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Golf’s great irony is that golfers don’t do it, they play it. No doubt you’ve been part of a conversation where someone says, “I love to golf” or “I’m golfing today.” You instantly know one thing: That person missed the memo that using the word as a verb is akin to fingernails on a blackboard. I mean, does anyone go “tennis-ing”?

It’s not enough to hit the shots, you’ve got to talk the talk, which can sometimes be challenging for a game that seems to have its own language. The patois includes technical terms like carry and fade and even “moment of inertia” ditM-O-I. You have to take divots on doglegs and hit explosion shots to elevated greens. On the slangier side, you must know your breakfast ball from your banana ball, and you’ve seen both while playing better ball — which is not the same as better golf. You can even dine out on cabbage and chili dip and the occasional fried egg. When it comes to clichés, you’ve played cart golf, army golf and more than once made the acquaintance of the ubiquitous blind squirrel.

Your mastery of “golf speak” signals your insider status, but don’t get too comfortable. Do you know that bogey once meant par and par meant you should check in with your financial advisor? “Curlew” or “whaup” probably aren’t part of your lexicon, but trust me, you’d love to have one. The language of golf brims with color and life, like the game itself, but both evolve. Consider the modifications to match-play vernacular, where those tongue-tied by “all square” were instead just tied, and anyone who didn’t like “dormie” found they couldn’t lose.

Those changes to match-play vocabulary emerged from the 2019 revisions to the Rules of Golf, which have played a role in shaping speech about the game since they were first codified by the Royal & Ancient Golf Club of St. Andrews in 1891.

“The widespread use of a golf language coincided with the rise of the printed word,” says Elizabeth Beeck, exhibitions curator at the USGA Golf Museum in Liberty Corner, N.J. “That’s why so many of the common terms emerged around the 1880s and ’90s, the start of the industrial age, when it became easier to travel and communicate on a broader scale.”

Still, many golf terms stretch back centuries, and contested origins are common. What follows is an attempt to sort through the competing etymologies, past reporting and scholarly guesswork to deliver a history of some of golf’s most fundamental words. As for curlew and whaup, they’re names of a European seabird that were proposed and disposed of as stand-ins for hole-in-one… which turned out aces.

Par

Like “muckraking” and “gag order,” par came to the world via a journalist bending the language. In this case, one Alexander Hamilton (A.H.) Doleman, an amateur golfer and writer from Scotland who competed in the 1870 British Open at Prestwick, asked professional counterparts Davie Straith and James Anderson to predict a winning score. After conferring, the pair said a perfect outing on the 12-hole course would amount to 49.

Par comes from Latin and means “equal” or “equality.” At the time of the championship, Brits used the word to describe a stock’s average performance; one could trade above or below that standard. A few days later, when Young Tom Morris shot a 149 over the three-round competition to win his third straight Championship Belt, Doleman wrote that he’d finished two “over par.” Doleman himself finished 20 shots back, which is why his greatest contribution to the game is linguistic.

Even that success took time, though. The first standardized Course Rating system didn’t emerge until the 1890s, and par itself didn’t gain official recognition until 1911, when the USGA codified a rating standard that called it “perfect play without flukes and under ordinary weather conditions, always allowing two strokes on each putting green.” The R&A followed suit in 1925.

Robert Neubecker

Bogey

Bogey originally meant what par does today in the sense that it represented the target score for any given hole. That definition emerged in 1890, when the secretary of Coventry Golf Club in England, Hugh Rotherman, established a scoring standard at his club. He called the target total a “ground score.”

For the Scots, since the 1500s, a “bogey” represented a demon or gremlin, leading to the term “bogey man” and a popular song of the 1880s called “Hush! Hush! Hush! Here Comes the Bogey Man.” By then the term connoted an elusive figure who was difficult to capture, something like the modern Bigfoot.

As the ground score concept spread, golfers replaced that phrase with “bogey score” and adopted the idea that they were chasing or competing against Mr. Bogey. A good player might be called a real “bogey man” and anyone who fell short of the standard “lost to Mr. Bogey.” At the United Services Club, open only to the military, they altered the persona to Colonel Bogey, who stood guard for decades.

As equipment and courses improved, good golfers could easily beat the Colonel and “par” emerged as a target score for pros and proficient amateurs. It was well into the 20th century when U.S. golfers began to use bogey as a term meaning 1 over par, which at the time was just another reason for the game’s founders to dislike Americans.

Robert Neubecker

Birdie

“Bird” was “lit” before it became birdie, if that makes sense. The standard term for shooting 1 under par on a hole is purely American, and it derives from the slang term “bird,” which at the dawn of the 1900s meant anything excellent.

Its specific application to golf, according to legend, traces to Atlantic City (N.J.) Country Club, where A.B. Smith, his brother, William, and George Crump, who designed Pine Valley Golf Club, were playing the second hole. A.B. hit his second shot close on the par 4, and when he tapped in for a 3, called it “a bird of a shot.” After that, the threesome began calling any such feat a “birdie,” and it stuck. The club commemorated the event with a plaque that puts the date at 1903.

The Americans weren’t done with birds. The eagle landed on 2 under par for a hole shortly after the arrival of birdie, with A.B. Smith and friends again claiming credit, although the term wasn’t fully accepted everywhere until the 1930s. The logic was simple enough — if a regular old bird was good, the symbol of the U.S. must be even better.

Smith and his companions used double eagle for 3 under, but that nomenclature was largely undone by a different bird, the albatross, which emerged as the preferred choice in the 1920s. The exact derivation appears to have gone undocumented, although the species brings a logical continuity since it’s a majestic and exceedingly rare bird.

Robert Neubecker

Caddie

This is where the story of the game detours to France. There are written references to “golf” in France dating to the 1400s, and many speculate that caddie comes from the French word “cadet,” which means “boy.” As the story goes, Mary, Queen of Scots, encountered the word on her travels and brought it back to her homeland, where it came to refer to anyone working as a porter or messenger. Eventually, it made the leap to golf.

That sounds tidy enough, but there’s a problem. Other historians say the French didn’t play golf at the time of Mary’s visit, but a different game that used only one club, for which a caddie wouldn’t have been necessary. Whatever the truth, Mary spoke French, as did many nobles, and “cadet” made its way to Scotland (as did “dormie” from the French “dormir,” meaning “to sleep”) and became “caddie” by the 1600s. Dictionaries tagged it as a golf-centric term by the mid-1800s.

Robert Neubecker

Fore

It feels like “fore” should simply be a shortened version of “foreword,” used as a general warning to those ahead of you. It’s not.

A more fun possibility revolves around military history, particularly the formations of riflemen aligned in rows, with one set kneeling in front of a standing set. “Beware foreword” served as a warning to the soldiers in front when the back row was firing and, according to the theory, that eventually morphed into “fore.” There’s a particular connection to Leith Links in Edinburgh, Scotland, which stood next to a fort, bringing soldiers and golfers into close contact, although the warning there related to a pair of cannons flanking the entry. Either way, it puts the fear of getting plunked by a small white orb into perspective.

A second option concerns forecaddies, which were popular in the age of the feathery ball, because they were expensive and hard to make. To keep track of those leather-wrapped projectiles, forecaddies would stand in the landing area. Before hitting, golfers would yell “forecaddie” to alert his man that the ball was incoming. Eventually, they shortened the warning to “fore.” This, as has been noted, holds a certain logical appeal, since the words “caddie,” “forecaddie” and “fore” all emerged around the same time.

Robert Neubecker

Golf

They say success has 1,000 fathers, which might explain golf’s unresolved paternal roots.

Contenders for the title include colf, kolf, chole, kolbe and kolven, all of which basically mean “club” and are associated with some sort of game that involves hitting an orb with a stick. Some historians trace them back to the ancient Greek word kolaphos or the Latin words colapus or colpus, meaning “to strike” or “to cuff.” The games also seem to have some root in the Roman game paganica, which featured a feather-stuffed ball hit with a curved stick and was spread throughout Europe by the conquering legions.

Other experts propose that the Dutch game kolf — played with a stick and ball on frozen canals or fields – migrated across the North Sea to Scotland. Of course, it doesn’t help that once the game arrived the Scots called it all kinds of names, including goff, goif, golf, goiff, gof, glove, gowf, gouff and gowfe. In Gaelic, the word is goilf.

The truth is elusive, but all that matters is that at some point the Scots began playing a game directly related to the current version of the sport and agreed to call it “golf.” Back then, they may have even “golfed,” but no one does that anymore. At least not if they really know what they’re talking about.

Few shots in golf are more intimidating than staring down a bunker with a towering lip between your ball and the green. The margin for error is tiny — blade it and you’ll catch the lip; hit too far behind it and you’re staying in the trap.

With the right technique, though, you can execute these shots without fear. Here are five keys to pulling off a high, soft escape.

1. Open the clubface early

Before you even take your stance, set the clubface wide open, then take your grip. This adds loft by pointing the face more toward the sky and exposes the bounce — the part of the club that helps it glide through the sand. The leading edge should only come into play from buried lies, so getting the right blend of loft and bounce here is essential.

2. Check your setup

Play the ball slightly forward in your stance to help launch it higher. Widen your stance and lower your hands and shaft angle — this promotes added loft and encourages the shallower, skimming strike you want through the sand.

3. Take a thin layer of sand

Your goal is to slide the club under the ball while taking a thin layer of sand. Because sand slows the club significantly, you’ll need more speed than most golfers realize. Focus on throwing the sand underneath the ball and onto the green — not on “hitting” the ball itself.

4. Avoid this big mistake

Most golfers instinctively fall back on their trail foot, thinking it will help lift the ball. In reality, it does the opposite. Hanging back shifts the low point too far behind the ball, making it almost certain you’ll take way too much sand.

5. Commit to the follow-through

An aggressive arm swing is key. Keep accelerating through the sand and let the club finish long and high. This full release helps deliver the height you need to clear the lip.

If you can commit to these setup and swing keys, your bunker play will improve quickly — and high-lip escapes will start feeling a whole lot less scary.

Golf instruction is ever-evolving, but the best advice stands the test of time. In GOLF.com’s new series, Timeless Tips, we’re highlighting some of the greatest advice teachers and players have dispensed in the pages of GOLF Magazine. This week, we revisit a clever putting tip from Seve Ballesteros from our September 1986 issue.

If you watch high-level players on the greens, you’ll be amazed by their touch. They may not make every putt they line up, but most of the time they’ll have more or less the right speed. This not only reduces three-putts, it also expands the effective hole size and helps them sink more putts.

Recreational players are quite the opposite. Hitting a putt with proper speed — and on their intended line — is an exception rather than a rule.

Things only get tougher when a putt breaks a lot. These putts require the perfect balance of line andspeed to get the ball in the hole. Most amateurs struggle just getting one of these variables correct, so expecting them to get both right is extremely unlikely.

There is a trick that can help you find the right formula on these putts, though, and it comes to us courtesy of five-time major winner Seve Ballesteros.

Seve’s tip for matching line and speed

One of the club golfer’s biggest problems on the greens is being too bold and knocking putts through any break.

Because sharp left-to-right and right-to-left putts depend so heavily on pace, they require an expert touch to get the ball rolling on the right line at the right speed — slow enough to take the slope but fast enough to reach the hole. Hitting the ball just right is a tough assignment, particularly when a match is on the line.

I understand this problem well, which is why I’ve developed a strategic — and slightly unorthodox — method for putting that takes a little pressure off hitting the putt at the perfect speed. And if you aren’t sweating the pace, I guarantee you’ll make more breakers.

The key is swinging on an out-to-in path, which means I catch the ball on the toe of the putter at impact. Because the toe end of the putter is lighter than the center, it effectively deadens the hit, allowing for a more aggressive stroke. Naturally, the combination of cutting across the ball and catching it on the toe is going to cause the ball to move a hair to the right. By using this rightward spin, I can hit the ball on an “inside line” to the crest of the break and let it drift back and down to the hole.

Try an out-to-in path to make more putts.

GOLF Magazine

Exactly how you hit the “inside line” putt depends on the direction the putt is breaking.

Faced with a right-to-left putt, many golfers make one of two mistakes: 1) Fearing they won’t reach the crest of the break, they hit the ball too hard and run right through it; or 2) Attempting to be too delicate, they never reach the crest so the ball falls off line on the low side of the hole.

I take precautions against both mistakes by setting the blade square to a point inside the highest point of the break and then making a firm stroke. I take an open stance, which promotes the out-to-in stroke and a hit off the toe of the putterblade. Now when the ball reaches the crest of the break, it is moving fast enough not to fall off course, but slowly enough to take the break.

Again, to hit the left-to-right putt I set up open and aim the putterblade inside the crest of the break. This way the ball will drift back to the normal break and toward the cup.

I’ve been using this method for a few years with success, especially on lightning fast greens. Despite its unorthodoxy, I consider this percentage putting because even if I hit the ball a little easier or harder than I should, the ball still has a chance of rolling in one of the side doors; that’s a luxury the bold putter never has. He has to be right on the money, otherwise the ball will run past the hole or pop out because it’s moving with too much steam.

If you fall into the category of the overly bold putter, make a visit to the practice green and give my method a try. I’m sure it will give you the inside line to lower scores.