Level Up

I grew up a one-hour drive from Caves Valley Golf Club. It might as well have been on the moon. Whether it’s the highest office in the land or a hard-to-get tee time, almost anything in the DMV (D.C./Maryland/Virginia area) can be secured through connections, handshakes or a crisp bill. Hang around Old Ebbitt long enough and you’ll find your way onto Congressional. Anybody with a college roommate in consulting can get out at Chevy Chase. Want to play Army Navy? Put down the bong and get a government job. But Caves Valley? The place where they tell presidents and billionaires to check their ego at the door? Where even members with green jackets at the big club down South must wear Caves’ distinctive salmon-hued coat to dinner? Never considered it. No sense wasting time on gates locked so tight. 

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The floor-to-ceiling windows in the Caves Valley grillroom offer wide views of the greens and oranges and browns covering the sprawling Owings Mills, Maryland, campus. A persistent fall rain has delayed our 9 a.m. start time, but there is no panic; the club recently installed state-of-the-art precision-air systems beneath each green. The sum total isn’t spoken about at clubs like this, but everyone around the enormous breakfast table knows it had to be a project in the eight figures. There are only a handful of clubs in the world that could have a golf course ready to play by afternoon in these conditions, and Caves is now one of them.

It’s part of the club’s ambition to enter the wider conversation as one of the greatest on the planet. Among a certain elite subset—the presidents, senators and industry titans who are already members—its place has been long secured. And Caves has been no stranger to high-level events over the years: I still remember watching (on TV, of course) that Georgia team with Brendon Todd, Kevin Kisner and Chris Kirk win the NCAA men’s championship there in 2005. Caves also hosted the 2002 U.S. Senior Open, the 2009 NCAA women’s championship, the 2014 LPGA International Crown and the 2017 Senior Players Championship. But its decision to bid for and host the 2021 BMW Championship, along with the 2025 edition, seemed to signal that the club is gunning for a much more public spotlight. As I scrape my plate clean, I flash back to how my buddies and I would talk about this place while we scraped it around Fort Belvoir’s nine-holer.

Across from me, Steve Fader, the chairman of Caves Valley since 2011, needles Buddy Marucci, who famously went toe-to-toe with Tiger Woods in 1995 at Newport Country Club in a classic David vs. Goliath U.S. Amateur duel. Fader, CEO of one of the region’s most prominent strings of car dealerships, is chuckling about the baggy pants Marucci wore during that final. Marucci replies that he was so nervous that week, he could hardly stomach any food, and he’d lost 16 pounds. In a quiet moment, he leans over and tells me that, in addition to being a Caves Valley member, he has become an official consultant to the club as they consider even more pro events. I was born six months prior to Marucci’s match and a few years after Caves Valley was founded in 1991. I am at once fired up and terrified to play with him.

“For some reason, people think older is better in golf,” Fader says. “So, some things around here look older than they actually are.” This is most obvious in the men’s locker room, where lightly stained wood-paneled walls are littered with news clippings and steezy pictures of Corey Pavin–era pros and reverse-C finishes. “We’re not under the impression that this is the best golf course in the world,” continues Fader, “but we do believe we can be one of the best clubs in the world.”

For the select few invited to join, that means a few things. First, it requires dropping allegiances to other clubs on the drive up the meandering hill from the subtle front gate to the clubhouse. Members must don the Caves Valley logo while on property. At dinner, that includes wearing the club’s not quite deep red, not quite pink sports coat. There are no exceptions—not for Fred Ridley, Barack Obama, Steve Bisciotti or anyone else.

It also means contributing to something bigger. The club is as serious about its charitable program as its green speeds. Fader and the other members at the table are legitimately fired up to explain their work with First Tee–Greater Baltimore, the University of Maryland Eastern Shore, the Maryland State Golf Association and the Naval Academy Golf Course. They talk about the Caves Valley Evans Scholars Scholarship House—a joint initiative with the Western Golf Association and the Evans Scholars Foundation to provide on-campus housing for the caddies in the club’s scholarship program—with the same passion as Tom Fazio’s recent renovation. 

It’s a grand vision. And the peppery bacon from the breakfast spread is delicious. But I’m itching to get out there. We’ll be one of just a few groups on the course today, and Fader mentions that a team from the PGA Tour’s competitions department is also on site. Marucci cocks an eyebrow, looks around the table and asks if everyone is ready to play a few. I thought he’d never ask. 

“It’s not raining!” cracks Marucci as we make our way to the first tee in a light drizzle. “I don’t play golf in the rain.” 

Since his famous battle with Tiger, Marucci has built an incredible career on and off the course. His successful car dealerships made him wealthy. Memberships at Pine Valley, Seminole, Cypress Point, Winged Foot and others have made him a golf legend. Now in his early 70s, Marucci still has one of the smoothest moves I’ve ever seen.

I’m holding my own against him until we reach No. 5—a new hole that Fazio added during the club’s recent renovation. What used to be an isolated and benign hole has been transformed into an epic short, downhill, risk-reward par 4. Trees have been removed to expose the rolling hills of rural Maryland and a natural stream that separates No. 5 from No. 6. Murmurs from the group arise when Marucci and company notice the pin is in the back right today. I’m told I can hit anything from 4-iron to driver off the tee, just as long as I hit the fairway. In order to hold my wedge approach to that back-right section, I’ll need to land it in an area no bigger than Ray Lewis. I do neither of these things and come away with a frustrating 5. “You know,” Marucci tells me on the way to the new par-3 sixth tee, “this is what Fazio wanted to build the first time around.”

Several things, as we begin to understand over the course of our round, prevented Fazio 30 years ago from building the holes and greens now at Caves Valley. Constraints of time, money and EPA concerns held back his full vision. His original plan is much more complete today, and I’m reminded yet again that there are two Tom Fazios: the one who has rightfully been criticized for building vanilla, cookie-cutter golf courses, and the one who quietly builds some of my favorite golf courses—Aldarra in Washington, Shooting Star in Wyoming, Congaree in South Carolina. As we walk to the seventh green, I become perhaps the first person on earth to compare Fazio to James Harden. When he’s engaged and properly incentivized, Fazio’s stuff is historically good, just like the mercurial NBA superstar. And at Caves Valley, Fazio is on his game. 

We’re told early on that the members were more than happy with the original course design. But it wasn’t Tour quality. The impetus for change came when, back in the late 2010s, Fader asked PGA Tour tournament official Stephen Cox whether they would ever consider bringing an event to Caves Valley. Cox was blunt: “Caves Valley is a good golf course,” he explained to Fader, “but it’s not at the level the Tour requires.” That conversation set Fader and the club’s senior leadership on a crusade to reach it. Since then, all 18 greens have been redone. A massive practice facility has been added just for tournament week. The precision-air systems and resodding have ensured that conditioning will remain world-class through Baltimore’s harsh weather. Holes have been redesigned, lengthened and completely blown up. And they’re not done yet.

“Can anyone on Tour carry the left bunker on 18?” Fader asks his young superintendent, Kyle Steidel, back in the grillroom.

“Maybe Rory or Bryson if it’s hot enough and downwind,” Steidel says, skeptically.

“Can we move the rough line in behind the bunker?”

“No, sir. Those are different types of grasses.”

“Can we extend that bunker?”

“No, sir—not before the tournament.”

“OK. I don’t think they can fly it anyway.”

There’s no concern with me covering that bunker as we make our way to the last. Preparation is already underway for the 2025 BMW Championship: A crew is marking out where the grandstand will sit behind the 18th green. As I happily tap in a two-putt par, Marucci, Fader and Cox are locked into a conversation on everything from the placement of the first steps off the tee box to the eye levels of sponsor logos on the hospitality build-outs. We’re still 10 months away from tournament week, but there’s an urgency buzzing throughout the property. It makes sense. This kind of behavior is how good clubs become great. 

We’re back in the grillroom, showered and in warm clothes we hope won’t be judged by the assembled jackets. As the sun sets over the valley, I’m lucky enough to have Marucci sit near me again. Marucci, Fader and the rest of our hosts cannot wait to break down the day’s rounds. Everybody gets a laugh at my playing partner’s recounting of his birdie on 16: His approach was pushed so far right that it landed in a tree our caddie assumed was out of play, but he hit it so hard that the rebound spit the ball to 10 feet.

The topic of how Tour pros will attack No. 5 is quickly replaced by a much more pressing matter: What’s everyone having for dinner? Marucci, whose wisdom throughout the day has made clear why his opinion is so respected around the golf world, leans over to me again. 

“This will be the best veal chop you’ve ever had in your life.”

He orders one for himself, along with several baskets of fries—extra crispy—for the table. As we dig in, one of my colleagues announces that this is the best crab cake he’s ever had. Generally speaking, that kind of proclamation would need to be verified. But I’m so blown away by this veal chop that I turn down his offer of a sample, and there’s no way he’s getting a fork near my plate. It’s a day to savor every last bite.