Community and competition: The grand appeal of Skins Night at a par-3 course

A community that plays together stays together. In his influential book, “Bowling Alone,” the scholar Robert D. Putnam described public gatherings and group activities as fundamental to the greater good. Without them, he argued, the social fabric frays. Putnam used bowling leagues as a prime example. But golf outings could have worked as well.

That thought occurred to me a few months back when I found myself in Greenville, S.C., playing a short course in a fivesome under the lights. Music piped from a nearby speaker. There was money on the line but the mood was light. Though I’d just met my partners, they seemed like friends.

“Get in the hole!” one of them shouted when I surprised myself by sending a 9-iron toward the flag. 

Established in 2000, 3’s Greenville is a come-one, come-all green-grass venue built around good food, good vibes and par-3 fun. A lot of what it offers breaks with golf traditions. There are no starchy dress codes or tweedy customs. You don’t have to take your hat off when you step inside the “grubhouse.” The only hard-fast rule is what 3’s founder Davis Sezna calls “the Aretha Franklin.” 

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“We just ask that everybody treat everybody else with respect,” he says.

Even as it rolls out alt-golf entertainment, 3’s also revels in the time-worn traits that make golf great: the camaraderie, the exercise, the friendly competition. This is evident in daylight and in darkness; the 3’s stays open until 11 p.m. But at no time is it more apparent than on Wednesday evenings, when the property hosts a weekly Skins Game.

True to the local ethos, anyone is welcome, though the field is capped at 60 and it sells out most weeks. The crowd is a cross-section of ages and abilities, spanning from ex-mini tour players to weekend chops, all plunking down a $50 buy-in with $5 set aside for a hole-in-one pot. Some participants ask to play together. But the pro shop mostly mixes things up. On the evening I took part, my group was a representative hodgepodge that included a college student, a marketing exec and his pal from out of town, and a local defense attorney named Jake Erwin who rarely skips an event that he loves for both its randomness and regularity.

“I have friends who I only really see out here on Wednesday nights, but I also meet new people a lot of times,” he said. “It’s a great tradition that builds a really nice sense of community.”

Spoiler alert: my 9-iron did not get in the hole. It rolled 10 feet past, and I missed the putt. But it came close. That, too, is part of the beauty of Skins Night: everybody has a puncher’s chance. The rule is one-tie, all-tie. If no one wins a hole, the pot carries over to the following week. Given the format, the only way to cash in is with birdie or better, which keeps play moving quickly. No one bothers grinding over pars.

The night breezed by. I didn’t make a birdie. Erwin bagged two, but to no avail. Several others matched him. We learned that soon after, at the post-round celebration, when scores of us gathered around the grubhouse, drinking and snacking on a deck overlooking a sprawling Himalayas-style putting green. Prizes were announced. Cash — and high-fives — were handed out. This, too, happens, at every Skins Night: competition punctuated by an amiable hang out.

It was well past my usual Wednesday bedtime when the crowd began to thin. Music was still playing. An impromptu putting challenge was winding down. 

Walking to my car, bag slung over my shoulder, I had my playing partners’ contact info in my phone and a promise in my head to make it back to Greenville on a Wednesday evening in the not-so-distant future.

I’ve played golf as a single. I enjoy it. But the game’s greatest appeal lies in the places that it takes you and the people you encounter. And though the challenge it presents is a solitary test, that’s true for everyone. It’s nice to be reminded that you’re not alone.