Best Ball vs. Four-Ball: The Argument Your Foursome Has Every Single Time

Somebody announces the game on the first tee. "Let's do best ball, you and me against Dave and Mike." And before anyone's even pulled a driver out of the bag, Mike's shaking his head. "That's not best ball, that's four-ball. Best ball is when it's one guy against a bunch of guys." Now you're standing on the tee box, four grown men, arguing about a word, while the group behind you is already walking up.

Here's the direct answer, so you can settle it and go play: best ball and four-ball describe the exact same scoring — two-person teams, each player plays their own ball for the whole hole, and the lower of the two scores is the team's score for that hole. The real difference isn't the game. It's that "four-ball" is the official term from the actual Rules of Golf and only ever means two-man teams, while "best ball" is the looser term your group's been using for that same game — and sometimes for a completely different team size, too.

Neither of you is wrong, exactly. You're just using two different vocabularies for a game that's been confusing foursomes since before either of your grandfathers picked up a club.

We've had this exact argument in our group more times than I'd like to admit — usually started by whoever spent one member-guest weekend at a nicer club than the rest of us and came back using words like "fourball" as one word, like he'd been knighted. I'm a weekend golfer, not a rules official, and I've made my own share of mistakes explaining this to a new guy in the cart. But getting it right once means you're the one who ends every future version of this argument in about fifteen seconds instead of starting one.

Wait — Isn't Best Ball Just... Four-Ball?

Yes. Genuinely, mechanically, yes. Strip away the names and you're looking at one format: two players are partnered as a side. Each of them plays their own ball from tee to green, all the way through the hole, same as if they were playing solo. When both partners have holed out, the team keeps whichever score was lower and throws the other one away.

That's it. That's the whole engine. No shared ball, no alternating shots, nobody picking up the group's one drive off the tee like it's a scramble. Two guys, two balls, one number survives per hole.

This puts it in the same family as most of what lives under Games & Bets on this site — different formats, same underlying idea, that a smart scoring rule can turn an uneven foursome into a fun one instead of a lopsided one. If you want the full spread of formats your group hasn't tried yet, the Game Formats A-Z hub has the rest of them.

Where the confusion actually starts is that most weekend groups learned this game by watching it, not by reading a rulebook. You picked it up from a Ryder Cup broadcast, or a buddy who half-explained it on a cart ride, or a member-guest pairing sheet that just said "4BBB" and expected you to know what that meant. Nobody handed you a glossary. You just absorbed a word and ran with it, and so did everybody else in your group — which is exactly how two guys end up certain they're both right and both using a different word for the identical game.

From what I've noticed playing this format for years now, the argument almost never happens over how the scoring works once someone explains it. It happens over which word gets to be the "correct" one — and that part turns out to be a lot simpler than the tone of the argument suggests.

So Why Do We Have Two Names for the Same Game?

Because one of them is a rule and the other one is a nickname. "Four-ball" is the term the actual Rules of Golf use — it shows up as its own numbered format, and by definition it's always a two-person side. That's not a style choice; it's the definition. If you've got two-man teams playing their own balls with low score counting, you are, technically, playing four-ball, whether you call it that or not.

"Best ball" never got that same formal lock on its meaning. It's the term that grew up on driving ranges and in casual foursomes, and it stuck around because it's descriptive — you're taking the best ball among however many players are on a side. That "however many" is the whole difference. A three-man team playing their own balls with the low score counting is still best ball. One guy going solo against the better score of two partners is still best ball. Neither of those is technically four-ball, because neither one has exactly two players to a side.

So when Mike said "best ball is one guy against a bunch of guys," he wasn't wrong — that's a real, common version of best ball. He was just describing a different team split than the two-versus-two version you'd started setting up, which happens to be the one with its own official name. You were both describing best ball. You'd just picked different team sizes without saying so out loud.

Golf broadcasts don't help here, either. Watch a Ryder Cup fourball session and the commentator will use "four-ball" and "best ball" back to back to describe the identical match, sometimes in the same sentence. If the pros treat the words as interchangeable on television, your Saturday group gets a pass for the same confusion.

It's the same drift that has your group calling every money game "Nassau" even when you're actually playing something closer to Skins — casual golf vocabulary wanders, official terminology doesn't. If you want the exact rules on how a real Nassau bet works, or how it stacks up against Wolf, those deserve the same five-minute clarification treatment as this one.

There's an actual history behind why the stricter name won out for the two-man version specifically. The governing body that first codified the format settled on "four-ball" back in the early 1900s, and the logic was almost embarrassingly literal: two teams of two, each player with his own ball, means four balls are in active play across the match at once. Not four players — four balls. It's the kind of detail that sounds like trivia until you realize it's the whole answer to "why do they call it that," and it's a decent way to win the argument on the tee without sounding like you looked it up on your phone between shots. (I did look it up. I just don't lead with that part.)

I make my foursome better by knowing the one piece of this that actually matters and skipping the rest — nobody needs a rules-official lecture on the first tee, they need the game set up in under a minute so everybody can hit their tee shot.

Where Groups Actually Get This Wrong

The name isn't really the problem. It's what the name confusion drags along with it. Three mistakes show up over and over in casual rounds, and none of them are about vocabulary.

Mistake one: calling it best ball when you actually mean a scramble. These are not the same family of game at all. In best ball or four-ball, every player plays their own ball for the entire hole — nobody's picking up anybody's tee shot. In a scramble, the whole team hits, picks the best result, and everyone plays their next shot from that same spot. Mixing those up mid-round is how a foursome ends up standing over one ball arguing about whose turn it is to putt. The same mix-up shows up with Chapman, which starts like alternate shot before splitting into two balls, and with a shamble, which does the reverse — one shared tee shot, then everyone plays their own ball in. Neither of those is best ball or four-ball, even though groups who've never had to write the rules down tend to lump all four together.

Mistake two: nobody locks the team size before the round starts. This is the actual root of the first-tee argument. If you say "best ball" and mean two-and-two, and your partner hears "best ball" and pictures three-against-one, you've got two different games loaded up before anyone's swung a club. Say the team split out loud — "two and two" or "three of us against Dave" — and the name stops mattering.

Mistake three: handicaps get applied by feel instead of by agreement. In a proper two-man four-ball, each player typically plays off a set percentage of their full handicap — not the full number, and not zero. Skip that conversation and you get exactly what you'd expect: the low-handicap guy playing full strokes he doesn't need, or the high-handicap guy playing off nothing at all, and someone grumbling about it by the turn. This is exactly the kind of dispute how we handicap our weekend game is built to head off before it starts.

I'm not totally sure why this particular argument has more staying power than most golf debates, but my guess is it's because both sides feel like they've got a fact on their side, and technically, they do. Jim asked me once why I even bothered explaining the difference instead of just picking a side. Honest answer: because the fifteen-second version ends the argument for good, and the "just pick a side" version has us having it again next month.

How to Set It Up So Nobody's Arguing by the Second Hole

You don't need a rulebook on the first tee. You need four quick agreements, made out loud, before anyone tees off.

Say the team split first, not the format name. "Two and two" settles more arguments than "best ball" or "four-ball" ever will, because it removes the one detail that was actually in dispute.

Decide the handicap allowance before you play, not after somebody's three down. A common approach in casual four-ball is each player getting a percentage of their full handicap rather than the whole number — the exact percentage matters less than agreeing on one before the round starts.

Pick match play or stroke play and say so. Match play means you're settling the round hole by hole, up or down. Stroke play means you're adding up the low-ball scores across all eighteen. Both work fine in four-ball. Nobody figuring out which one you're doing until the 16th hole does not.

Agree on whether a player has to finish out a bad hole. In official four-ball, if your partner's already got a good score locked in, you're allowed to pick up your ball rather than finish a hole you've already lost for the team — no penalty, since only one score from the team counts anyway. Most casual groups play it the same way, but it's worth a thirty-second mention before somebody's grinding out a 9 that doesn't count for anything.

Between work and the kids, our group gets maybe one round every couple of weeks where the whole regular crew is actually together, and I'd rather spend that time playing than relitigating a definition. Once you've made these four calls, the name genuinely stops mattering. Call it whatever you want. The scorecard doesn't care what you call it.

When Your Group Isn't an Even Number

Real Saturday groups don't always split evenly, and this is exactly where "best ball" earns its flexibility over the stricter "four-ball" definition. If you've got three players and want to make a game of it, one common setup is a single player against the better ball of the other two — technically best ball, not four-ball, because the sides aren't matched two-and-two. If your regular foursome has an odd guest or a fifth wheel some weekends, the same logic applies: the "best ball" umbrella flexes to fit however your group actually shows up, while "four-ball" stays locked to its two-man definition no matter what.

This matters more than it sounds like it should, because a lot of arguments about "what's the right way to play this" are really just arguments about a format that was never built for your group's actual headcount that week. If you're playing threes and fours, you're not doing it wrong — you're just playing the version of best ball that was always meant to flex, and putting the stricter "four-ball" label on it was the actual mistake, not the game itself. For the full breakdown of formats built specifically to fit a three-man group, see games that work when you're a threesome.

Dave's the one in our group who ends up as the odd guest most often, and the number of times he's gotten the "well actually, that's not real four-ball" treatment because our teams were lopsided that week is more than I'd like to admit on his behalf. He's not playing it wrong. He's just playing best ball, same as the rest of us, with a name that was built to handle exactly his situation.

The same flex applies if you're down to a two-versus-one. Two players team up as a side and take their low ball same as always; the lone player just plays his own score straight, with no partner to bail him out on a rough hole. It's still best ball in spirit — everyone plays their own ball, low score decides the side's result — it's just not a matched two-and-two, so it never gets to wear the stricter name. Worth saying out loud before the round too, because the solo player usually wants a stroke or two of consideration for going it alone, and that's a much easier conversation on the first tee than after he's three down with no partner to lean on.

The Version Worth Actually Playing

Here's the thing nobody talks about with this argument: it's never really about the rules. It's about wanting to be the guy who's right on the first tee, which is a pretty small thing to want compared to just getting a good four hours in with your buddies. I've stood on that tee box more times than I can count, on the edge of explaining the whole USGA history of the format to a guy who just wants to hit his drive, and the better move was always just to say "two and two, low ball counts, let's go" and let the round start.

Fellow Golfeasers: you don't need to win the vocabulary argument to have a good Saturday. You need the teams set and the handicaps agreed on, and everything else is just talk while people are waiting to hit. I earn the right to brag about plenty of things on a golf course — it's one of seven ideas behind the Golfeaser Manifesto. Knowing the difference between best ball and four-ball well enough to end an argument in fifteen seconds is a quieter kind of win, but it's still a win — and it's the kind that gets you back in the group's good graces faster than any drive ever will.

Once your group's past the naming argument for good, the next useful conversation is strategy — who tees off first, when both partners should attack a pin versus when one should play it safe. That's a different topic than this one, and it's covered from both angles in best ball strategy and four-ball strategy.

Frequently Asked Questions

Is four-ball the same as best ball?

Yes, in terms of scoring — both use each player's own ball for the whole hole, with the lower score of the team counting. "Four-ball" is the official, stricter term reserved for two-man teams; "best ball" is the informal version that can also describe three-man or uneven team splits.

Can you play best ball with three players on a team?

Yes. A three-man best ball team, or even one player against the best ball of two or three others, is a common and completely valid setup — it just isn't technically "four-ball," since that name is specifically reserved for two-man sides.

Do you have to finish putting out in best ball or four-ball?

Not always. If your partner has already secured a better score than you're going to post, most groups — casual and official alike — let you pick up rather than finish the hole, since only one score per team counts anyway. Agree on this before the round so nobody's grinding out a meaningless putt.

What handicap allowance should we use for four-ball?

Casual groups commonly use a set percentage of each player's full handicap rather than the full number, applied to the hardest holes first. The exact percentage matters less than everyone agreeing on the same one before you start — settle it on the first tee, not after someone's questioning a stroke on 14.

Is best ball the same thing as a scramble?

No, and this is the mix-up that actually causes problems on the course. In best ball or four-ball, everyone plays their own ball for the entire hole. In a scramble, the team hits, picks one shot, and everyone plays their next stroke from that spot. They're different games entirely, even though both are team formats.

More Formats Worth Settling Before the First Tee

• Wolf vs. Nassau: Which Actually Keeps a Foursome Happy
• Nassau Explained
• The Skins Game, Explained
• How We Handicap Our Weekend Game So It's Actually Fair
• Games That Work When You're a Threesome, Not a Foursome

What's the One Golf Question You Can't Shake?

I've played the same Saturday group for 25 years, and there's one argument that still comes up almost every single round: gimme distance. Some weeks it's a foot. Some weeks it's "anything inside the leash." Nobody's ever agreed, and nobody ever will.

Sound familiar?

Here's the thing nobody talks about: most golf advice is written for guys trying to shave strokes off their score. I'd rather write about what actually trips up golfers like us — the bet that turned into a real argument on 15, the etiquette question you're too embarrassed to ask your own group, or the thing you've been quietly Googling the night before your Saturday tee time.

So here's where you come in.

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