By Rahil Gangjee
If golf ever needed proof that it has a wicked sense of humour, look no further than the driving range. That sacred strip of artificial grass where dreams are born, handicaps are murdered, and grown adults convince themselves they’re “really close” to figuring it out.
On the range, you are exceptional. A pure striker of the golf ball. Your warm-up starts cautiously, but by bucket ball number 14, you’ve found it. That effortless rhythm. That sound. The ball launches high, straight, and proud, disappearing into the distance like it has places to be.
People notice. They always do. Someone pauses mid-swing to watch. Another gives you that respectful nod. Someone eventually asks the most dangerous question in golf:
“Good swing… you play much?”
You shrug, pretending not to care. Inside, you’ve already pencilled yourself in for the club championship.
Fast forward three hours. Same swing. Same clubs. Same human being. You are now six over through five and Googling “sports psychologists near me.”
Welcome to the great mystery of amateur golf: why you’re a world-beater on the range and a complete beginner on the course.
The obvious suspect?
Range balls versus real balls.
Let’s talk about range balls first. These things have lived many lives. They’ve been hit thin, fat, sideways and occasionally backwards. Their dimples are tired. Some are smoother than a politician’s answer. Aerodynamically, they are closer to potatoes than golf balls.
And yet, they are incredibly kind.
Range balls don’t spin much. This is key. Low spin means low punishment. You can deliver the club a little from the outside, a little from the inside, slightly open, slightly shut, and the ball still toddles off in roughly the right direction.
Range balls are the ultimate enablers. They let you believe your swing is better than it actually is. They smooth over flaws, hide face-angle sins, and turn what should be violent slices into polite fades.
They are also predictable. Every ball reacts more or less the same. Same lie. Same height. Same target. Same routine. You’re not really playing golf—you’re rehearsing movement.
Now enter the real golf ball.
It’s glossy. It’s expensive. It has opinions. And it spins. A lot.
The real ball does not forgive. It documents. Every degree the clubface is open or closed, every path that wanders slightly off-script—it’s all recorded in exquisite detail.
That gentle fade you loved on the range? It now starts left, turns right, keeps turning, and ends up introducing itself to a tree that hasn’t seen a golf ball since 2007.
The real ball exposes reality. And reality, for most golfers, is uncomfortable.
But spin is only half the story. The bigger shock comes from where the ball is sitting.
On the range, every ball has been thoughtfully placed for your convenience. Flat lie. Perfect height. Always aligned toward something you’re not truly trying to hit anyway. You could set up with your eyes closed and still make reasonable contact.
On the course, the ball develops a personality.
It sits on slopes. It nestles into divots. It hides in rough that looks innocent but grabs your club like it’s owed money. Sometimes it’s above your feet, sometimes below, and occasionally it’s sitting so awkwardly that you’re not sure whether to play golf or apologise to it.
Suddenly, stance matters. Balance matters. Low point matters. And your lovely range swing—built for ideal conditions—starts to feel like it’s been designed for a different sport.
Then comes pressure.
On the range, there are no consequences. You hit a bad one? No problem. Rake another ball forward. In fact, the next ball is often better, which convinces you the bad one “didn’t count.”
On the course, every shot counts. There is no rake. There is only a walk.
And that walk—those few seconds between hitting the shot and seeing where the ball ends up—are where golf really lives. That’s when doubt creeps in. That’s when swing thoughts multiply. That’s when the brain, which was peacefully silent on the range, suddenly becomes very vocal.
“Don’t go right.”
“Last time you were here, you went left.”
“Maybe take one more club.”
“No, that’s too much club.”
“Just hit it like you did on the range.”
Ah yes. The most useless advice in golf.
Because the range and the course reward completely different skills.
The range rewards repetition. The course rewards decision-making.
The range rewards mechanics. The course rewards imagination and commitment.
On the range, you hit a 7-iron. On the course, you hit a soft 7-iron, starting at the left edge, landing short of the pin, avoiding the bunker long, accounting for the wind, the slope, the lie, and the fact that you really don’t want a double bogey here.
That’s not a swing—that’s a conversation.
And here’s the truth most golfers don’t want to hear: being good on the range doesn’t mean you’re good at golf. It means you’re good at hitting golf balls.
Golf is not about perfect contact in perfect conditions. It’s about producing acceptable outcomes from imperfect situations. And the only place you learn that is on the course.
This is why you’ll often see players who look ordinary on the range but somehow score. They don’t wow you with sound or shape. But they know where to miss. They know when to be aggressive and when to be boring. They understand that a safe shot with commitment beats a perfect swing with doubt.
So what do you do about it?
First, stop treating the range like a performance stage. It’s not an audition. No one’s handing out trophies for “Best Bucket.” Use it with purpose. Change targets. Change clubs. Visualise holes instead of flags. Hit one ball with full focus, not ten in a row on autopilot.
Second, add consequences. On the range, consequences are imaginary—so create some. Miss the target? Step back. Reset. Make the next ball matter. If you’re really brave, tell yourself every third ball costs money. You’ll be amazed how quickly your swing becomes honest.
Finally—and this is the most important—play more golf. Real golf. With scorecards. With awkward lies. With nerves. With all its discomfort.
Because the range is where you fall in love with golf. The course is where golf tests that love.
And the sooner you accept that range balls are liars and real balls are truth-tellers, the sooner you’ll stop asking, “Why can’t I take it to the course?”
You already have. The course just happens to be the only place that counts.
Rahil Gangjee is a professional golfer, sharing through this column
what life on a golf course is like