I was fortunate. Growing up in Melbourne, I was exposed from an early age to the wonderful collection of courses that make up the renowned “Sandbelt.” Before I did any travelling overseas, I figured all golf, at least at the better courses, was like Royal Melbourne, Kingston Heath, Victoria, Metropolitan, Commonwealth, Huntingdale, Woodlands and Yarra Yarra. 

On those courses, playing from the correct side of the fairway matters. And it really matters when you are not. You can’t miss the ball on the wrong spot on the greens. It is the next shot that matters most, so you have to be thinking ahead all the time. Proper golf – and how I learned how to play the game.

I wasn’t especially perceptive because I worked out that I had to hit, say, up the left side to get the best angle into the green. I just naturally gravitated to that approach. I was simply finding the most efficient way to get around, because that was the best route to good scoring. Truthfully, early on
 I probably didn’t even know I was playing golf that way. 

When I turned pro and started visiting tournament venues in other countries, I invariably didn’t need much of what I’d learned. In fact, I got caught out early in my career. On some of the lesser courses, I was still trying to hit to the “correct” sides of the fairways. This was a waste of time. It made no difference where I was on the fairway. It was better to just aim “straight.” Where I missed didn’t really matter.

All of which meant I started asking questions. 

I’ve always been an avid reader of golf literature, especially enjoying the older books. I loved anything by Bobby Jones – my parents gave me a copy of “Down the Fairway” for my 16th birthday. There was a common theme in almost all those volumes. It seemed like just about everyone “hated” the Old Course the first time they played it. With subsequent visits, however, the authors all made the same admission. They not only warmed to the Home of Golf, but truly loved it, placing it at the top of their list of favorite courses. They saw that golf at St. Andrews epitomizes what the game should be about. 

I was a little different from that norm. I first played the Old Course with my father when I was 16 and was determined to love it from the beginning. And I did. But it’s also true that my appreciation has grown every time I’ve returned there. Just as my instincts had been tuned on the Sandbelt, I could see why Royal Melbourne became Royal Melbourne. It was because of the Old Course. It just made sense to me. 

Which led me to the next question: “Why is every course not like the Old Course?”

At St. Andrews, every shot, every part of the game, has equal value. Nothing is overvalued. In contrast, many tour courses prioritize driving and putting above all else. 

At St. Andrews, a great decision followed by great execution is exponentially rewarded. Good thinking and good shots get their due. The opposite is also true. You are exponentially punished for bad decisions and poor execution. That makes sense to me, more than a course that’s just about hitting good shots and bad shots. Extra dimensions are what makes golf truly great.

I think I was destined to be interested in course architecture. Even early on, I instinctively knew when a course was great. On those, I’d “suddenly” find myself on the 16th hole. Time flew when I was having fun. My first time around the Old Course I was standing on the 18th tee before I knew where I was – I was so engrossed in the process. That feeling remains really powerful for me still.

In my teens, though, I was still struggling to understand strategic golf, why it works so well and why it is important. But I did have a feel for it, and an interest.

A couple of years before I turned professional, I got a break. Former European Tour player Mike Clayton was appointed “course consultant” at my home club of Victoria. I played a bit with Mike and during rounds
he would wonder aloud why a certain bunker was positioned where it was, or why there were trees on that side of a fairway.

Mike talked about those things in a way I’d never heard before. He was the first person I listened to who looked at the game without self-interest. He objected to things not because they affected his own game in a negative way, but because they made no sense. 

For example, Mike told me that of course bunker X should be on the inside of the dogleg. Players would then be forced to “challenge” the hazard/danger in order to get the best angle for the next shot. That was the reward. But the guy who played safe away from the bunker would get a less advantageous angle for the approach shot. Why wouldn’t every course be like that?

It was Mike who told me to read “Spirit of St. Andrews,” by Alister Mackenzie. Anyone interested in golf and golf courses really needs to do the same. In a simple, no-nonsense way, Mackenzie describes architecture and explains what makes courses great when they are great and what makes them bad when they are bad. Reading that book will make everyone a better player. 

There was, however, a downside to my education. Competing professionally, I started to notice everything that was “wrong” with the courses I was competing on. Too often, that hurt my performance, especially on days when I wasn’t doing too well. I would get distracted by all the architecture “sins” I was confronted with.

I always had a better time on the great courses, which I believe is true of all golfers. A great course engages with players. They get more into “playing” golf. They just do. It’s an instinctive thing. The joy of golf is hitting the ball in the air and watching it fly – but where you do that is as important as any other aspect of the game. I feel a lot more people would play golf if there was a top-50 course accessible just around the corner. 

When it comes to the work I’ve done building courses, I want to engender the feeling of, “Can we go a few more holes?” when players walk off the 18th green. That’s such a great sensation. It gets everyone away from swing technique – and, again, makes golf a better game. 

To my mind, too many golf courses have followed the “tour” example and mimicked what they see on television. “Long and difficult” is seen as equating to “good.” But I don’t see either attribute enhancing the enjoyment of the average golfer.

There is no reason why courses can’t challenge the scratch player by making it difficult to break par, yet still allow the 18-handicapper who plays sensibly to break 90. The truly great courses do that. The 18-handicapper can make bogey all day long, and the scratch player can make pars. But as soon as birdies become the targets, bogeys and doubles start to appear. That’s the ideal scenario. The very best courses enhance enjoyment. What they don’t do necessarily is make the game harder. 

I’m not saying the game should be too easy. That gets boring fast. At its best, golf is about interest and variety and asking different questions. It’s about getting your heart pumping and making you nervous. And it is the course – more than the game – that should evoke those feelings. There is nothing better in golf than standing on the first tee at the Old Course, or feeling how scary the short 12th hole at Augusta can be, or how dramatic its par-5 13th is. 

Still, nothing is ever perfect. Take green speeds. Nine or ten on the Stimpmeter is pacy enough. Any higher only has the potential to make the game a bit silly. Besides, every time a green gets a foot faster, more money has to be spent on chemicals and man-hours to maintain that pace. I’m betting just about every superintendent in the world would welcome making greens two-feet slower than they are now.

On the other hand, many courses are simply too green and too soft through over-watering. There is a notion – particularly in the United States – that courses have to be pristine, “perfect” and unnaturally green. That attitude needs to change. For one thing, it’s not sustainable. For another, courses are more interesting when they are brown, or at least a mixture of brown and green. 

Less water and grass that is less manicured are the way to go. Let nature dictate. When it rains the course is green; when it doesn’t the course browns off. There really is no need to get a perfect lie on every shot. Plus, golf becomes more interesting the longer time the ball spends on the ground. Which, yet again, sounds a lot like Royal Melbourne and the Old Course. Just about everything great in golf does.