Something You Forgot

When I was 13, I became obsessed with a Lil Wayne song called “Something You Forgot.” The synthy, 1980s-style drums immediately jumped out. But what really impressed me was that such a proudly aggressive and vulgar rapper had the wherewithal to choose a beautiful, vintage-sounding melody, and find an enchanting, slightly autotuned female voice to open the song with these devastating lyrics:

I’ve been lonely, I’ve been waiting for you
I’m pretending, and that’s all I can do
That’s all I can do mama
The love I’m sending
Ain’t making it through to your heart

Then hit us with the chorus:

You’ve been hiding, never letting it show
Always trying, to keep it under control
You got it down, you’re well on your way to the top
But there is something that you forgot

When I was 16, I heard Heart’s 1985 smash hit “What About Love” for the first time and realized that I had a lot more growing up to do. Weezy didn’t invent that gorgeous melody or write those lyrics—he sampled them. All this time I had been sipping on Sweet’N Low and thinking it was pure cane sugar. I still love Lil Wayne’s take on the song, but it can’t compete with the source material. Few re-works ever can. And that lesson hit me again on the second tee of Pinehurst No. 2. 

Shortly after discovering Heart, my dad and I made our first Pinehurst pilgrimage, roadtripping down from Northern Virginia to celebrate my 17th birthday. We started on No. 4, and after a frost delay, my dad hooped a frozen 5-iron from 175 on the fifth hole for his first—and still only—hole-in-one. The ball is still in his office. 

The next day we played No. 2 in a near-freezing rain. It was the first time I had ever been assigned a caddie, and Jack smelled as if he’d just stumbled in from one hell of a night in Southern Pines. He may have been seeing double that day, but he could spot a double-breaker from 150 yards. When I saw three cups out, he saw right edge. Everything, and I mean everything, rolled exactly as he said. On the par-5 fifth, I hit the green in two with a 19-degree hybrid. For a 115-pound kid playing from the tips in the rain, it was a massive victory. I started marching after it like Rory on 15 at Augusta. “Hold on now, son!” Jack barked at me. “You hit a shot like that, you walk with your putter.” Ever since that moment, I’ve felt comfortable calling myself a real golfer. Most people who get a dose of Pinehurst magic feel the same. 

Earlier this month, I returned to the cradle of American golf on the Broken Tee Society Tour. The memories came flooding back, along with two new observations. First, despite its nearly unchallenged major championship resume, Pinehurst has worked hard to evolve and embrace golf’s newer and younger generation. Upon arrival, you are greeted by The Cradle, a friendly, alarmingly casual par-3 short course and Thistle Du, a whimsical putting course. There is a walk-up bar with televisions, and music pumping from in-ground speakers.

But as you walk around the veranda to the backside of the clubhouse, the music fades. Suddenly you’re face-to-face with Payne’s statue, Bryson’s bunker and the first tee of one of the game’s most iconic courses. The aura is undeniable, and the gravity of golf history feels thicker than an early morning Carolina haze.

This all serves to support my second observation: Pinehurst No. 2 will never go out of style. I’ve been fortunate to play a lot of great golf courses—including a slew of the hot new entries. Each one promises to be sandier, bigger and bolder than the next. Each one claims to pull inspiration from Pine Valley, Cypress, Augusta, St. Andrews and, sure, Pinehurst No. 2. One has a 25,000-square-foot green, so the next has to be 30,000. More bunkers, more contours, more short courses, more night golf, more comfort stations. It’s an arms race to make the most photogenic golf course from above, to stop your scroll on Instagram, to force you to book a trip because that’s what the cool kids are doing.

Make no mistake: Those courses are fun and unique and fantastic in their own right. But after two holes in at No. 2, it becomes obvious that this is the song they are all sampling. 

And yet…there are no ocean views here. Other courses have steeper elevation changes. The greens are subtle and devastating, but even that has been recreated. It’s no private stroll: Tourists of all handicaps always fill the tee sheet. So what is it? What’s the secret?

“There’s a feeling at No. 2 that if you hit a bad shot, it was on you,” Pinehurst’s President Tom Pashley told me. “Not the golf course.”

Bingo. With each shot at No. 2, an “If” appears in your mind. “If I could just get this in the fairway.” “If I could just carry the false front.” “If I could just clear the bunker.” “If I could just two-putt.” It all feels within our abilities. Yet somewhere between the first tee and final green, the golfer we think we are is introduced to the golfer we actually are. It is a fully present, engaging and mentally exhausting experience. And after a drink on the patio and some laughs and cheers as you watch the misfortunes and victories on 18, another “if” appears: “If I could just play it again tomorrow.” 

The U.S. Open will be back at No. 2 in another five years, and then again every five years until at least 2047. Will golf even still be played in 2047? Probably. Will there be a new class of waste-aread, dome-greened golf courses that dominate your algorithm? Most likely. Will Heart still rock and No. 2 still hold up? Absolutely.