The art of provincial golf
The most creative golfers usually aren’t the ones with perfect practice facilities and swing coaches on speed dial.
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Daily TribuneThe most creative golfers usually aren’t the ones with perfect practice facilities and swing coaches on speed dial.
The most creative golfers usually aren’t the ones with perfect practice facilities and swing coaches on speed dial. They’re the ones who grew up in the provinces, where a “range session” might just be a patch of grass, a bucket of beat-up balls, and a quiet hope that nobody takes out a window. Out there, golf isn’t about textbook swings — it’s about figuring things out on the fly, shaping shots around coconut trees, and turning ugly lies into “I meant to do that” moments when they finally show up on bigger stages.
That’s why it didn’t really surprise me when I saw John Rey Oro pull out a driver from the fringe at The Vineyard Golf Club in Tanauan, Batangas over the weekend. “I can do that,” I thought.
But then he did it again — this time from about 30 yards off the green — sending the ball to inside three feet. And suddenly, I wasn’t so sure anymore.
Oro is a 19-year-old from Bacolod City, one half of twin brothers who first made their mark in the game as caddies at Bacolod Golf Club.
Unlike his brother John Paul, who is now a father, John Rey has stayed fully locked in on chasing a professional career. He rarely carries a bag these days, choosing instead to focus on building his game and his future in the sport.
For the past three weeks, he’s been on the road almost nonstop — teeing it up at Valley Golf and Country Club in Antipolo, then Mount Malarayat Golf and Country Club in Lipa, and most recently The Vineyard Golf Club in Tanauan.
Originally, he was only supposed to play at Valley. But an invitation from Junior Golf Foundation of the Philippines president Oliver Gan extended his run.
John Rey grew up just steps away from the second hole of Bacolod Golf — formerly Binitin — and started swinging a club at the age of five.
With no formal coaching and no structured training, he learned the game the hard way: by experimenting, adapting, and escaping trouble one shot at a time. The uneven terrain, strong winds, and unpredictable lies at Binitin shaped a player who didn’t just learn how to swing — but how to think.
While many Metro Manila golfers have access to launch monitors, swing analyzers, and structured coaching programs, provincial players like John Rey often rely more on feel, instinct and imagination. Limited resources meant worn-out balls, improvised practice setups and making the most of whatever space was available. Even practice itself became a kind of creativity drill — inventing games around the course just to keep things interesting.
It’s no surprise that many of the country’s greats came from similar beginnings — Larry Montes, Celestino Tugot, Ben Arda and Frankie Miñoza among them.
The question now is how to bring that same kind of creativity into more structured environments. Metro Manila golf has become highly technical, and while that builds consistency, it can sometimes limit imagination when players are faced with unpredictable conditions.
One answer is simple: make practice messier. Less perfect. More game-like. Uneven lies, awkward targets, and scoring drills that reward decision-making as much as execution force players to think instead of just repeat.
Course setups can also help. Tighter landing areas, more varied pin positions, and short-game challenges that require creativity can push players out of their comfort zones.
And perhaps just as important, exposure. Letting structured, system-trained players spend time alongside improvisational golfers from the provinces can expand how they see the game. Because in the end, creativity in golf isn’t something you install — it’s something you develop when you’re forced to solve problems in more than one way.
