When does a hazard become unfair?
Medinah Country Club/Nick Novelli Photography
The story of the 2026 Presidents Cup at Medinah’s No. 3 course will be the U.S. team’s comeback victory. But an interesting architectural discussion played out all week on golf and social-media forums. The debate centered around the straight out-of-bounds fences alongside holes five, six and seven, played in the matches as Nos. 1-3. Shots tugged just left of the fairways and the greens occasionally bounced out of play or were stymied against the wooden rails.
The arrangement triggered one of golf design’s most-loaded words: unfair.
For a certain mentality, the idea of such an irredeemable penalty, stroke and distance, for an incremental miss or bad bounce seemed outrageous, especially considering the fence was not a true boundary—there was plenty of room between it and the actual property line. During Medinah’s transformation by Geoff Ogilvy, Mike Cocking and Ashley Mead (OCM), the architects found photos from the late 1920s with the fence. They revived it but placed it closer to the left side of the three holes, an architectural choice. To some observers, this created an unfair hazard since the line was fabricated and thus arbitrary.
Architects often face criticisms about their designs being unfair. It’s the first accusation golfers make when they feel victimized by the course. There’s a distinction, though, between unfair and personal preference. “Fair” has an actual meaning, and when it comes to architecture, there aren’t many things that qualify as its opposite.
An extreme example might include holes that force all golfers to carry shots that only some are capable of with no other options. There are certainly course setup situations that could be unfair, such as hole locations cut on slopes or greens running too fast for their contour. But the fairness question essentially comes down to equity. As long as golfers and competitors are playing under the same set of rules and setup, virtually nothing is off limits in course design even if it aggravates them. A level playing field is the only requirement for fairness.
Medinah Country Club/Nick Novelli Photography
Medinah Country Club/Nick Novelli Photography
Medinah Country Club/Nick Novelli Photography
Medinah Country Club/Nick Novelli Photography
Medinah Country Club/Nick Novelli Photography
Medinah Country Club/Nick Novelli Photography
The evolution of golf course architecture—and how courses change to suit the demands of the times—can be mapped directly on top of Medinah’s No. 3 course. It was built in the 1920s within the fields west of Chicago on land that was part farmland and partly wooded. It became a major championship site when it hosted the 1949 U.S. Open, putting it on a track of perpetual improvements to toughen it up to keep pace with tournament demands. To whit, the old 17th hole, a par-3 over water, shifted and morphed several times between 1986 and 2005, and the greens and bunkers have undergone remodels ahead of each event, from Opens, to PGA Championships to Ryder Cups. But when No. 3 was blistered to the tune of 25-under during the 2019 BMW Championship, which coincided with a plunge in our rankings from 53rd to 93rd, the club knew it was time to adapt again. They took a swing and hired the Australian firm of Ogilvy, Cocking and Mead to overhaul the design with the notion of making the course look and play like it might have in the 1920s.
A better question is whether the setup at Medinah is good architecture. Well, we know that it isn’t bad architecture because if we simply envision a lake to the left of these holes instead of O.B., as exists on thousands of courses, no one complains, and the conversation shifts to strategies and tactics. If it’s the edge of a cliff with views into the horizon, the holes would be praised for their beauty and excitement. Yet in both cases, as at Medinah, a ball hit into them is gone with no chance of recovery.
Out of bounds might carry a stiffer penalty than other hazards, but that doesn’t make it unfair: Every player faces the same consequence. Fair and unfair cannot just hinge on stroke and distance vs. a lateral drop. In the case of Medinah, there’s ample space to the right on each shot. When competitors face the same circumstances, everything is fair game, even with a painful tax on error.
Architecture that’s too arduous or unpredictable to be enjoyable should be called out. But the O.B. fence at Medinah is an example of a hazard that’s equitable for all. It’s every player’s job, and within their ability, to plan around it. That’s not just fair, it’s part of the game.
