Giving Scotland’s game a fair swing

Being a single young woman rapidly approaching her 30s, I have been on my fair share of Tinder dates — almost all excruciatingly awkward, and a fair few centred on rather contrived “first date” activities such as quiz nights, visits to the arcade, ice skating and my personal bete noire — mini golf.

There’s no logical reason for me to dislike mini golf so very much, but there’s just something about it that makes me want to whack the silly little club through the (invariably stained) astroturf.

I lack the gentleness, the precision, the patience required for mini golf, and for golf at large.

It is the most infuriating game in the world and I do not understand why people love it so much.

To say something like this in Scotland is of course rather sacrilegious. If I uttered such a sentiment near the Old Course at St Andrews (the “home of golf”) they’d probably have my head.

Golf is, after all, an integral part of Scottish culture — on par, if you’ll pardon the pun, with haggis, Rabbie Burns and Buckfast.

The origins of golf are hotly debated (various theories trace its roots to ancient stick and ball games like the Roman paganica or the Chinese chuiwan), but it is largely accepted that the Scots have the most probable claim.

Golf as we know it began to take shape during the Middle Ages, and by the 15th century, it was so popular in Scotland that in 1457, King James II tried to ban it as a distraction from military archery practice. The sport persisted, however. By the early 16th century, even King James IV was known to play the game.

Mary, Queen of Scots was known to play golf — she was criticised for playing “pell-mell and golf” at Seton Palace mere days after the murder of her husband, when she really ought to have been in mourning. Perhaps it was her way of coping.

In 1681, before becoming King James VII of Scotland, the Duke of Albany reportedly played in the first international golf match wherein he competed against two English courtiers in a bet over whether golf belonged to Scotland or England. His partner, John Paterson, was rewarded with enough money to build a mansion in what is now known as Golfers Land in Edinburgh.

Modern golf, played over 18 holes, is widely accepted as originating in Scotland, particularly around St Andrews.

The Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St Andrews, founded in 1754, helped formulate and formalise the rules of golf.

Golf’s international spread began in the late 19th century, courses appearing across the United Kingdom, the British Empire and the United States.

The development of the more affordable gutta-percha (latex) ball helped fuel this growth, making the game accessible to a broader audience.

In a bid to understand the appeal of golf, I reached out to Andy, a golf-loving Scottish friend of mine who is frequently found decked out in plus-fours, wielding a golf club with aplomb on Scotland’s gorgeous courses.

“I like golf”, Andy says, “because I’m in a battle against myself with no-one else to blame for my failings but me.”

“Do I improve?” he adds, “Maybe. Do I hate myself more? Absolutely.” Sounds all rather masochistic to me.

“It’s a vicious cycle and one I’m trapped in”, Andy says.

“I’m a glutton for the feeling of my club taking too much turf out the ground and watching my golf ball flop a mere 10 feet in front of me.”

To be fair, I can think of a few reasons why golf is so popular.

Golf is a social activity; it is often played in groups and can be an excellent way for friends and colleagues to spend time together. It’s hardly judo or marathon running — golf doesn’t require the player to be physically fit in such an intense way. There is skill involved, to be sure, but casual golf is something your average Joe can do without barely breaking a sweat. If you’re so inclined, you don’t even need to carry your clubs — caddies, golf carts and motorised golf bags are at your disposal.

Golf is an excellent medium for schmoozing and networking; important business may be conducted over a gentle round of golf, whereas you’d be hard-pressed to make a deal whilst thundering around on horseback during a game of polo.

Then there’s the elitism inherent in golf. Theoretically, golf is a game for everyone — young, old, male, female, novice or expert. But a golf course is an incredibly expensive thing to build and maintain, requiring a great deal of land and resources, so country clubs cost a lot. Attending the course regularly is a pricey hobby, and thus a clear indicator of status and wealth. Trump Turnberry course, for instance, the most expensive golf course in the UK, charges up to £1000 ($2130) for a round.

Golf extends beyond the game itself, often becoming a full-day experience for many enthusiasts.

Golf and country clubs provide a wide range of amenities, allowing players to combine sport with relaxation — think fitness centres, swimming pools, restaurants, and spas. Celebrities such as Justin Timberlake, Steph Curry and Ralph Lauren have also helped to transform golf’s public image and elevate the sport’s appeal.

Golf requires precision, patience and concentration — traits I noticeably lack. It’s also unique in that no two golf courses are the same; one day you might find yourself playing on the gentle dunes of a links course; the next, an undulating heather-lined heathland course. Each type offers a unique playing experience, depending on geography, climate and design.

And who doesn’t enjoy being outside in nature? The Covid pandemic undoubtedly boosted golf as a social activity and form of exercise. With indoor activities restricted and social gatherings minimised, many turned to golf as a safe outdoor pursuit offering both physical and mental health benefits. (I turned to drinking wine in my garden, but each to their own.)

Whether Scotland invented golf or not, the sport has become synonymous with Scottish culture and society. It’s important to Scotland’s economy; Scottish golf courses attract swathes of enthusiastic visitors yearly (including, regrettably, Donald Trump). Prestigious courses and tournaments, such as the Genesis Scottish Open, have bolstered Scotland’s global reputation. And it’s quite sweet to think that on golf courses the world over, Scottish traditions (both in terms of style of play and the design of the course) are replicated.

Perhaps I should give it another shot (or swing, or stroke).

— Jean Balchin is an ODT columnist who has started a new life in Edinburgh.