Playing the Old Course:
Notes from my chance to play at the home of golf
PLAYING THE OLD COURSE:
Alister Mackenzie said, “The Old Course at St Andrews rarely appeals at first sight, and it not infrequently takes years before scoffers succumb to its many virtues.” I went into my round with that notion already baked into my expectations. It does seem to be the kind of place that would get more and more fun each time. I am very glad that I played it and am thankful for all the things that lined up for it to happen. My local host put me in contact with several guys in the area who had Links Cards which allows locals to enter their own lottery for select tee times. One of them submitted our names and thankfully got chosen to play. This was near the end of our time in St. Andrews and I had prepared myself for the possibility that I might leave without getting on. I was okay with that, I had breathed the air and walked the streets for almost 2 weeks with my family. But when the message came that we had a tee time, I was thrilled.
My host’s name was Scott, he is a police officer in nearby Guardbridge. He was a rugby player in his youth and took up golf for a less body-abusive competitive outlet. We had a great time. As far as the course goes, there are little nuances that you cannot see until you are already upon or past them. For these and other reasons the Old Course is both maddening and fascinating. Because I played with a local connection and because he had already used all his allotted guest fee passes for the year, I paid full price. But because Scott was local, I did not feel that hiring a caddie was an absolute necessity. I saved a few pounds and enjoyed chatting with Scott and learning from him in between holes. The only mischief that came as the result of my not having a caddie on my bag was that in the emotional swirl of the experience, (until the 17th fairway) I failed to realize that the distances displayed on the markers on the fairways represented the distances to the fronts of each green and not the middle. Who can say what might have been had I realized this sooner, I probably would have shot even par with that info, right…RIGHT? [1]
Scott had a beautiful headcover on one of the clubs in his bag. It was from Panmure, the course where Ben Hogan had stayed and practiced in preparation for his becoming The Champion Golfer of the Year in the 1953 Open at nearby Carnoustie. Scott purchased the memento when he had played there. He said that while he had loved the experience, that wasn’t the main reason that he bought the headcover. The club’s logo features a single clam shell. Scott filled me in on some history of the town where he lives and works as a police officer. For centuries pilgrims travelled to St. Andrews to view the relics of St. Andrew himself. 4 miles outside of town was a bridge that had to be crossed to get into St. Andrews. Upon arrival travelers would be stopped by guards prior to crossing the bridge (thus the name of the town Guardbridge). After being approved to continue on to St. Andrews, these guards would give each traveler a single clam shell as a token of their pilgrim journey. Maybe it’s a stretch but I like to think of these guards as the predecessors to the police force (on which Scott now serves). The image of a clamshell held a deeper meaning for Scott. He told me that upon the baptism of his first child[1], the minister presented them with a single clam shell to represent the journey through life that his son was beginning. What a meaningful gesture and powerful idea, and a great thing to have in your golf bag.
Speaking of relics, my friend and golfing buddy (Father Brad Doyle) sent me with a single Srixon golf ball with the request that it be returned to him after I used it on the Old Course for one hole during my golf pilgrimage. I used it on 18 (to ensure that I did not lose it) and took a picture of it where I found it, resting just against that concrete walking path that crosses the fairway. The more time that I spent wandering around St. Andrews the more I thought about my friendship with Fr. Brad and how strange it would be to walk the streets with him. At one moment we could stand on the grounds that gave birth to the game that gave birth to our friendship. At another moment we could stand on any of several sites where our ecclesiological forefathers destroyed and burned buildings and shed each other’s blood. The Catholic influence that was such a deep part of the heritage of the town for centuries was effectively erased by not just protestants, but Presbyterian ministers like me. Maybe one day we can go there together and walk those streets and think about what it will be like in the New Heavens and the New Earth and whether it will be as hard to get on the Old Course then as it is now. I like reminding Brad what I learned from golf historian Steven Proctor: Old Tom Morris said that the achievement he was most proud of in his life was representing his church as a presbyter at the General Assembly. I do not share the same affection for General Assembly, but I like to think of Old Tom being there with a smile on his face.
NOTES:
[1] I played “ok” for much of the round. From tee to green I made a four* on the Road Hole (#17). Prior to those 4* strokes however, I bounced a ball off of the Old Course Hotel. So, I carded a 6 with my family watching, but the strangers watching near the green did not know that, and they appropriately celebrated my heroic approach shot followed by a sensible two putt. (I shot 86 with a “45 on the back”)
[2] Scott also told me that he would later take this son (Finn) to play his first real round of golf at a little course on the Isle of Arran. He had spent holidays with his family on the island for most of his life. His Granny had a caravan there where they would visit every year. Granny and Caravan are two English words that I prefer to hear in the Scottish accent whenever possible.