Amid the empty grocery store shelves and darkened restaurants, I found something surprisingly full this week.
The tee sheet at my club in Charlotte, N.C.
That could change at any moment and it probably has at different spots around the country but in the first full week since the world effectively paused, playing golf continued.
It’s different but so is everything else.
At Cedarwood Country Club where I am a member, the clubhouse is closed except one entry to bathrooms. The pro shop has been relocated to a tent behind the first tee. If you need a sleeve of balls or some tees, a member of the staff will bring them to you.
There are no more bunker rakes, but a member of the maintenance staff is making regular tours of the course to make sure the bunkers are in proper shape. Not surprisingly, the bunkers are in better shape than when we do it ourselves.
Flagsticks are being left in place with the admonishment not to touch them. Truth be told, many of us probably never get the ball in the hole anyway so there’s no need to touch the flagstick.
Riding carts are an issue. Some places have already parked them until this is over. Other places are sanitizing them before and after every round but the notion of two players riding together doesn’t fit the concept of social distancing. Putting just one person in a cart doesn’t leave enough carts for everyone who might want to ride.
The answer, of course, is to walk. Springtime is coming in the Carolinas and while the Bermuda grass fairways haven’t yet emerged from their winter slumber, it’s warm again and the weather is asking us to get outside and do something.
Since buffets have gone the way of eight-track tapes and grill rooms are closed indefinitely, what matters more is that golf can still be played.
To be fair, I’m not one of those walking-only zealots who gives you the stink eye when you want to ride. I enjoy walking – strangely I’d rather carry my bag or use a trolley than have a caddie – but I appreciate the comfort of riding, especially when carts are free to roam, not confined to paths.
Club events have been cancelled and the Saturday morning shotgun, which members prefer at our place, has been converted back to tee times. That means everyone won’t finish at the same time (golf’s version of social distancing) and converge on the lunch buffet while sorting out who won what from whom.
But since buffets have gone the way of eight-track tapes and grill rooms are closed indefinitely, what matters more is that golf can still be played. From 8 a.m. through 3:30 p.m., there is not a Saturday tee time available.
That could change if “shelter-in-place” rules are mandated but that could still allow golf. Such rules in the San Francisco area allow for exercise and outdoor activity as long as social distancing is practiced.
Walking 18 holes on Wednesday, I played with a man who runs a community culinary school that offers workforce training for adults who face barriers in hiring. The small restaurant that is a part of his school is closed but he received a phone call telling him the take-out business was off to a solid start, which put a smile on his face.
With the grillroom closed, four men sat around an outdoor table – safely apart from one another – with styrofoam containers of food delivered from the kitchen to them.
Our group also included an FBI agent and his son, neither of whom I had met before. Rather than shake hands, we introduced ourselves from a proper distance apart and spent the day collecting bogeys, pars and a few others. Instead of peppering the FBI agent about what may be coming in our ongoing crisis, we stuck to golf which is why we were out there.
It was a different group than I usually play with and the man who runs the culinary school said he’d set a goal this year to play golf with as many new people as he could. He still has a regular group but wants to broaden his circle of friends.
When we caught up to the group in front of us, he immediately launched into a conversation with two of them whom he’d played with for the first time recently.
There is a lesson in that moment.
When we finished, about the time rush-hour traffic should have been building, a group was on the first tee planning to race sundown to get in nine holes. A handful of people were on the practice green, rolling putts. Two good players wanted to know what cancelling local qualifying for the U.S. Open meant to the hopeful who wanted to give it a try.
With the grillroom closed, four men sat around an outdoor table – safely apart from one another – with styrofoam containers of food delivered from the kitchen to them.
On any other Wednesday afternoon, the bar would be crowded, Golf Channel would be on and the usual suspects would be having the usual conversations while sharing a beer or something stronger. There would be popcorn on the floor and bowls of peanuts in the middle of the tables.
This wasn’t any other Wednesday but the game went on.