Ever go to an all-you-can-eat buffet?

Of course you have. You walk up to that endless line of options, and it all looks good. You tell yourself, “Gotta pace myself,” and three minutes later your plate is piled high with every possible thing from the first third of the line. By the time you make it back to the table, food is falling off the sides. Five minutes after that? You’re stuffed. Bloated. Done.

You look up at the rest of the buffet and think, “Man, I didn’t even get to the carving station.” But it’s too late. You’re full—and you’re not going back.

What, you might be wondering, does this have to do with your golf shop?

Do yourself a favor. Get up from your desk and take a look at your golf shop. Go on… As you look at it, ask yourself, does this look like an all-you-can-eat buffet?

Is your shop packed? Full racks. Full tables. Full walls. And the members? They love it… for a minute. They buy what they like, grab a few early-season pieces—and then they’re gone. They already saw everything. It’s the buffet effect. They got stuffed in May, and now they’re on the couch for the rest of the year. And those who don’t come in early? They’re treated to picked-over inventory, limited sizes, and a poor shopping experience.

So how can we do it better?

Simple.

Stop running a buffet.

Start running a menu.

Last week, we talked about “What’s your Augusta?” We talked about your golf shop. Not just what you sell, but how you plan to sell it. Specifically: your exit strategy. I challenged you by asking how are you going to plan for sales, etc. This week? Let’s talk about how you might be able to accomplish this.

To start, let’s dive deeper into how does Augusta do it? They have pre-portioned inventory for every day. They may sell out items later in the day, but those same items will be back in stock tomorrow. Every patron gets access to the full scope of inventory every day. That’s pretty cool.

In your case, your “Masters week” is your season. The scope of this was changing your retail strategy from a buffet to a menu.

A menu… What’s the difference? It’s two things. The patron only gets to see what the chef wants them to see (the items on the menu, not everything he can make), and, a server. The server helps the patron navigate through what they are going to eat. Still not seeing the relevance? Ponder this…

You’ve got the goods. Now what are you going to do with them?

That putter rack with 27 putters on it? It’s not helping anyone. Members walk in looking for a putter, take one look at that zillion-model pile, and walk right back out. It’s overwhelming. They see headcovers on every putter in a display bag and get tired of pulling them off one by one just to figure out what’s underneath. And even worse? Half of them are buried, banging into each other, shoved in like clearance bins at a box store.

Why not stagger your launch dates?

Put out eight putters. That’s it. Headcovers off. Neatly merchandised. Clean. Intentional. Show a mix—blades and mallets, plumbers necks and double bends, fang-style and mid-mallets. Give it breathing room. Let it look like a curated collection, not a yard sale. And while you’re at it, add some signage. Tell a story. Highlight a feature. “Tour-preferred shape.” “Face-balanced for your straight-back stroke.” “New release for ’24.” Just a little bit of context makes a massive difference.

This allows you to hold some models back. Think: the chef is only showing part of the whole menu. Launch them in waves. Keep it fresh. Rotate the display every couple of weeks. And when you drop those next four or five putters? Boom—new again. People notice. They come back to see what’s changed. That’s the power of pacing.

Nobody gets excited about a rack full of dusty leftovers. But everyone gets excited about something that just hit the floor.

I know what you’re thinking: “Keep two-thirds of my inventory in the back?? Are you crazy?” Maybe. But hear me out.

What if, instead of putting it all out at once, you had a small sign on the display that said, “Don’t see what you want? Ask a staff member. More models in stock.” Why do this? Simple. This is Retail 101. A person—you—will sell ten times more product than a rack or a sign. Always. You just added your second part—a server.

If a member walks up and says, “Hey Pro, I see you’ve got some putters. I was thinking about an Odyssey Rossie S. Do you have one of those in the back?”—guess what. You just sold a putter.

“No I didn’t, he just asked about it.”

Yes, you did. Because now the member is talking to a live, knowledgeable person who cares about him and wants to help him find what he’s looking for. The sale happens in the answer.

“Hmm, I’m not sure, Joe. Let me go have a look.”

A minute later: “Joe, I don’t have the Rossie S, but I’ve got three other slant neck mallet options I think you’ll like. What drew you to that model?”

“I had a buddy who plays one and I loved the way it looks.”

“I get it—I like that shape too. How about we fit you for a putter instead and see if we can find something that performs even better?”

“You can fit for a putter?”

A few minutes later, that same member walks out with a putter and a story to tell, and probably a little more confidence standing over six-footers. And he didn’t get that from a rack. He got it from you—because you didn’t show him everything at once. You left room for the interaction. You left room to sell.

Browsers browse. Sellers sell. A person selling will always outperform a rack that doesn’t talk. That’s the job. That’s called being a merchant.

So who’s the worst merchant?

A retailer.

Wait—what?

That’s what they specialize in, right? Retail? Yes. But most retailers just put everything out and let you shop on your own. If you have questions, there’s no one to talk to. Looking for a size buried at the bottom of a pile? Good luck. And when you’re done trying it on and it doesn’t fit? You’re now stuck trying to re-fold it and make the table look halfway presentable. As the day goes on, the store looks worse and worse. The people who could help you are either hiding or clueless.

It’s a terrible experience.

Now let me tell you what it could look like.

I went to the Masters. I endured the Merchandise Pavilion. I was looking for something for my wife—me and women’s fashion, not a great mix. So I stood there, in a crowd, watching a woman go through the motions. “Can I see a number 7?” She looked at it and handed it back. “How about a #2?” Same thing. After six or seven tries, the girl behind the counter finally said, “Ma’am, what are you hoping to find?”

That’s a great question.

“Can I help you?” usually gets a “No.”

“What are you looking for?” gets a “Just browsing.”

But “What are you hoping to find?” makes you think. It demands a better answer.

The woman said, “I’m hoping to find something thin and long-sleeved that I can wear when I play.”

Boom. The rep lights up. “This one’s my favorite. It’s tighter in the arms, super light, made for movement.” She tries it on—perfect. I watched it all unfold. And then I said, “I’ll take one of those too.”

That was a Masters moment. If that girl hadn’t asked the right question—if she hadn’t engaged at all—that lady might still be shopping. She’s not walking out empty-handed—it’s the Masters. But I might have. If this is your golf shop, do they walk out empty handed? Do they walk out empty handed because no one helped them?

This one is one of my favorites… “My women members don’t buy anything.” Yes they do. Women buy more than men. They just don’t buy from you. Why? Because you’re doing it wrong. Be a server and engage. Find out what they want and help them get it. Yes, it is that simple.

Let’s go one level deeper.

Ever walk through Faneuil Hall in Boston? Market Street in Charleston? Or a craft show at the fair? You know the scene. Dozens of vendors crammed side-by-side, each one with every single item they’ve ever made dumped out on a folding table. And sitting behind it? One person, in a chair, glued to their phone, not paying one bit of attention to anyone walking by. People glance, maybe slow down for half a second, then move on. It’s visual noise. Nothing stands out. Nobody engages. It’s exhausting just thinking about it.

And it begs the question: Who actually buys stuff at these places?

Now… what do you think happens in your golf shop?

When you put everything out all at once, and then sit behind the counter waiting for someone to browse, you’ve unintentionally recreated the craft fair experience. Doesn’t matter how nice the product is—if nothing catches their eye in that split second as they scan the room, and no one’s engaging, they’re walking right by. Maybe they buy one thing. Maybe they don’t. Either way, they’re gone until next season.

So can you be better? Maybe. Buffet line is out. Limited menu is in. And a server? Be the best one you can be.

Your Augusta moment is waiting. Go create it. This week, remove one rack to save inventory for later. Launch one item. Talk to one member. That’s how it starts.