Paired Up Intro, Part one: I Hate Getting Paired Up
“I’m sorry, we have a lot of money riding on this match”
“Now calling the Wilson twosome at 10:27am. Please report to the first tee.”
Yes, we did it!
My dad and I hopped in the cart, took off to the first tee – excited to be playing with just the two of us – but when we curled around the corner of large evergreens, there stood our playing partners, Herb and Jill, an older couple from Denver.
Damn, we thought we were in the clear for a father-son round in the Canadian Rockies.
I hate getting paired up. I always have.
Every time I show up to a public course I fear having a promising day of golf spoiled by Bob, who is out for his bi-annual round of golf.
Do I have anything against Bi-annual Bob or his golf acumen? Absolutely not. I used to be an assistant pro at a club in Chicago, and that line of work will teach you to play with golfers of all ability levels. The issue is that who I came to the course with that day is precisely who I wanted to play with.
Sometimes it’s a group of friends that I haven’t seen in a while, other times it’s my dad and brother out for a family round, or maybe the last couple hours of daylight where I want to walk my local muni with headphones in. Regardless of the scenario, I will avoid a random pairing like a discounted sleeve of Volviks at a Golf Galaxy checkout counter.
Due to this way of thinking, I could teach a Master Class video series on how to get out of potential random pairings at golf courses. Could it be a Ted Talk? Maybe, but only if I’m moved to tears by a data point on a graph.
How do Random Pairings Happen?
Before I share my (in hindsight, embarrassing) list of ways I have avoided random pairings, let me explain how these pairings come about for my non-golfing brothers and sisters.
Golf courses, especially public, want to send every group out with four players. If every group has four players, then they are to their max capacity, which earns their maximum amount of money, and the pace of play should be consistent. When you arrive to a golf course with less than four players, you open up the possibility of being paired with random players to fill up a foursome.
Pairing up can happen in several ways once you are on the property, with the most common way being told by the pro shop while checking in that they have found players for your foursome. Next would be from the starter – a retired man who takes his role as seriously as a soldier storming the beaches of Normandy – looking at his tee sheet and finding another pair to put with your twosome. I’d feel less pressure chipping off a putting green under a flood light for $9 million than I would messing with a starter and his tee sheet. The final most common way is having a group behind you catch up to your group, or vice versa, where the combination of groups equals four or less players.
How do you avoid that? Well, to use a phrase out of place, fortune favors the bold. Also, it’s important that you know that I know these are downright shameful –that’s why there’s a part two coming.
Here *were* my seven favorite ways to escape getting paired up:
one:
My absolute go-to, foolproof way to avoid a random pairing is booking a tee time for four players, showing up with two or three, and telling the pro shop/starter that your other players are running late and are going to meet us on number two or three.
Think of a number between 50 and 80. Got it? Ok, well I have used this excuse more times than that number. The golf staff doesn’t want to run the risk of more than four guys in a group, so they let you go, and by the time you are making the turn back near the clubhouse, they will have completely forgotten about the whole thing. It’s the golf-equivalent of “saving a seat for someone” next to you on a Southwest flight – everyone forgets once the plane takes off, leaving you with extra legroom and three random mid-season episodes of The Blacklist with no context.
Two:
In college, my group of friends would always play this well-below-average public course in Knoxville. It was the kind of place that we played so many times to the point where we were just nostalgia blind to its shortcomings. We still to this day know every break on every green, where the yardages are mismarked, and where to find the coveted “speed slots.” However, we don’t know what happened to the sketchy pro shop worker once we left school, because when we asked about him on a reunion trip weekend, the staff got weird and didn’t want to tell us. But… this isn’t a true crimes blog.
Anyway, this course had an unbelievable amount of play, so being approached at the first tee by someone wanting to pair up was almost guaranteed. But when I would play with my friends Steven and William, they would shoo away potential playing partners by saying, “Sorry, we have a lot of money riding on this match.”
How ridiculous must that have looked? It’s not just that we were in college, but we all had that private school, Chick-Fil-A cashier look – where everyone looks five-years younger than their actual age. The only thing I could’ve wagered back then were my on-campus dining dollars. But, it always worked.
Three:
With a lot of these excuses, it’s not what you say but how you say it – and that’s maybe more true with this one then any others. Years ago I was playing with a friend I hadn’t seen in a while who was in from out of town. A random guy approached us on the first tee asking to join us. When this happens, you have to respond immediately. If you hesitate, you’re toast.
I turned to him and immediately said, “Normally I would, but I haven’t seen my friend here in a really long time, and we’d like to play together and catch up if that’s ok with you.” If you say it correctly then they’ll immediately back off and let you go.
After it worked that first time, it became a regular, even when I’m playing with my regular group. When you add, “If that’s ok with you,” no one has the guts to defy that – besides Patrick Reed, and you’re better off letting him play through anyway.
I’ll roll through these last four quickly, but first I need to tell you about the setup at my local muni. The closest golf course to my house in Nashville is a city course that has 27 holes, and during the summer months I’ll walk nine holes before dark, often finishing in complete darkness.
Two of the three first tee boxes are viewable from the pro shop, with the third requiring a blind four-minute walk. If one of the nearby tees is open, I’ll peak down both fairways to see if it’s crowded ahead, and then hop on one of those and go. If they’re packed, I’ll take the blind leap of faith and walk to the far nine, hoping that there’s not a crowd when I get there.
With three separate nines and the most crowded place in town, I have to get creative. I’ll rank these on the shame meter – 10 being the most shameful, 1 being a regular human capable of empathy.
Four:
One time I really wanted to listen to a certain podcast while I walked nine, so I had my headphones in on the first tee. Someone walked up and asked if they could join, and I told him, “Man, I’m sorry but I have to listen to this thing for work tomorrow, so I’m going to be no fun to play with.”
He asked what it was, and I said, “It’s a keynote from a sales conference that I missed, and I have to write a report about it tonight.” He looked confused, so I said, “Hit em well,” and walked my lying-ass down the first hole with an NBA podcast in my ears. Shame level: 6.7/10
Five:
After seeing the first two nines were crowded on every hole, I walked to the far nine hoping to see an empty tee box. Number one had two groups waiting on the first tee and a group in the fairway, so I cut through 30 yards of thorny woods like I was Leo in The Revenant looking for my son’s killer, and threw a ball down on the second fairway just to avoid the terror of playing with strangers. Shame level: 7.2/10. Scraped-up ankles level: 8/10.
Six:
In the same vein as the last, I was walking to the first tee box one evening when I saw a guy about 60 yards behind me that I kind of knew back in college, but haven’t seen in years. He’s the level of friend that if I saw him at Whole Foods I’d give a we-know-each-other head nod, but not a stop-and-chat friend – much like a group-project friend. Knowing he would for sure catch me on the first tee, I walked right past the tee box, down the first fairway, and tossed a ball down at the 150-yard marker and played from there while he waited back on the tee. Disgraceful, but avoiding the ceremonial, “Hey, do you have the same number? We should hang out,” conversation was worth the walk of shame. Shame Level: 8.5/10.
Seven:
Lastly, even times where I tee off alone, I still run the risk of being caught up to by the group behind or catching up to the group ahead. If I’m on the green with a group behind me in the fairway, I will “read a putt” for three or four minutes like I’m Tiger trying to force an 18-hole playoff with Rocco, just to buy time for the group ahead of me to tee off. If I need more time, I’ll intentionally blow the first putt way past the hole, and then start the whole reading process over. Avoiding a random pairing takes commitment, even if it means sacrificing a stroke to the golfing gods. Shame Level: 9.3/10.
It’s best that I stop this list at seven before a) you lose any remaining ounce of respect for me, and b) I break the shame meter.
In the end, what have my Malcolm Gladwell 10,000-hours of pairing dodging done for me? They have stolen the joy out of an evening walk at sunset and replaced it with stress and constant worry. They have made booking a tee time much more difficult. Most importantly, they have closed my eyes to the most unique feature of any golf course, and that’s the people who inhabit the place.
Without a wild round in the Canadian Rockies this summer, I’d still be stuck in pairing-avoidance mode. As we drove to the first tee, I couldn’t figure a way out of this pairing.
What changed my mind? A 30mph sustained wind, driving rain, a camera, and a retired couple from Denver. More in part two tomorrow.
If you’ll excuse me, I missed another sales conference that I have to write a report on. I’m sure you understand.
