My dad is a very reasonable man, which makes his attitude towards single golfers all the more baffling. Before I go on, I should clarify that by single golfers I mean individuals that play alone. People outside of relationships are free to play as they please, so long as they don’t rock up as a lone wolf expecting an ambulance escort from first tee to last.
I used to find it so strange as a kid when Dad would refuse to let a fella on his own play through. They could be right up our arses on every shot, making our round about as comfortable as a haemorrhoid, and still the old man would hold firm like William Wallace facing down the advancing red coats at the Battle of Sterling Bridge.
“Anyone playing on their own has no rights on a golf course,” he’d say. And in fairness to the man, the rules of golf would back up his stubborn stance, stating “a single player has no standing and should give way to a match of any kind”.
Still Da, come on! A bit of cop on depending on the situation and the likelihood is that a few minutes of inconvenience letting them through would make everyone’s day far more enjoyable. Loosen up a little!
It was only as I got older that I was able to put the foot down on the subject. I was hitting it well past Dad by that stage and if anything, his stride was shortening as a new breed of golfer inspired by Tiger Woods started overtaking the old man. In 2004 he was 60, he looked 70 and felt 30 and around the time he started accepting that it’s probably best to give single players the overtaking lane, the rules of golf shifted.
Under the etiquette section of the great book of rules, speed would now determine right of way on a golf course, simply declaring that if you can’t keep up with the group ahead and you’re delaying the group behind, then said group should be invited to play through. And before you get pedantic, Dad, in this case, a single was classified as a group.
That’s not to say that others don’t share my old man’s view. I like to play alone sometimes and I’ve been burned plenty by discourteous groups refusing to let me through despite my best efforts to be the haemorrhoid in their day. It’s not that I’d ever hit up on them, but I’d gesticulate my impatience by getting to the tee-box as they were moving off it, pegging up in the ground and swinging rigorously until I was seen.
It’s not that I expect to play through if there’s traffic ahead. And I understand how an influx of singles can act like potholes on a busy tee sheet. If it’s packed, I’ll offer to join up with anyone who’ll have me. More often than not though, if I’m playing alone, I’ll slot in where I’m able and play a couple of balls at an ambling gait. Hoping the swing is somewhat consistent so I’m not playing military golf – LEFT-RIGHT-LEFT – looking for strays like a lonely eejit instead of enjoying the meditative sanctuary of the course. The only thought in my head working on how to improve at this solitary pursuit that is often best shared, but sometimes just as satisfying all on your lonesome.
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