Golf in 2019: Bunkers

Golf grips people because it exposes the individual completely. Every shot is self-generated and self-inflicted; there is no teammate to hide behind and, famously, players call penalties on themselves. The margins are cruel, since a two-degree change in clubface angle can send a drive out of bounds, yet the same swing can produce a 320-yard carry or a holed wedge that seems to defy the ground. It is a game of enormous emotional range played at walking pace over four to five hours, where a leader can build a fortune of strokes and squander it in twenty minutes. That tension between mastery and collapse is its enduring drama.

What makes golf singular is its scale and its handicap. No other sport lets an amateur play the exact venue where champions compete, on the same greens under the same rules, days apart; you can stand on the Old Course tee at St Andrews where golf has been played for six centuries. The handicap system mathematically equalizes players of wildly different abilities, so a beginner and a scratch golfer can share a genuine match. Golf is also a lifelong pursuit: careers span decades, champions win majors in their forties and fifties, and the same person can improve or unravel from one week to the next, forever chasing a score that has no ceiling of perfection.

The objective of golf is simple to state and punishing to execute: move the ball from the tee into the hole in the fewest strokes, then repeat across eighteen holes. Each hole has a par of 3, 4 or 5, reflecting the strokes an expert should need, and a player's score is measured against that par. The two fundamental formats are stroke play, where every stroke across a round counts toward a total, and match play, where players compete hole by hole and the contest is decided by holes won rather than strokes.