I started life as a proper range rat. My dad chopped down a Bullseye putter when I was five, hoping I’d chip and putt my way to glory. Naturally, I ignored that and started smashing it flat out off a tee.
At Stoke Poges I’d sidle up to the top amateurs, listening for the sound of their strike, copying their rhythm, and hoping something stuck. These guys were outrageously good, but none of them could explain why. Their swings lived in a place far away from the conscious mind. The only real question was whether they could resist the temptation to ruin it. Most couldn’t.
When I trained as a PGA pro, suddenly I was on the range charging £30 an hour. The system was a fault-finding checklist: grip, aim, stance, posture, swing. Delivered with a smile, it felt professional. But did it actually make golfers better? Not really. It was like sticking plasters on a broken system. I very quickly threw away my PGA training, I knew I could get people hitting it well on the range. I was a good ball striker myself. If they hit it well they were buzzing and everyone was happy. But was I really providing them with knowledge and skills they could own?
Part of the problem is how “instruction” evolved. Once video cameras arrived, coaches discovered they could freeze-frame swings and compare positions. If a student’s shaft wasn’t where Faldo’s was, the coach felt indemnified: show the difference, prescribe the fix, job done.The illusion of Leadbetter rebuilding Faldo’s swing gave that approach legitimacy—and it sent a whole generation (mine included) chasing positions instead of skills.
Then launch monitors turned up. Again, coaches fell into the same trap: treating data as a safety net. “Your path is five left, your face is two open”—all technically true, all mostly useless for actually playing golf. Information became a shield for the coach, not a tool for the player.
So why is golf taught so badly? A few reasons:
The culture of tips – Golfers love swapping ideas. It’s part of the game, but it’s also why half the golfing world lives on a diet of contradictions.
The obsession with “the secret”– Hogan’s book probably did more damage than good. Everyone thinks there’s onemove hiding in the rough. There isn’t.
The business model – 30–60 minute lessons reward quick fixes. Hit it better by the end of the session, job done. Long-term skill? Someone else’s problem.
The content firehose – The moment you like golf on Instagram, you’re buried in a landfill of nonsense drills that look great in slow-mo but don’t transfer to the course.
Technology as theatre – First video, then launch monitors. Both became more about justifying the lesson than actually helping golfers learn.
And yet there is a better way.
Stop fault-finding and start building skills.
Use constraints and challenges that make the golfer figure things out. Ownership beats obedience every time.
Play games in practice. Golf is already hard enough - if practice isn’t fun, it won’t stick.
Be a guide, not a mechanic. The job isn’t to fix; it’s to steer people away from dead ends and let them take charge of their own golf.
Golf doesn’t need another “secret.” It needs honesty. It needs a shift from cosmetic fixes to real skill development.
That’s the lane we try to drive in at Urban Golf: less bullshit, more ownership. Because the only thing worse than playing badly is paying for bad information on your way down.