The Old Course is Overrated: And Other Stupid Sh*t Americans Say

The R&A Clubhouse in St. Andrews, Scotland sits on a plot of land roughly the size of the 18th green to which it is adjacent. Considering that on a per-hole basis the average green size on The Old Course is roughly 13,000 square feet, one may picture a behemoth of a clubhouse. In reality, the bastion that represents the birthplace of golf isn’t much bigger than your average home in suburban America. But the size of the building says nothing of the weight of its shadow.

In a city that shares a latitude with Moscow, long summer days can stretch the point of the R&A’s shadow to the cart path cutting across the 1st and 18th fairways. From the 18th tee, the clock on the R&A is your aiming point—your caddie will tell you to get a good look at it if you want to save the cars parked to the right along The Links Road. On the 1st tee, however, the R&A is the one thing you want to avoid making direct eye contact with.

To think about what that building represents is to guarantee a shank. Sitting beneath its shadow, golf club in hand, you’re less golfer than you are rodeo clown—the bull just lets you think you’re in charge. If the sheer magnitude of where you stand doesn’t crush you, then the eyes of those seated in the Members Only benches might, all royalty in their own right. Or, if they don’t get to you, the gaggles of tourists will. Imagine dozens of fanny packs waiting to see a glimpse of a “real golfer” begin their journey down the widest fairway in golf (129 yards wide—impossible to miss!) and into the game’s most historic 18. You’re there to give them a show.

Then, of course, there’s the fact that Arnold Palmer hit this shot. As has Tiger, as has Jack, as did Sam, as did Bobby, as did Harry, as did Old Tom Morris himself. Suddenly, you’re surrounded by the ghosts of golfers past and present who can’t possibly relate to the idea that you just want to break 90 today.

The truth is simple: there’s no other tee box in the world where you’re more likely to hit a dead top. If the first tee was the only shot you got to hit when playing The Old Course in St. Andrews, it would still be worth the price of admission. It would still be a story you could tell your friends. To stand where the greats stood. To play their game, even just for one swing. There’s magic in that grass.

You don’t have to leave the first tee to discover that claiming The Old Course as overrated or underwhelming is the wrong take.

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It’s flat. It’s boring. It’s too scoreable on easy weather days (as if those exist on the coast of Scotland). It’s not very tricked up. If you really want a challenge, drive up the road to The Castle Course—it has the best views. If you’re going to go to Scotland, you’d rather play Carnoustie or Turnberry. That’s more fun. That’s better golf.

People who make the pilgrimage to the birthplace of golf say the darndest things. As an American living in St. Andrews, I often attracted the attention of my fellow compatriots. They wanted to know why I was there (my wife was getting her Master’s at the university) and how much golf I got to play (a lot). But they also all wanted a secret, like the locals were holding out on them.

I’d be standing on the putting green next to The Old Course first tee, idly chatting with a man from Boston who was preparing to play his fourth round in three days. He’d sidle up to me like we were Cold War conspirators sharing intel and ask, “What’s really the best course to play in Scotland?”

It’s really a silly question. “Best” is so arbitrary. Who’s to say? What experience are you looking for? What characteristics make a great golf course for you? There are so many variables it’s impossible to answer.

So, I would unequivocally point to the first tee. “Right there.”

That would often get a shrug and a laugh as if they didn’t believe me, as if I was also in on the secret the locals were desperate to keep, but I’d let them go. Because best is arbitrary. And it does depend on what experience you’re looking for. I would contend, however, that The Old Course can give you anything. It works for anyone.

I’ve played with the happiest high handicappers you’ve ever seen—old men trying to shoot their age and their grandchildren who just learned to play.

I’ve walked a few holes with Bill Murray and then run into him later at a pub where he was boasting about getting out of The Road Hole bunker in one swing. I’ve also seen a World Cup Champion get stuck in that very same bunker (hell, I’ve gotten stuck in that bunker).

I’ve played with a man whose dream of going pro had died long ago, but on that day he turned back the clock and made 71 look easy.

I’ve played with university students hoping to get around The Old Course 100 times before having to declare a major.

I’ve played with a guy whose pushcart followed the Bluetooth remote in his pocket. The whole round all his friend did was try to snag the remote from his pocket and throw it into a bunker. The man and his robot caddie barely avoided multiple disasters.

I’ve seen a man spread his father’s ashes on the 1st fairway.

I’ve cheered for a woman who birdied 18 to break 80 for the first time.

I’ve seen foursomes of old Scottish women tee off in hail—hitting the same low line drives they always do.

I met a man who said his granddad had always dreamed of playing The Old Course but died before he could. This man didn’t play much, but he had brought his grandad’s hickories to take them around. When I saw him later, he looked content. He said he had shot a 114 and barely staved off tears until The Swilcan Bridge.

I’ve seen caddies finish a loop, then drop their bib and go play.

And I’ve seen hundreds and hundreds of people who know nothing about golf get off a bus to come see what the fuss is all about.

If none of that sounds interesting, don’t go to The Old Course. If you want to experience exclusivity and luxury, don’t play The Old Course—it’s a public park on Sundays for crying out loud. If you want golf to remain a game, to remain a hobby, to remain something you escape into, don’t play The Old Course. Because it’s the only course in the world where every criticism you hear of it is true and where all of them miss the point.

It’s an ethereal place where chasing a white ball around a green field is, for those who are paying attention, a dream fulfilled. And yes, the fairways are flat and wide. Yes, the greens are massive. But that doesn’t mean you’ll hit either one. You’re walking around a course where the game’s greatest ghosts reside, and they have a penchant for sending strong gusts of wind at people who say, “This course is too easy.”