There’s a week in March—sometimes April—when the Carolinas can’t make up their mind about what season they’re in. The leaves on some oaks turn red before they turn green, disguising a few days of fall on the brink of spring. By the end of March, it’s easy to forget what a green (without paint) Bermuda golf course even looks like. Same way you’ll forget what brown looks like in October. Spring teases folks a few times in February, though any NC native knows it’s just a trial run.
There are people who have that one tree or bush in their life that tells them spring is here to stay. Maybe it’s a front yard dogwood. Maybe it’s that first film of pollen on the hood of your truck. Or the first itchy eye and a coated contact. Some years, it’s a definite day. Other years, I find myself waiting on that day, only to wake up in June and realize my yard needs to be mowed twice. Has spring sprung, or is it springing?
As golfers, we tend to err on the side of early optimism—tricking ourselves into believing 50º in February feels like 88º in August. The first glance of green sneaking through a dormant fairway is typically our sign. The days of chunking short pitches on tight, wet, dormant Bermuda are coming to an end. While into-the-grain green lies won’t be too friendly to us either, we have hope.
These early-season rounds tend to come with low expectations. We’re just thankful to be outside. There hasn’t been much grinding yet, so our way-too-high expectations are still hovering at the level they should ultimately be all year long.
That’s where I found myself on the 10th hole at Forsyth Country Club on a late March day. While most are playing some of their first few rounds of the season, I’m somehow an outlier—25 rounds into Q1 with a one-month-old baby. Has me curious about all this “kids kill your golf game” talk I’ve heard for the last decade. Que the tiny violin.
Golf has so many different mediums and ways to enjoy it. Growing up, I never really loved being on a course by myself. As a competitor and performer, it always felt like a waste. What if I birdie the last six holes to shoot 66 and no one can attest my card? Does a golf shot even exist if no one but you sees it?
Since then, I’ve shifted gears and found immense joy in throwing in an AirPod and getting through 18 holes in just over a podcast and a half. That said, most days, the desire to spend four hours on the course is fueled by the games and banter within a foursome. Team games, side bets, presses. That’s where I found myself on this particular Thursday afternoon—teeing off on 10 (our first hole, starting on the back).
A Nassau game might be one of the most popular formats in golf. At its core, it’s a front, back, and overall game. The variations are endless—presses, junk, side action, etc. With certain groups, it’s more about the action than the score. Don’t get me wrong—I’m still watching the card, wanting to beat everyone in the group regardless of whose team they’re on. But on a day like today, where I just met half the group, I like to keep it friendly on the first tee, feel out the vibes. It’s wild how some people act once five dollars is on the line. I’ve watched people hand over $9 like they were pulling out a second note on their home—meanwhile, they didn’t blink at unloading a fresh sleeve of $15 ProVs off the first tee.
While I never intentionally lose the first hole, I never mind losing it to a birdie. Let someone get it out of their system early—and more importantly, give me an early opportunity to press. Losing a hole then winning the next in a press is always better than tying two. So watching my new friend of five minutes hit it to a foot on the first really couldn’t have worked out better for me. 9 times out of 10 it’s an auto press—but for whatever reason, I wanted to keep it friendly with this crew while I was still feeling out the dynamic on a day where I ultimately was just a last minute guest with a trio of members. On top of that, 199 into the teeth didn’t feel like the most fun first full shot of the day. I bit my tongue and refrained from using my favorite “P” word.
After three mediocre shots all missed the green, I walked into mine holding a 5-iron, just hoping to hit the center of the clubface and get it somewhere around the green on the par-3 11th to try and make three. As soon as it left the face, I knew I’d gotten more than just solid contact. Seven seconds later, the match was square.
Spring has sprung.