What Counts as a Great Round?

The older I get, the more questions I ask about golf. The funny thing is, I don’t care as much about the answers as I enjoy the pondering.

I’ve recently started reflecting on what constitutes a great round of golf. It could be ending up with the same ball you started with, or completing all eighteen holes without suffering a double bogey. A few birdies are always a pleasure, and there’s satisfaction in finally hitting an iron shot exactly as you’ve wanted all season long. Other times, it’s just a nice walk with friends, especially when nobody wants to leave after the last hole.

When we ask someone how they played, we seldom consider all the possibilities. Instead, we usually get a figure together with a brief account of why it should have been different. Even if the score is good, there is almost always some three-putt which has to be explained.

I understand that. I really do care about my score nowadays. I practice, and I take part in competitions, and I want my good performance to carry on until the last hole. I’m not aiming to define what makes a great round in a way that excuses me from giving my best effort.

I am beginning to believe there is more than one way to view what makes a round great.

What Did You Shoot?

Lately, I’ve been more interested in my actual score—not the one after handicap strokes are applied, but the true score I got while playing the course. I’d like to find out whether my practice has been worthwhile, and that seems like a reasonable starting point. Although the score may not be what I hoped for, at least it will tell me how I performed on the course that day.

Certainly, golf players have devised a number of methods to make it a bit less awkward to mention that figure.

The breakfast ball is the most well-known example. When you arrive at the first tee with your coffee and have not done quite enough warming up, your first swing turns out badly—nobody really wants to discuss it. Before you’ve even finished watching the shot, someone remarks, “Hit another one.” Then the second ball ends up in the fairway and, straight away, the morning moves on.

I understand the reason for this. When you’re among friends, nothing matters more than letting someone recover a bit of dignity before they walk to the first tee.

The breakfast ball becomes more exciting as the round progresses. The second drive might be a par, the front nine plays smoothly, and by the sixteenth hole you have a chance to make a score you actually want. Your final score is 79, and the first drive has had almost four hours to turn into a problem.

Could it have been a great round? Perhaps it could have. You did play some excellent golf and the match was very close, so there’s plenty to recall. But actually did you shoot 79? That’s a different question, and the more important the figure is, the more difficult it seems to overlook that first swing.

I am not in a position to determine how other people should respond to that. As for myself, I would like the first swing to count as part of the round. The poor swing was my fault, just as the excellent iron shot I'll remember later was. It is difficult for me to improve at dealing with both kinds of swing if I simply leave one out of the account.

It doesn’t turn every moment of the afternoon into something more enjoyable, but it does make achieving a good score more satisfying since there’s nothing left to explain away.

“That’s Good”

I also come across this question when I am on the green.

People can be quite generous when they are near the hole; if a ball comes to rest a few feet away, somebody is usually ready to hand it to you. On a difficult hole, three feet would probably be regarded as a good result. By later in the day, hunger can make people surprisingly confident about each other’s putting.

Some games can include concessions as part of the format, and I have no issue with that. In match play, a conceded putt is valid; the match is still a great one even if not every ball has reached the bottom of the cup.

However, when I’m playing to see how well I can actually perform, I intend to complete every putt. A three-footer may appear easy until it comes between me and a score that matters to me. That's when I understand how much golf is involved in those final three feet.

I would also like to learn that aspect of the game; it is just as important as the approach shot that got me onto the green. Rather than just rely on the assumption that others think I’ll succeed, I prefer to find out how I perform in a short putt when it really counts.

It’s easier to feel like that before you’ve actually lost one.

There’s a certain satisfaction in seeing the ball drop into the hole. The hole is now complete. Once I’ve totaled my score, I will know precisely what it consisted of. I may consider how I could have played better, but I won’t need to ask whether my friends’ generosity affected it.

One type of satisfaction I consider to be part of a good round is the fact that, even if it’s not about getting my lowest score, I can still be happy with the way I stuck to it, completed the round properly, and gained an understanding of what I am capable of without taking any breaks.

I think I understand it, and then winter comes.

The Inactive Season

In western Colorado, the handicap-posting season ends in mid-November and begins again on March 15. The Colorado Golf Association sets this timetable because winter makes the course play differently than its rated condition. That is reasonable, but I still think the term “inactive season” is a bit funny because it doesn’t really apply to the golfers I know in Montrose.

There’s a pride in being tough here, and we enjoy living in a place with real weather because we don’t want to spend half the year indoors looking out of the windows. As soon as the temperature reaches 55 degrees, people will start wearing shorts and skirts. A forecast that would make someone in another place add an extra layer is enough for us to take one off.

I really do like that about this place; although there is a bit of stubbornness, we mostly just enjoy being outdoors in the state we have decided to call our home.

At my home course, the regulars are proud to play all the time as long as the course is open and the weather permits. The fact that it’s November doesn’t mean that everybody puts their clubs away since there are still people to play with and courses to work out. Although the handicap calendar includes an off-season, no one in this area regards it as a rule.

It may seem simple to say that summer is the season for serious golf and winter for just taking a walk, but that is not actually the case. I enjoy walking in July as well, and I still want to improve even in January. The course itself and our expectations for the game change.

Usually in the summer, I play so much that I expect to get something out of the games. There are league nights, tournaments, and money games, and one round seems to lead straight on into the next. I would like to see if I can arrange a whole afternoon’s play. A good round might be a high score, a card without any doubles, or the satisfaction of getting to the final holes with a chance to do something worthwhile and, in fact, completing them.

Winter presents a new kind of difficulty. A hole I know well could still require a shot I have never attempted. When I reach a distance I know well, I may find that my normal club isn’t the most suitable. The wise move might be to hit the ball short and let it roll, or to decide not to aim at the flag. The hole is still there—I just have to look at it differently.

That’s useful for someone trying to become what golfers call a player; I am still working to understand what that term actually means, and it may well be something to discuss on another occasion. However, I believe there is a great deal to be learned from playing a course you know well when your normal routines cease to work.

I would like to improve my ability to notice those options and at the same time be more willing to choose the smarter one, although that could be a completely different kind of challenge.

Compared to a summer scorecard, a good winter round could appear quite ordinary. Maybe I played a tough hole well, got myself out of trouble without adding more strokes, or discovered a shot I never would have thought of before. I might end up with a score that would have disappointed me in June and yet be quite satisfied with the afternoon. I don't need to feign having scored lower; I just need to remember what I set out to achieve and how successfully I did it.

There is also the question of the company; there’s a certain appeal in walking around with other people who have likewise decided not to stay at home. We might end up playing only nine holes, and the best part could be the conversation or watching a friend hit a shot we both thought wouldn’t work. Having to put on another layer and go out to the course isn’t such a bad idea after all.

It would be difficult to describe that as an inactive afternoon.

A Round Worth Playing

There’s a pleasant aspect to knowing my score, even though it has no effect on my handicap; it reminds me I care about my golf, not just the official score. I can complete the putt, note the number, and gain some knowledge—even if the round doesn’t appear in GHIN.

I hope that the golfing I did in the winter will prove worthwhile when the posting season resumes. But I don’t want its value to depend solely on what happens in March.

The same goes for walking with friends. I don’t want to regard their company as a consolation when I haven’t played well. Sometimes, the people themselves are the main reason I want to play. However, that doesn’t mean I won’t make an effort to beat them; on the contrary, competing with one another might be part of what makes the day so enjoyable.

I am starting to realize how much can happen in one round. I can be annoyed because a putt has missed, pleased with an approach shot, and still really enjoy the company of my fellow players. A bad stretch doesn’t wipe out the good times, and a good score doesn’t make every aspect of the day special, which is the reason why I am hesitant to settle on a single definition of a great round.

I know the satisfaction of a score I am proud of, and I also see the appeal of keeping the same ball for all eighteen holes, finally completing the course without a double, or playing a few shots that make me look forward to coming back.

And sometimes, after thinking so much about it, all that results is a good walk.

I’ll keep working on my game. Whenever I achieve a score I’m proud of, I want it to cover both the first swing and the final putt. At the same time, I’d like to be the type of golfer who can go home after a normal round and still feel pleased with how it went, whether it’s summer or a winter day that doesn’t appear in the records. All I don’t want is for getting better at golf to cause me to lose the ability to see a good day.

Until Next Time,

MVM