This article originally appeared in the March issue of NCGA Golf Magazine
By Ted Johnson
Yet another reason we love golf is the Handicap System.
Golf has employed a “handicap” system for more than 115 years, and its aim is to allow players of varying ability to compete on the same course the same day. And rather than run down the features of what has evolved into the Golf Handicap Index Network, and why it’s revered, I’ll just take you to Callippe Golf Course in Pleasanton on any Wednesday from spring to fall. Show up with a verified index, throw in $20 for the pot and $20 for the fee, and you’re in the Wednesday Night Skins League.
The game is played on the front nine and attracts players like Johnny Fracisco, an aspiring U.S. Amateur contestant, and Vijay Srinivasan and Matt Heitel, who played at San Jose State. Other regulars include a flooring salesman, a food distribution employee, a Superior Court judge, and the owner of a pool cleaning company. Depending on their ability measured in average score (or Handicap Index) some play tee off from the black (longest), blue or white tees, the latter which happen to be suitable for a creaky and cranky journalist (yours truly).
“Skins” is One vs. All. The person with the best score on a hole that no other player matches wins the hole. But if one other player has the same score, it’s a tie and the skin carries over. With 20 players times $20 each ($400), a skin or two can pay off nicely. The payout is split in “gross” and “handicap” groups.
Under the dutiful recordkeeping of Director of Golf A.J. Hebert, Fracisco, Srinivasan, Heitel and others play gross. But my average of late makes my Handicap Index float between 13 and 14 in the handicap group, and I get “strokes” on seven of the nine holes. And here’s the beauty of the system.
The best players often drive within 50 yards of the green of the downhill, par-4 first, 430-yards long. The white tees for me makes the hole play 380 yards, yet my second shot is often 150 yards long, maybe more so due to course conditions.
In other sports, such disparities in talent could be critical. An “A” tennis or racquetball player would hit serves that my “C” game wouldn’t be able to touch. Bowling has something similar but the lane never changes, whereas all nine holes are different.
Each hole carries a rating for difficulty, and Callippe’s first allows me a “stroke.” If I can manage a par-4, my score is recorded as a “net-3.” Fracisco often birdies the first and has a shot for money in the gross game, but his score ties my net-3. No money for me. If Fracisco had two-putted for par, my net-3 wins unless another player getting a stroke also scores net-3, making the skin carry over.
Callippe makes the game interesting because there are two par-4s that the better players can drive, and the par-5 third is reachable in 2 as well. For me, a good drive and approach on the short par-4 No. 2 can leave a birdie putt, and if converted goes on the card as a “net-eagle-2.” That can hold up for a skin except when Fracisco, whose tee shot many times comes to rest on the green, sinks his putt for an eagle-2, as has happened, damnit.
Players usually don’t know if a score will hold up until all players are in and the cards are recorded. This is where – usually during the post-round liar’s dice game – where much howling can be heard. And of course there are debates about the system.
Why does Gilbert Gonzalez, whose Handicap Index is 1 thanks in part to his Tour-like length, get a stroke on the par-4 seventh (hole handicap No. 1, meaning most difficult)? He often plays it from the black tees in driver-gap wedge. I also get a stroke, but I’m 50 yards shorter from the white tees and still need to use a hybrid to reach the green.
For that matter, deep philosophical discussions have taken place on the merits of giving strokes on par-3s. Indeed, Callippe’s fourth from the black tees can be tricky at close to 200 yards in a strong cross breeze. From the whites, at a manageable 165 yards to the pin, if I hit the green I’m “laying zero.” Two putts would be a net-2, so take that Fracisco, you dog.