I Spent 40 Years Learning How Golf Handicaps Really Work

If you had asked me about my golf handicap when I started playing in tourneys as a kid, I probably would’ve given you the same answer most golfers did back then.

“It means how many strokes over par I usually shoot.”

It wasn’t exactly right, but in the early 1980s, it was a pretty common way to think about handicaps.

When I started playing competitive golf in 1982, the handicap system looked very different than it does today. The formulas have changed. The calculations have become smarter. Technology has made everything faster; back in the 80s, there were certainly no push notifications with GHIN updates.

But one thing hasn’t changed at all.

Most golfers still don’t really understand what their handicap means.

Ironically, that’s one of the ways golf is so unique. Nearly every competitive golfer has a handicap. Very few of us can accurately explain how it works.

For me, my handicap became much more than a number. It became a diary of my golfing life.

It tracked my improvement as a junior golfer.

It documented the pressure of tournament golf.

It humbled me when I thought I had everything figured out in college.

And today, more than 40 years after getting my first handicap, it still gives me an honest measurement of where my game stands.

Along the way, I’ve learned that a golf handicap shouldn’t be established to impress your buddies or give you bragging rights at the 19th hole. (Note: We’ve all thrown out “Vanity” handicaps before, but let’s not get lost in those stories today.)

Handicaps are there to make golf fair. So you can play a meaningful match against anyone else in the world who also has a handicap, no matter the language they speak, their age, whether they normally break par, or are still striving to break 80 for the first time.

More importantly, it’s there to help you measure progress.

But it took me decades—and more than a few confusing rounds—to understand that.

My First Handicap

My first official handicap was an 18. Back then, that number became my report card.

Every stroke I shaved off meant I was getting better. Within a few years, I’d lowered it to a 6, and every improvement felt like validation for all those afternoons spent hitting balls until sunset and grinding on the practice putting green.

Then the world of competing in junior tournaments for my twin brother and me (Eric or Eloh, as he likes to be called) entered the picture. Starting when we were 10, every summer on the SCPGA Junior Tour, we’d play bigger tournaments than before and against better, more experienced players. The competition got tougher. The nerves got nervier. As summer dragged out, my handicap would creep upward.

Come fall and winter, I’d go back to playing more relaxed rounds with friends and Eloh. The pressure definitely lessened. My scores improved. My handicap started falling again.

Looking back, I can almost chart my junior golf seasons by watching my handicap move up and down.

I still remember the first time I shot even-par 72. Under the handicap system used at the time, my handicap dropped nearly a full stroke. I was proud. I was shocked.

And if I’m being completely honest… I also started feeling something I hadn’t expected. Handicap pressure. Suddenly, I wasn’t just trying to play good golf. I was trying to protect a number. For me, an important number.

Golf has a funny way of reminding you who’s really in charge.

A few rough tournaments later, my handicap drifted back upward, and I wondered what I was doing wrong. It would take years before I truly understood what that number was actually trying to tell me.

The Day I Beat Our Club Champion by Six Shots…Sort Of

This is a great story, so bear with me.

There was a point as a teen I thought I understood everything. Including golf handicaps. Then I beat our club champion by shooting 78 while he shot an even-par 72.

The match took place at Spring Valley Lake Country Club in beautiful and majestic Victorville, California. (Side Note: You know you’re getting old when the club you grew up playing—Spring Valley Lake—is now called Bear Valley, and honestly, for no good reason.)

I was 13 years old.

At the time, SVLCC’s club champion was a dick. Sorry, his name was Richard. Nobody called him Richard. Everybody called him Dick. Looking back, it’s pretty funny that a small group of the better junior golfers at the club had no problem asking an adult, “Hey Dick, want to play?” Somehow, it never seemed strange back then.

Dick was an outstanding player with a +2 handicap and had a big ass ego. He was Ty Webb minus the charm and good looks.

When we teed it up in our loosely heralded match, I was a 3 handicap. I knew I’d be getting strokes. What I didn’t understand was where I’d get them—or how dramatically they could affect the outcome of a match.

We decided to play a $5 Nassau. If you’ve never played a Nassau, it’s one of golf’s oldest and most popular friendly wagers.

A $5 Nassau isn’t actually one bet. It’s three. Five dollars on the front nine. Five dollars on the back nine. And five dollars on the overall 18-hole match. Each hole is played using match play instead of stroke play. That means you’re trying to win more holes than your opponent—not necessarily shoot the lowest overall score. Think Sunday at the Ryder Cup.

In a fair Nassau, that’s where handicap strokes—or “pops,” as golfers often call them—become so important. Imagine Dick and I both make par on a hole. Normally we’d tie. But on one of the holes where I received a handicap stroke, my par became a net birdie.

Same score. Different result. A fair result.

I understood that in theory. I just didn’t appreciate how much those pops mattered.

The match started well enough before things quickly went sideways. On the sixth hole I made a double bogey on a tricky downhill par-3. Dick made birdie. At that point, he was beating me by a couple of shots. But I wasn’t paying attention—nor knew how to—to whether I was winning or losing holes. I was just focused on the gross score.

Just like that, I felt like I was getting steamrolled. I started pressing. Trying harder. Swinging faster. Trying to clear creeks on 7 and 8, which I rarely was able to.

I was making golf infinitely more difficult than it needed to be.

Around the turn, I settled down and finally started playing my own game again.

A couple of birdies. Some solid pars (#12 from the tips is a good par 3, and a par I made).

I clawed my way back into the match. When we walked off the eighteenth green, 4+ hours after teeing off on #1, I signed for a 78.

Dick signed for a 72.

Six shots better.

As far as I was concerned, I’d just donated 5+ dollars to the club champion.

Instead…Dick smiled. Took off his visor. Shook my hand. Reached into his pocket. Handed me a crisp five-dollar bill.

You see, with strokes, I had lost the front-nine bet. But I had also won the back-nine and 18-hole total bets.

Net result?

I walked away five dollars richer after getting beaten by six shots.

That afternoon changed the way I looked at handicaps. A handicap isn’t designed to tell everyone who’s the better golfer. The scorecard already does that.

A handicap exists so golfers of different abilities can compete fairly. Without handicaps, very few golfers would ever have a realistic chance of beating someone significantly better than they are. As with my story, Dick may have been a dick, but at the time we played the $5 Nassau game, he was a much more accomplished golfer than I was.

With proper handicaps, every golfer has a chance. And every hole matters.

The Most Confusing Handicap of My Life

By the time I was a freshman in high school in 1988, I thought I’d figured the handicap system out.

Play well? Your handicap goes down.

Play poorly? Your handicap goes up.

Simple.

Then golf reminded me that handicaps have never been that simple.

One afternoon I teed it up at an executive course in Palm Springs that I don’t think even exists anymore. Everything clicked.

I drove it well. My irons were sharp. The putter finally cooperated. I spent some time in the Zone.

I shot 4-under par.

I beat up on a few of my high school teammates. Won a little Boone’s Farm money. And drove home, convinced my handicap was about to drop. I needed it to so that I would qualify for a tourney I had my eye on.

A few weeks later, and after taking a short, lazy respite from golf, my revised handicap arrived.

Instead of going down…It went up. I stared at it, certain there had to be a mistake, even if a computer had come up with the new number. How could one of the best rounds of my young golfing life actually make my handicap worse?

The answer back then was different than it would be under today’s World Handicap System, which debuted in 2020. But the lesson was exactly the same.

A handicap isn’t a reward for your last great round. It’s trying to measure your demonstrated playing ability over time. That misunderstanding has probably confused golfers for decades. It certainly confused me.

The formulas have changed.

The confusion hasn’t.

Not All 82s Are Created Equal

One of the biggest myths in golf is that an 82 is simply an 82.

It isn’t.

After graduating from the University of Washington, where I played collegiate golf, I stayed on as an assistant coach for three seasons. (Shout out to O.D. and the boys.)

During one spring break trip, our traveling team played the PGA West Stadium Course from the championship tees. There were nine of us cocky kids (young coaches are kids too!) carrying purple Ping golf bags with Washington scripted in gold across the big zipper section.

If you’ve ever played the Stadium Course, you know exactly where this story is going.

The course carried a 76.1 Course Rating and a 150 Slope Rating.

It was blowing. Hard.

Nobody on our traveling squad broke 80. Every one of us walked off the course feeling like we’d left a dozen shots out there. I’ll never forget that day.

I managed an 82. Even with a few downwind birdies.

At the time, it happened to be the highest score I’d posted in well over a year. I figured my handicap would climb. Instead…It went down. Again, I was confused.

How could the worst score I’d posted in over twelve months actually improve my handicap? That’s when I finally understood something the handicap system had been trying to teach me for years. Your score is only half the story.

The other half is how difficult the golf course was expected to play.

An 82 at your local municipal course off of the whites isn’t necessarily the same as an 82 on one of the toughest championship layouts in America from the tips. Yeah, this realization wasn’t rocket science. But then, I wasn’t a rocket scientist to start out.

The handicap system knows the difference between good and great, and shit and shat.

That’s why two golfers can shoot exactly the same score on different courses and see completely different results when their handicap updates.

Not all scores are created equal. And not all 82s are created equal. That realization changed everything. I was no longer going to only try to beat old man par when I teed it up. Instead, I was committed to taking on old man handicap. My goals had shifted.

For the first time, I stopped looking at my scorecard as the entire story.

The golf course had a vote, too.

Here’s where this post pivots from a handicap history lesson to just a good ol’ fashioned Handicap 101 lesson…

How GHIN Works Today

Fortunately, today’s handicap system is much easier to understand than the one I grew up with.

In 2020, golf adopted the World Handicap System (WHS), creating a unified method for calculating handicaps worldwide. Today, whether you play in Victorville, Liverpool, Australia, or South Africa, the basic principles are now the same.

The most common way golfers in the United States maintain an official handicap is through GHIN (Golf Handicap Information Network). After joining a golf club or a state golf association, individual golfers are assigned a GHIN number and are provided directions on how to post their scores.

While the math behind the scenes is sophisticated, the concept is refreshingly simple.

Step 1: Post Your Scores

After every eligible round of golf, you post your score.

Whether it’s nine holes after work (with a beer in hand) or a full 18 on Saturday morning before your kid’s soccer matches kick off, every acceptable score becomes part of your playing record.

Step 2: Every Score Becomes a Score Differential

This is where many golfers get confused. Including me. Before I completed the research for this article, I was just as confused as the next GHIN-carrying golfer.

GHIN doesn’t compare your raw score to everyone else’s raw score.

Instead, it converts each round into a Score Differential, which considers the difficulty of the course you played.

That means:

• An 82 posted on an exceptionally difficult championship course in the PNW may represent better golf than a two-over 72 shot at Monarch Beach Golf Links, a nice resort course based in Dana Point, CA.
• Two golfers can shoot exactly the same score and have completely different differentials because the courses weren’t equally challenging.

This is why the handicap system works so well. It compares how well you played relative to the golf course, not just the number written on your scorecard.

Step 3: Your Best Golf Counts

This surprises almost everyone.

Your Handicap Index isn’t based on your average score. It’s based on your best eight Score Differentials from your most recent 20 rounds.

That’s an important distinction.

Golf isn’t trying to predict what you’ll shoot on an average Tuesday afternoon. It’s trying to estimate what you’re capable of shooting when you’re playing well next Tuesday at Monarch Beach.

Think about it this way. If your last 20 rounds include several scores in the high 70s, a handful in the low 80s, and one ugly 92 after your driver decided every fairway was optional, that 92 probably won’t have much influence on your Handicap Index.

One bad day doesn’t define your game.

Thankfully.

Step 4: Your Handicap Travels With You

Your Handicap Index is portable.

Your Course Handicap changes depending on where you play. That’s because every course presents a different challenge.

A relatively flat municipal course with wide fairways isn’t asking the same questions as a championship venue with deep bunkers, narrow landing areas, and greens that were shaped by crooked Alister MacKenzie disciple.

That’s why your Course Handicap may change from one golf course to another even though your Handicap Index stays exactly the same.

A Quick Reference Guide for Golf Nerds Like Me (the me of today)

If you understand those five terms, you’re already ahead of most golfers.

Chris Lohman’s Biggest Handicap Myths

Even after four decades of competitive golf, I still hear the same misconceptions.

Let’s clear up a few of them.

Myth #1: Your Handicap Is Your Average Score

Nope.

This is probably the biggest misconception in golf. If you’re a 10 handicap, it doesn’t mean you normally shoot 82. Your Handicap Index represents your demonstrated potential, not your average round. Most 10 handicaps shoot an average score between 84-86 depending on the course and tees they play.

Myth #2: One Great Round Will Drop Your Handicap Dramatically

Usually not. One outstanding score could help (or hurt if you’re a sandbagger), but your Handicap Index is based on a collection of your best recent rounds. If you really want to see a precipitous drop in your handicap, go out and shoot five great scores out of the next ten you post.

Consistency almost always beats one magical day.

Myth #3: One Bad Round Will Ruin Your Handicap

Fortunately, that’s usually not true either.

We’ve all had days when we couldn’t find the fairway, couldn’t make a putt, and briefly considered taking up pickleball or “hiking” with a weighted vest. One poor round rarely has a significant impact.

Myth #4: Lower Is Always Better

Technically, yes. Emotionally, maybe not.

I’ve known golfers who became so obsessed with protecting their handicap that they forgot to enjoy the game. Golf is supposed to be fun.

Your handicap should help you compete—not become another source of stress.

Why I Still Care About My Handicap

People often say that as you get older, you stop caring about your handicap.

I can honestly say that isn’t true for me. In fact, I probably care about it just as much today as I did when I was 13.

The difference is why I care.

Back then, my handicap felt like a trophy. Every time my handicap went down, it felt like proof that I was becoming a better golfer. When it went up, I took it personally. Today, I see it very differently. My handicap isn’t my identity (mostly). It’s feedback.

I don’t play nearly as much golf as I did growing up. Not even close. And I certainly don’t compete in dozens of tournaments every year like I once did. My putting stroke is shaky, and my backswing is definitely shorter. Breaking 70 just doesn’t happen anymore unless the golf gods bless me with the round of the year.

Life has a funny way of replacing endless practice sessions with careers, families, responsibilities, and a calendar that somehow fills itself without asking permission. Don’t get me started on club soccer parent commitments. Like I love to say: At least my kids are good. It makes up for my game no longer living in rarified air.

But my Handicap Index still tells me whether the work I’m putting into my game is paying off—or whether Father Time is quietly winning the match as a few more gray hairs poke out from under the back of my hat.

At my best, I reached a +5 handicap. I really did have a great run the summer between my junior and senior years of college.

Today, my handicap sits at 1.5.

Some golfers might see that as a decline.

I don’t. I see a challenge.

Sure, the young me would whoop on the current me if we only compared scores, but because of the WHS, we can at least have a fair match and even play off two sets of tees.  

My goal is to get my Handicap Index below 1.0 by the end of this year and become a scratch golfer again sometime next year.

Will I get there? I honestly don’t know. It’ll largely be determined by the number of rounds I play and if I take have the time to properly practice.

Golf has a way of humbling anyone who starts making predictions.

But that’s part of the fun. The handicap gives me an honest measuring stick. It tells me whether I’m improving. More importantly, it’ll motivate me.

I’ll take you along for that journey in another article later this summer.

Fair warning, though.

There will probably be a few three-putts along the way, and more than a couple of lost Nassau bets.

About the Author

Chris Lohman has spent more than four decades playing competitive golf, beginning as a junior golfer playing out of Spring Valley Lake C.C., before competing at the NCAA Division I level for the University of Washington and later serving as an assistant coach, before moving on to the business and marketing side of golf. A former +5 handicap, he still enjoys the pursuit of improvement and is currently working toward becoming a scratch golfer again. Through Balls & Bogeys, a hobby/side hustle of Saint Street Marketing, he shares practical advice, personal stories, and the lessons golf has taught him on and off the course.