One of the underrated requirements of golf is that you have to like, at least a little, the people you’re playing with.
Because for the next four, mayyyybe five, sometimes six hours (I see you Disney!), you’re going to be in extremely close proximity. Literally shoulder to shoulder in a bouncy electric cart. Sharing armrests. Sharing air. Sharing beer flavors. Learning way too much about someone’s preferred breath mint situation.
You don’t have to love them.
But you do have to tolerate them.
That’s why, while I don’t miss COVID – not even a little – and I truly hope the world never sees another global pandemic, there was one small thing that came out of those early 2020–2022 golf years that I genuinely loved.
Four carts.
For a brief moment in time, everyone had their own cart. And my day at the course was just a little bit better.
Here’s why.
My most common playing partner in the lovely state of Florida is a guy we’ll call “Jason.”
And that makes perfect sense, because his actual name is Jason.
Jason and I are both right-handed golfers, but our driving styles could not be more different. Jason specializes in what industry professionals refer to as a duck hook. That quick, violent left turn straight into the shrubs. Usually just past the ladies’ tees. Sometimes farther, depending on whether or not he yells “shit” early enough to influence the ball.
I, on the other hand, bring a more refined offering to the tee box. A beautiful, sweeping banana slice. The pièce de résistance of golf chardonnay. Elegant. Predictable. Complete and utter rubbish.
When Jason and I share a cart, this means we drive all the way to the far-left side of the hole to find his ball. He hits it fat 50 yards. Then we turn around and drive all the way to the far-right side of the hole where I will promptly not find mine, drop one, maybe use a tasteful kicking wedge to restore cosmic balance, and continue on my way to a snowman.
With four carts, this problem disappears.
Jason happily drives off to the left.
I disappear to the right. We each find our ball. Or pretend we did.
Everyone wins.
But the real magic wasn’t just logistics.
With your own cart, you didn’t have to live inside someone else’s round. You could quietly spiral after topping a ball fifteen yards following a respectable 225-yard drive. You could drink your beer in peace. You could stare straight ahead like Michael Douglas in Falling Down and quietly think about where it all went wrong.
Golf still happened together.
You just weren’t trapped together.
Now, I understand why courses won’t keep doing it. The finance dorks will tell you about fleet costs, cart management, logistics, and squeezing every last nickel out of the players, along with all that happy BS.
Fine. I get it.
But for a brief moment in time, golf flowed. Pace improved. Friendships survived. And I didn’t know Jason’s full retirement strategy by the turn.
I don’t miss COVID.
I just miss four carts.
Life’s still great with an 8!