After further review the play stands as called; Philly Cricket Club is every bit as great an old, classic country club as any major championship venue. For the second time, I drove from busy freeways to suddenly quiet suburban streets in the blink of an eye. One moment all the traffic of the world howled its barkings, yelpings and insanities and the next moment, I was quietly motoring around in solace on a scenic neighborhood lane. A golf course magically materialized out of the morning mist, cozily nestled amid stately hardwoods, rolling farmland and tweeting birds. For the second time the club where time stands still cast its mesmerizing spell over this grateful golfer’s spirit: solace amidst the traffic of the world, not only 100 miles from the hustle, shuck and shakedown of Manhattan, but over 100 years as well.
Weeks ago the noble colonial edifice, massive cricket pitch and pastoral feel of the St. Martin’s course was a soothing panacea to a harried greater New York City golfer. Today feels downright colonial as the A.W. Tillinghast designed Wissahickon Course is a hallowed and ancient golf grounds dating back to the first playing of the game in the nation’s first capital.
The pace of life at Philly Cricket Club moves right for me, like peaceful Pocumtuck Valley in western Massachusetts did so long ago when I was at Deerfield Academy. Like Deerfield’s campus, you find the club almost by happy accident; it doesn’t command your attention by announcing its presence with self-aggrandizement like so many modern clubs. You’re not surrounded by a phalanx of greeters or snooty receptionists asking if you are in the right place. Gone are the hawk-eyed, judgmental blue hairs looking at you – even though you may be sharply dressed in pressed black slacks, crisp black golf shirt and shined black shoes – like your Porterhouse the shoe-shine who left too much wax build up on those shoes…insert Judge Smails voice, ”Oh! Porterhouse!”
Believe me, that little bit of solace warms you like a wool sweater on a cold winter day.
And suddenly, as that thought crossed my mind while hitting balls, the sun – as though feeling its first jolt of caffeine from morning cappuccino coursing through its veins – stretched, yawned and shook off its last Cimmerian fog of sleep and warmed us with the first bright glow and an extra few degrees of warmth, just enough to shed the long-sleeve pullover in place of a free-swinging wind shirt. The sky was powder blue; “Houston Oilers” blue for those of you from Texas who remember the Bum Phillips “Luv ya Blue” era. Yes, that’s the one, the age where you got smeared like little floppy grapes by the Pittsburgh Steelers. “I call this ‘golf ball white’” remarked Dan, one of our caddies. But whatever you call it, not a wisp of cloud appeared, from horizon to horizon, and only the buzz and grumble of the of lawn mowers and passing cars disturbed the discourse of the birds.
A peaceful course calls for pacific playing partners and my Philly friends are a splendid, in fact capital set of comrades. Our generous, genial host is “Hal.” That’s not his real name, but what I mistakenly thought I heard when introduced, so that will do fine for this piece. “Bobby Flay, Jr.,” a long driver with a great downward move has also joined us, putting “Boy Meets Grill” and “The Spirit of St. Andrews” aside to come and play on a gorgeous Friday morning. Finally, “Bilbo,” as friendly and fun as any Hobbit dreamed by Tolkien rounds out this motley foursome. And so this band of gypsies set out gamely, in the same adventurous spirit of the cricket playing Gypsies who formed the club in 1854.
Tillie’s Wissahickon course is one of the zaniest, quirkiest and endearing courses I have ever played. Featuring a “Front 10” and a “Back 8” because 9 does not return to the clubhouse, the two sides are vastly different, but full of charm, originality and interesting golf puzzles. You can divide the course into 1 and then 11-18 on the one hand and 2-10 on the other as they not only play through different terrain, but have a different atmosphere.
The first – like the “back 8” - meanders through a wide fairway cut from the farmland, features soft edges, gentle tie-ins to the surrounds and is low impact. A gentle opener, a warm handshake, it’s completely different from the mischievous joy-buzzer that jolts you back to reality at the second.
The second hole tacks right back to the clubhouse and when I say right back, I mean it. The side of the old barn that doubles as the restaurant, locker rooms and pro shop looms directly to the right of the second green.
“Hal, do people ever hit the clubhouse?” I asked curiously.
“Why do you think there are no windows on that side?” he quipped in return.
The hole is also bisected by a creek, so a poor drive can lead to six or much worse. The green is topsy-turvy and follows a theme at PCC – fast and furious, with feet of break even for short putts.
Anyway, the front ten feature some difficult holes. The par-4 5th is straight uphill through a particularly narrow fairway and is particularly difficult for amateurs. The par-5s are long and flanked by deep bunkers. The 215-220 yards par-3 8th is still long by modern standards from its back tees. The best home on this stretch is by far the par-4 450 yard ninth with a diagonal creek to carry on the drive and a long approach. Most importantly for our purposes, the hazards are turned perpendicular to the line of play, making them more dangerous and interesting strategically.
In fact, the only disappointing hole in the entire 45 hole complex is the par-3 tenth. It has a hazard unique in golf course architecture, the parked Lexus Luxury Car. Far more dangerous, intimidating and expensive than water, OB or sand will ever be, the entire left side of the hole is the course parking lot. “You break it, you bought it,” is far scarier than any two stroke penalty and after bump and running off the tee and STILL almost hitting a fender (thank god for that hedge), I then sculled my “approach” over the green and into the second fairway on my way to an ugly double bogey.
Danny the caddy turned to me as we walked to the 11th he and said “Jay, I think your really going to like the last eight holes. Now let’s do a little sociology experiment with that thought.
First, Dan was dead right; I loved the last eight, they were sublime. The entire old world feel of the course that graces this noble edifice was one of the most inviting and charming stretches I have ever played. Now why did Dan think I would like this stretch? Maybe he thought I was just some chump who likes pretty courses that are wider and less demanding than the front ten, but I don’t think so. I think Dan saw me loving the same holes that were eating my lunch (except ten). He scouted me out as a special breed of chump, an upstart parvenu who made a point of appreciating the architecture and how its subtleties make the overall experience so much better.
That’s the magic of PCC. The combination of paying homage to its history, preserving and embracing the courses quirks and then unwinding over the home stretch lends to a relaxing atmosphere, one which the members gratefully cherish.
Relaxing of course until you stand on 18 tee needing a par, then it gets tough again. What a finish; your best drive of the day must be long and straight to reach the knee of the dog-leg. Then the hole cascades downhill past a stream to a murderously canted green. Take your four and get out of dodge.
Each time I have been to Philly Cricket Club, it has made me feel great about being a golfer. History, great golf architecture, superb greens, nice people, an idyllic location, all these blend to make the club a reposeful place of solace amid the traffic of the world. Isn’t that what the game is supposed to be about?