When you play Stableford, you never hit a shot that can’t score. You never hit a shot that can’t win. Every shot has meaning. Every shot is engaging. Every shot finds you recruited. There’s never any of that resignation that we must endlessly soldier under the lidless eye of the accounting of the medal format.
As soon as you can’t score, there’s no reason take a stroke. No reason to do anything other than move to the next tee.
From a effort perspective, the implications are obvious. You know, waiting by the first tee, that you won’t stroke the ball any more than a specific number—a function of your index and the course par. If you play well, based on your index, you’ll collect lots of points. If you play average, based on your index, you’ll collect a few. If you play really badly, you might be shutout.
But from an emotional perspective, Stableford means we can enjoy the reach for excellence without fear of the blow-up, the snap hook, banana, the chunked, and the thin alike. It is still golf: anything less than a competent shot will mean a loss of possible points, but we’re no longer asked to skirt the yawning chasm of the infinite from which medal golf draws its power.