Who You Play Golf With Matters

A few weeks ago, Annette and I ended up playing golf with some friends on short notice. We didn’t have time to warm up or hit the range, so my first drive could have gone anywhere. We just went straight to the tee. It was a casual round, set up informally, and I was happy about that. Of course, I still wanted to play well, especially since I’d just changed my swing. I never seem to lose the urge to hit a good iron shot.

But really, we were there to spend the afternoon together, and golf was just our way of doing that.

I also enjoy competitive golf. This season, I’ve played in league nights, money games, and tournaments, often with people who take the game seriously. I like having a reason to focus on a putt, and there’s something fun about the suspense of a close match near the end of a round. It feels good to help a partner when they need it, especially if I’ve tested their patience on earlier holes. I’d miss that part of golf if it weren’t part of my week.

But lately, I’ve noticed the difference between these types of rounds. When I play for money, I don’t feel completely comfortable with the other players, even though I want to win. When there’s nothing at stake, I enjoy the afternoon in a different way. I’m beginning to wonder how much of that difference comes from the money, how much comes from the company, and how much comes from the pressure I bring with me.

One good thing about working to get better is that skilled golfers have let me join their games. I haven’t needed to have a perfect game—mine is still a work in progress, with some ups and downs. Still, these respected players keep inviting me, and that means a lot. When you’re still learning, being welcomed by good players makes the process feel easier.

You can learn a lot just by being around that group, even if no one gives you swing tips. Watching how someone else makes decisions, what mistakes they accept, and how they react to a bad shot teaches you plenty. You see someone focus on their next shot instead of dwelling on the last one. That’s more useful than hearing again that golf is a mental game—we already know that. Now, the real question is how to handle the mindset I bring to the course each day.

Being in good company helps you learn. You’re expected to play, keep moving, and join in, but you don’t have to explain yourself after a bad hole. It’s generous to let someone have an off day; no one has to pretend they played well, and your place in the group doesn’t depend on your score.

Some rounds feel completely different. Every score gets compared, every mistake is discussed, and even a simple question about your game can feel complicated. Sometimes it’s friendly rivalry, other times it’s just a group habit. Either way, you might end up worrying more about how you look as a golfer than about your next shot. You explain the lie, mention the wind, or say you don’t normally do what just happened. You can spend a lot of energy defending a seven.

I can create this kind of pressure in my own head—no one needs to show up with a clipboard. I’ve already been embarrassed by my game this year, so I know criticism doesn’t always come from others. Even a simple question can make me explain everything about my golf lately. Picking good partners doesn’t remove the need to be less defensive about bad golf, but it does make that work easier. Around others, I feel like I have to start over.

This is where money games get interesting. They give you a set time, a group, a familiar format, and a reason to show up. That’s a big part of why people like them. You don’t have to plan each week from scratch. But the routine can get so familiar that you stop asking if you’re enjoying it—you just go because it’s what you do. Even if the round isn’t great, you come back the next week to try again.

There’s also a challenge when almost every round feels like a test of how well I’m playing right now. It makes sense to try something you’ve practiced in a money game, but you might not have the patience to stick with a change that hasn’t settled in yet. When a partner is counting on you, you just try whatever might work right then. That’s fine—playing in the moment is part of learning. But I’m not sure how much I improve when every round feels like it has to prove something by the eighteenth hole.

A season can get packed with golf without really being set up for progress.

This doesn’t mean the right partner should always make things easy. I want to learn how to play when something is on the line. I need to get better at committing to a shot, even if I’d rather have another practice swing. A good partner might be the one who doesn’t let me dwell on my bad luck. Sometimes, being told to move on is a real act of friendship. The best company isn’t always the one that asks the least of you.

The best partner isn’t always the one with the lowest handicap. Being a good golfer isn’t the same as being a good companion. I appreciate a serious player who can compete without making the whole afternoon about himself. I also respect a social golfer who listens, enjoys a good shot no matter who hits it, and knows when a little quiet is nice. Everyone has their own preferences. What matters is that the group understands each other well enough for everyone to enjoy the round.

By the end of summer, after finishing the league, tournaments, and regular matches, I started to feel a bit too exposed. It wasn’t just the number of rounds, but the feeling that so many of them came with expectations about how I should play. In a golf community, it’s easy for the game to fill all your free time. That’s part of why I live here, and I’m still grateful for it. But after a while, I didn’t always need another invitation.

Sometimes, I just wanted to walk, play a few holes, and let the afternoon be simple instead of making it another scheduled event.

Autumn has made me realize this. The weather is cooler, walking feels good again, and I want to bring both my camera and golf clubs. Since the summer heat changed how I played, walking again has made me think about how I want to spend the rest of the season. I still have things to work on, and I haven’t given up on getting better, but I’m not sure playing every round is the answer.

When it comes to setting goals for the coming months, I have no difficulty in spotting the parts of my game that need work. But choosing what kind of golf to play each week—and who to play it with—is less familiar to me, even though it matters. A competitive round gives practice a clear purpose, while a relaxed round lets me see what I’m really doing. Spending an afternoon with Annette and our friends reminds me that golf doesn’t have to be complicated to be worth going out for.

I want to make sure I leave space for these outings, instead of letting my schedule decide everything.

I still want money games to be part of my week, especially when the people involved care about the result and are good company all the same. However, when the next invitation comes along, I’m going to think a bit more about the afternoon that it will bring, instead of just checking whether I am free. I take a lot of time deciding which club to use for the next shot; after a season like this, the people I walk with deserve at least the same consideration.

Until next time,

MVM