by Every trip that is in theory supposed to be a “vacation” must straddle the line between on-the-go activities and relaxing decompression. You tend to run into trouble when you feel compelled by anxiety to use every second to see or do every single thing that could be seen or done while traveling. I often fall into this trap. My family did not appreciate it at Disney World, when I drove them into the ground like Tom Thibodeau playing Luol Deng or Jimmy Butler 45 minutes per game during random middle-of-the-season stretches.
Eggsplorations is not a vacation, but it is a trip to see and do as much as we can in a place far from home. So there we were, battling over what to do with a planned golf-less Saturday. We were out Friday night enjoying pints, which likely fueled some of the fervor of the disagreement. After expressing a mix of prior obligations and desires to do this or see that, we came to a begrudging consensus that we would drive the 45 minutes or so from Newcastle to the Belfast-area town of Holywood to check out Rory McIlroy’s home and boyhood golf course. Not all of us were sold. Would it be the best use of a precious half-day? Did we have enough of a plan to make it worthwhile?
Our uncertainty persisted throughout the entire ride, right up until we pulled in the parking lot. There we were immediately amused to see two regular-looking fellas bounding down to their cars with massive, enormous TaylorMade tour bags – one with the Open Championship color scheme and motif, the other the U.S. Open – slung over their shoulders to put in their trunks. In any other parking lot in Northern Ireland that might feel wildly incongruous, but it was affirmation for us. We had found the right place.
The charming Holywood clubhouse. (Photo: Fried Egg Golf)
I’m not sure what we expected, but I don’t think any of us felt the reality was a precise match for how we’d envisioned it. We had heard it was a somewhat unassuming club, not the world’s best golf course, and home to Rory. But that was about it.
The whole property, club and course both, is benched into and draped on the side of one giant hill. We did not expect that, cackling as the car moaned up the steep entryway road. Almost all 18 holes interact back and forth across this angled hillside, leading to quips about how in the world Rory could learn the game here and not be the best uneven-lie player of all time.
The welcoming pros and staff walked us around the clubhouse, a fairly modern structure similar to what you’d see used as a community center in the States. The pro shop featured a few simple racks and some equipment essentials that made it seem stuck in time and place. I mean this in a charmed, non-derogatory way: it felt like a mid-tier muni pro shop. Standing in that space, I was struck hard by the realization that there were so many similarities to Arnold Palmer’s Latrobe, halfway across the world. I visited Latrobe about eight years ago to play in an event, and wrote about how much I was impacted by the unexpectedly antiquated, modest setup. It was molded in the image of one man and how he wanted it to be.
Latrobe and Holywood resemble each other in that both are part-club, part-museum dedicated to their respective hometown legends. Arnold’s dad cut the grass at Latrobe. Rory’s dad poured pints at the bar upstairs at Holywood to help fund his son’s youth golf pursuits. Both places have zero frills or ornate luxuries about them. Both courses even feature holes set on some extreme hillsides and, while interesting, neither will ever be found on a “Best of” list or architectural ranking. After they made it big, each club’s hero invested substantially in order to take care of their home spots. Arnold bought up nearly half of Latrobe, from the club itself to various houses, barns, and shops around town. Rory does not frequent Holywood much anymore, but he does seem to be looking after the place. He’s put in millions to build a new gym and a handful of TrackMan bays in an effort to create a performance center that youth golfers can use to get better. Holywood, whatever its strengths and shortcomings, can justifiably say it has one of the strongest youth golf identities and support systems in the country. That was borne out in the gym, where both young and old were taking advantage of the facilities and equipment. That included one elderly woman just trying to lift some light dumbbells who was forced to deal with Andy getting all up in her space while using a foam roller to work out his post-marathon kinks.
It is still a vibrant, community gathering place-type club, whether people are there to play golf or just eat and drink. There are few frills, but Rory’s presence, as you’d expect, is everywhere. There’s a timeline mural with pictures from each age. There’s a case of replica trophies and awards. His bags are on display. He has an honorary parking spot (though a little white Fiat was in said spot). The Wi-Fi password has something to do with his name. It’s part-museum, part-social center.
Considering all the parallels between Holywood and Latrobe, and who they produced, we chatted a lot about whether some future global golf superstar could still come out of a place like that. Talent may override any sort of elite performance training regimen, AJGA budget, or a zip code in South Florida. But if it becomes harder for a legend to come out of a club like Latrobe or Holywood, the pro game will lose variety and personality. And perhaps be more full of a-holes.
I’m not going to spend a lot of time seeking out the home clubs of golf legends. It has to work for the time and place and circumstances. But seeing the origins for two people who would bring so much power and influence and (to be honest without being hagiographic) overall good to the game was impactful. We weren’t moved to tears or anything, but it was a powerful and worthwhile experience. We walked out of there glad we took the trip, and found the course and club to be an unplanned, enriching way to spend some time. This is who this person was, and where he came to be. It was cool. We were happy we did it.
