I’ve just joined my third golf club in the space of five years and it doesn’t sit well with me.
I like to think of myself as a loyal person. I’m approaching 13 years of marriage, despite the heartache I’ve remained a staunch South Sydney fan for the past 40 years and I’ve only ever owned three different putters.
My golf club membership history mirrored that of my other life commitments, my only reason for switching coming when I moved from one town to the next.
Coffs Harbour, Bathurst, Dubbo, Gailes, Beverley Park and Shelly Beach golf clubs all at one time or another held my unwavering devotion, but the Gold Coast has made me more transient in nature.
With a rental property that sat above the third tee at Robina Woods, the sheer proximity ensured my initial commitment, a membership that came with the added bonus of a second course just 10 minutes down the road.
My initial membership category reflected my previous monetary investments, but as my home rounds dropped so did my willingness to fork out full whack at the end of 12 months.
This was where it began, but I was too blinded by choice to see the slippery slope I had just started tumbling down.
With the hip pocket having less of an input of where my handicap was kept, it was only a matter of time before I ventured into that murky world despised by so many: the golf club whore.
Got a deal going? I’m all ears. You’ll throw in a voucher at the bar? Tell me more. You still charge a joining fee? Sorry, that was so 1990s.
I never wanted to become this person but last week I whored myself out to another new ‘home’. Like ex-girlfriends you awkwardly bump into at the shops, going back to the course after breaking up has an uneasy feeling about it but this time I don’t think the cause for the split is all my fault.
A mate and I took up this club’s offer of an entry-level membership category at a leading Gold Coast club but – and we should have known better – the devil was in the detail. Given we were technically members, albeit on the rung only slightly above pond scum, we politely enquired after joining as to the days when midweek comps were conducted. The reply that such comps were reserved for full members only – with accompanying fields of about 50 golfers – left us more than slightly bemused.
I get it, Saturdays are sacrilege and need to be to justify exorbitant fees, but you’re going to lock out potential full members from playing on your quietest days?
The irony is that if we had been a member of any other club on the coast, we could have at least played in the club’s open days.
But it doesn’t end there.
Our membership expired earlier this year yet no correspondence was received as to whether we wanted to go around again.
I’ll give them some credit – they are consistent. Throughout the 12 months that we were members, not once did I receive a letter, e-mail, text message or carrier pigeon visit with special offers or tee-times that might engender a greater sense of loyalty among the very people most likely to upgrade.
So we walked – actually, took a golf cart – and found another club nearby happy to take our miserly investment in exchange for five rounds and custodianship of our handicap. We can even play in some midweek comps.
I don’t like the golf member I’ve become but like in any
other area of this modern world, the power lies with the consumer.
We have courses clamouring for our patronage so if we give even the slightest indication that we like yours, treat our little taste of loyalty like a tap-in for eagle. Use quiet days to send us an e-mail, don’t treat us like second-class citizens when we’re there and when it’s time for renewals, make us feel important to the club, no matter the level we sit.
Like 37 per cent of respondents to a Facebook survey last year, I want to be loyal to my golf club brand but the days are gone when you can take me for granted.
I’m now out there and if you want me to be loyal, you’d better show me some love.
