember what it’s like to be the one hoping he won’t end up spending the afternoon apologizing.

We pick up a lot of our knowledge from a club. A regular group shows you how the game is played, how seriously you should take a match, and what to do if you have a question. You find out who is willing to play, who keeps an accurate score, and who makes it easy for a new member to join in. The Tuesday night league provides an educational experience in all these respects. After having spent a few evenings together, you know a good deal more about each other than the results suggest.

I don’t want the word ‘player’ to end up as another title we assign to ourselves but don’t give to other people; I’m using it to describe something I am trying to learn. The golfers I most respect are comfortable with the resources at their disposal and can compete without making every shot a demonstration of their skill, leaving room in the afternoon for someone else’s game. To me, that seems ambitious enough without needing a qualifying score.

I’ll carry on with the swing. There are still a few points which I would like to go over with it. At the same time, I want to be ready at the first tee to see what I can achieve with the game I have brought, rather than having to wish during the round that I had brought a different one. On a good day I can do that for a while. After that, if I miss a short putt, I’ll have to decide how much of the next hole I’ll spend thinking about it. I suppose that’s another thing I should practice, too.

Until Next Time,

MVM