Preface
A few weeks ago, I was plodding my way down the 12th hole at Blackwell admiring the renovation work to the green site as part of the winter programme when Richard Pennell (@pitchmarks on twitter) from Woking Golf Club called me out of the blue. My initial thought was that I was in trouble for something I had said, but after some premature apologies and general well wishes between us Richard quickly got into the reason for the call. He wanted to write more about golf…
An art form within the game which is sadly in decline, he asked whether he could put some essays together for us at Cookie Jar linked to some of our other forms of content. Our supporters will know we are only too happy to stand behind other people’s professional endeavours and bask in the reflected glory so the answer was of course yes!
Richard’s first piece below is a retort to the Top100GolfCourses podcast we launched last week… It’s a fabulous read!
Enjoy
Rank Outsiders
As usually happens, a polite notification informing me that the latest Cookie Jar Golf podcast has been released leads to an immediate cessation of less vital tasks, and I head for a darkened room, headphones in hand. Episode #114 talks about the evolution of golf rankings, and in particular the top100golfcourses.com platform, an old and cherished friend.
The various lists around have been of great value and interest to me over the years. I’ve rated courses for a British magazine before, used them to broaden my architectural (or “architectooralooral”, for the Darwin fans among you) horizons, and even stumbled upon a job or two as a result of courses I’d discovered along the way.
As the “Rank of Ranks” blog post explains, for clubs there is great value in these charts, too – whether as a marketing tool for membership locally or a magnet to draw visitors across the Atlantic. I’ve been lucky to have been part of some sympathetic development at Darwin’s old heathland home, Woking, where the direction of travel was reflected in some urgent strides up certain rankings, to the mock disdain of the local neighbours. There’s something in this, too – a bragging rights issue at stake, for both the clubs and the players collecting ball-markers they’ll never use.
For the golfer, rankings may help suggest venues for occasional or regular play, and help inform mouth watering travel itineraries. They can provide variety and education, and along the way a bundle of additional memories and experiences to form their own golfing narrative, from the well trodden pilgrimage to the Swilkan Bridges of this world to the more personal appeal of a road less travelled, perhaps in a visit to Borth, or Askernish.
There are so many lists, though, and they serve different purposes. As another CJG blog post explains, the metrics by which a given ranking positions a course are different in each case, some weighted more about the course itself, and some factoring in the wider lens of the visitor experience, or perhaps the shower pressure (that one’s for you, Sam), and even those metrics are subject to change.
Most lists stick to a Top 100 format for each area, too, but again the CJG analysis shows a great deal of movement outside the broad consensus over the top 50 or so places. In preparing to download this nonsense on you all, I dug out an old copy of Tom Doak’s Confidential Guide (the red hardback version from his garage, still very grateful Tom, 15 years on), and was amused to recall that his “Gourmet Choice – 31 Flavours of Golf” list was not only alphabetical, thus removing the internal rank element, but that the number of courses mentioned was based on the fact that “_31 flavours was just enough variety for the true gourmet in the world of ice cream_”. Presumably served with sticky toffee pudding in a few of those clubhouses. And before you ask, I’ve only played 11 of them (cue the violin music). But they were great!
So why do I feel conflicted about these lists, and the role they play in the industry? I think some people and clubs get too fixated on this stuff, and expect rankings to be an absolute and scientific measure rather than the subjective indication that they can only be at best, and I think if you run into this trap you risk frustration and can miss the point entirely, lost in a joyless and expensive pursuit of status. I think I have emerged from that state, and hope to drag a few others out with me if I can.
Lying beside me is a wonderful, largely unknown book called “The Art of Possibility” by Benjamin and Rosamund Zander, and in it they talk about two mindsets, not in the context of golf, though I wish they played it, but of another, supposedly endangered species – classical music – Ben’s professional arena. Two opposing ways of experiencing life are explored with humour – “The World of Measurement” and “A Universe of Opportunity”.
We know “The World of Measurement” well by now. Our lives are run in numbers, the endless classification going on in our minds and all around us all the time, and this reliance on statistics, hit-rates, and click-throughs only gains momentum with the march of technology. The restaurants we visit and the books we buy are rated relentlessly, and this notion of consensus as a mark of quality or common sense has some limiting connotations for a species with a herd mentality hardwired into us.
The clubs we visit measure footfall, spend per visitor, and customer satisfaction all the time; meanwhile our phones are probably tracking our location and lining up adverts (for new putters, perhaps) that will distract us from the experience before us, and AI will only strengthen this data focus as time rolls on.
But subjectivity is evident throughout the ranking process, so to get too attached to these numbers would be a shame. The reviewers, no matter how experienced or intelligent, will see each venue through a variety of filters and biases, and how could it be any different?
The weather, the welcome in the bar, the presentation of the course on that day – these can only influence, subtly, our perceptions, not to mention more emotional factors like exclusivity or privilege. So when I see people getting a little too obsessed, or proud, or even outraged by a new listing, I have to remind myself to take all of this with a pinch of salt.
This is where the Zanders’ book is helpful, too. I said it was largely unknown, but it oughtn’t to be. Search for it on Amazon, and you may or may not find it in print, but when someone I respect recommends a book or a golf course enough times (this time it was the marketing legend Seth Godin), it leads to a different kind of exploration for me.
I found a second-hand copy and began reading it with a sense of intrigue, just like when I turned up at Pennard one day, with no idea of what the golf course would be like, but armed with the knowledge that someone I trusted knew it well, and loved it (thanks Sean!). Neither Pennard nor the book rank at the top of any numerical listing, but to me, they are part of a different way of exploring golf, perhaps a different way of living my life.
For the “Universe of Possibility” speaks of a relationship with abundance – with being open to the multitude of experiences that are out there, waiting for us, with a healthy disregard for the prison of our constant, automatic categorisation. At some point, Ben Zander asks “how would you walk, how would you talk?” if you felt that, instead of it being a dying art form, classical music was re-framed for you as something beautiful that affects everyone. His TED talk touches on this, and I cry every time I think of it, let alone watch it. What if the rest of the world could know the hidden charms and melancholy beauty that this game we love has to offer, rather than the dodgy PR image that most non-golfers subscribe to?
The positive, open, hopeful mindset he speaks of does exhibit in me occasionally. It is when I am excitedly walking into a new golfing experience, whether it be my first glimpse of Muirfield or the pitch and putt at North Foreland. I know roughly what the former will be like (next week, don’t you dare shut the borders!), and I know I will love it, but it sits at the other end of any reasonable scale to the latter experience. Yet the thing is I LOVE golf, and there is plenty of room for both in my lifelong pursuit of this strange pastime.
The Cookie Jar Rank of Ranks notes some 29 courses that appear in only one of the four main UK listings, and it seems to me (and them: One thing we believe is that some of the most memorable courses you will play feature in this part of the rankings. They are different, they split opinion and celebrate the diversity and rich history for which the UK & Ireland’s golfing landscape is renowned.) that this is sometimes where the gold lies. When for some reason a certain course goes under the radar, lingering towards the bottom of a list or perhaps intriguingly absent from them altogether, or when, as in the case of the Zanders’ book, a recommendation that flies in the face of the statistics emerges, there is the potential for magic in the air.
My beloved New Zealand, for example, wasn’t in any of the top 100’s when I first went there, but its old world charm and subtle, strategic brilliance was and still is beguiling, to the point where I spent the best part of a glorious decade working there. From there, a great many other adventures began, to courses both obvious and obscure, and so the adventure rolls on, taking delight in even the rank outsiders. Particularly in the rank outsiders.
Using the ratings as a browsing tool for possible, different experiences has been like repeatedly helping myself to a treasure trove in the 35 years I’ve been chasing that small, untrainable ball around. With a universe of golfing possibility out there, I’ve been able to combine some exposure to the greats while discovering the hidden gems, and there has been equal enjoyment in both elements, and as a result of the latter I also look to more celebratory, focused lists like @Evalu18’s Hickory Collection or GolfClubAtlas’s 147 Custodians of the Game.
But like most things in life, these experiences are richer shared, and I am indebted to the various rankings for the fun and friendships I have picked up along the way. I won’t bore you with the tales I hold dear, because with luck you will have your own, but these various rankings are my personal satnav for the next chance to breathe in the cold air of a new golfing landscape.
And if I had to choose my favourite course of all? The next one, wherever it is. Can’t wait.
As usually happens, a polite notification informing me that the latest Cookie Jar Golf podcast has been released leads to an immediate cessation of less vital tasks, and I head for a darkened room, headphones in hand. Episode #114 talks about the evolution of golf rankings, and in particular the top100golfcourses.com platform, an old and cherished friend.
The various lists around have been of great value and interest to me over the years. I’ve rated courses for a British magazine before, used them to broaden my architectural (or “architectooralooral”, for the Darwin fans among you) horizons, and even stumbled upon a job or two as a result of courses I’d discovered along the way.
As the “Rank of Ranks” blog post explains, for clubs there is great value in these charts, too – whether as a marketing tool for membership locally or a magnet to draw visitors across the Atlantic. I’ve been lucky to have been part of some sympathetic development at Darwin’s old heathland home, Woking, where the direction of travel was reflected in some urgent strides up certain rankings, to the mock disdain of the local neighbours. There’s something in this, too – a bragging rights issue at stake, for both the clubs and the players collecting ball-markers they’ll never use.
For the golfer, rankings may help suggest venues for occasional or regular play, and help inform mouth watering travel itineraries. They can provide variety and education, and along the way a bundle of additional memories and experiences to form their own golfing narrative, from the well trodden pilgrimage to the Swilkan Bridges of this world to the more personal appeal of a road less travelled, perhaps in a visit to Borth, or Askernish.
There are so many lists, though, and they serve different purposes. As another CJG blog post explains, the metrics by which a given ranking positions a course are different in each case, some weighted more about the course itself, and some factoring in the wider lens of the visitor experience, or perhaps the shower pressure (that one’s for you, Sam), and even those metrics are subject to change.
Most lists stick to a Top 100 format for each area, too, but again the CJG analysis shows a great deal of movement outside the broad consensus over the top 50 or so places. In preparing to download this nonsense on you all, I dug out an old copy of Tom Doak’s Confidential Guide (the red hardback version from his garage, still very grateful Tom, 15 years on), and was amused to recall that his “Gourmet Choice – 31 Flavours of Golf” list was not only alphabetical, thus removing the internal rank element, but that the number of courses mentioned was based on the fact that “_31 flavours was just enough variety for the true gourmet in the world of ice cream_”. Presumably served with sticky toffee pudding in a few of those clubhouses. And before you ask, I’ve only played 11 of them (cue the violin music). But they were great!
So why do I feel conflicted about these lists, and the role they play in the industry? I think some people and clubs get too fixated on this stuff, and expect rankings to be an absolute and scientific measure rather than the subjective indication that they can only be at best, and I think if you run into this trap you risk frustration and can miss the point entirely, lost in a joyless and expensive pursuit of status. I think I have emerged from that state, and hope to drag a few others out with me if I can.
Lying beside me is a wonderful, largely unknown book called “The Art of Possibility” by Benjamin and Rosamund Zander, and in it they talk about two mindsets, not in the context of golf, though I wish they played it, but of another, supposedly endangered species – classical music – Ben’s professional arena. Two opposing ways of experiencing life are explored with humour – “The World of Measurement” and “A Universe of Opportunity”.
We know “The World of Measurement” well by now. Our lives are run in numbers, the endless classification going on in our minds and all around us all the time, and this reliance on statistics, hit-rates, and click-throughs only gains momentum with the march of technology. The restaurants we visit and the books we buy are rated relentlessly, and this notion of consensus as a mark of quality or common sense has some limiting connotations for a species with a herd mentality hardwired into us.
The clubs we visit measure footfall, spend per visitor, and customer satisfaction all the time; meanwhile our phones are probably tracking our location and lining up adverts (for new putters, perhaps) that will distract us from the experience before us, and AI will only strengthen this data focus as time rolls on.
But subjectivity is evident throughout the ranking process, so to get too attached to these numbers would be a shame. The reviewers, no matter how experienced or intelligent, will see each venue through a variety of filters and biases, and how could it be any different?
The weather, the welcome in the bar, the presentation of the course on that day – these can only influence, subtly, our perceptions, not to mention more emotional factors like exclusivity or privilege. So when I see people getting a little too obsessed, or proud, or even outraged by a new listing, I have to remind myself to take all of this with a pinch of salt.
This is where the Zanders’ book is helpful, too. I said it was largely unknown, but it oughtn’t to be. Search for it on Amazon, and you may or may not find it in print, but when someone I respect recommends a book or a golf course enough times (this time it was the marketing legend Seth Godin), it leads to a different kind of exploration for me.
I found a second-hand copy and began reading it with a sense of intrigue, just like when I turned up at Pennard one day, with no idea of what the golf course would be like, but armed with the knowledge that someone I trusted knew it well, and loved it (thanks Sean!). Neither Pennard nor the book rank at the top of any numerical listing, but to me, they are part of a different way of exploring golf, perhaps a different way of living my life.
For the “Universe of Possibility” speaks of a relationship with abundance – with being open to the multitude of experiences that are out there, waiting for us, with a healthy disregard for the prison of our constant, automatic categorisation. At some point, Ben Zander asks “how would you walk, how would you talk?” if you felt that, instead of it being a dying art form, classical music was re-framed for you as something beautiful that affects everyone. His TED talk touches on this, and I cry every time I think of it, let alone watch it. What if the rest of the world could know the hidden charms and melancholy beauty that this game we love has to offer, rather than the dodgy PR image that most non-golfers subscribe to?
The positive, open, hopeful mindset he speaks of does exhibit in me occasionally. It is when I am excitedly walking into a new golfing experience, whether it be my first glimpse of Muirfield or the pitch and putt at North Foreland. I know roughly what the former will be like (next week, don’t you dare shut the borders!), and I know I will love it, but it sits at the other end of any reasonable scale to the latter experience. Yet the thing is I LOVE golf, and there is plenty of room for both in my lifelong pursuit of this strange pastime.
The Cookie Jar Rank of Ranks notes some 29 courses that appear in only one of the four main UK listings, and it seems to me (and them: One thing we believe is that some of the most memorable courses you will play feature in this part of the rankings. They are different, they split opinion and celebrate the diversity and rich history for which the UK & Ireland’s golfing landscape is renowned.) that this is sometimes where the gold lies. When for some reason a certain course goes under the radar, lingering towards the bottom of a list or perhaps intriguingly absent from them altogether, or when, as in the case of the Zanders’ book, a recommendation that flies in the face of the statistics emerges, there is the potential for magic in the air.
My beloved New Zealand, for example, wasn’t in any of the top 100’s when I first went there, but its old world charm and subtle, strategic brilliance was and still is beguiling, to the point where I spent the best part of a glorious decade working there. From there, a great many other adventures began, to courses both obvious and obscure, and so the adventure rolls on, taking delight in even the rank outsiders. Particularly in the rank outsiders.
Using the ratings as a browsing tool for possible, different experiences has been like repeatedly helping myself to a treasure trove in the 35 years I’ve been chasing that small, untrainable ball around. With a universe of golfing possibility out there, I’ve been able to combine some exposure to the greats while discovering the hidden gems, and there has been equal enjoyment in both elements, and as a result of the latter I also look to more celebratory, focused lists like @Evalu18’s Hickory Collection or GolfClubAtlas’s 147 Custodians of the Game.
But like most things in life, these experiences are richer shared, and I am indebted to the various rankings for the fun and friendships I have picked up along the way. I won’t bore you with the tales I hold dear, because with luck you will have your own, but these various rankings are my personal satnav for the next chance to breathe in the cold air of a new golfing landscape.
And if I had to choose my favourite course of all? The next one, wherever it is. Can’t wait.
