FLOURTOWN, Pa. — If you were hoping to make the argument that a timeless golf course does not need alteration to remain a fair test for the biggest, baddest golfers on earth, the 14th hole at Philadelphia Cricket Club is not the place to start it.

The par-3 is the shortest of all on the Wissahickon Course at Philly Cricket, playing a mere 122 yards from the tips and defended only by a few steep bunkers and the whims of the golf gods. The tiny postage-stamp green is perhaps the best example of the kind of golf that has gone the way of the balata ball in the pro game — interesting only if the wind is high, the conditions brutal or swings imprecise. And as the final player arrived at the 14th on Wednesday afternoon at the Truist Championship, the wind was soft, the air warm and swings precise.

The Truist is traditionally contested at Quail Hollow Club outside of Charlotte, N.C., but that’s where the PGA Championship will visit next week, leaving Philly Cricket to serve as an enthusiastic — and untested — fill-in. Wissahickon is regarded as the sturdiest test of the club’s three golf courses, a big, burly Tillinghast design that somehow feels in equal parts vintage and timeless.

For those who watch some of the Tour’s … well, more straightforward designs, Philly Cricket is a treasure — a truly great, historic, unique course setup. And for those who love golf courses, the difference between the average tour stop and a Golden Age course like Philly Cricket is a bit like the gap between a finger painting and a Rembrandt.

The biggest question looming over Philadelphia golf as the calendar flips to Thursday at the Truist is also the most perplexing one: Will Philly Cricket’s goodness matter? All expectations are that the Wissahickon Course will delight fans and viewers alike over the next several days with its mix of interesting holes and thought-provoking design. But all expectations also are that even one of Mr. Tillinghast’s best and most loyal modern interpretations will pose little challenge to the best golfers in the world, who are expected to take advantage of the course’s (comparatively) cozy 7,100 yards.

Low scores are not a problem in the context of great golfers, who post gaudy numbers all the time, but they are a problem in the context of great golf courses, which are meant to ask interesting questions and demand creative solutions.

The problem, of course, is not that 7,100 yards is short for a golf course — it’s that it is short for a golf course in the modern professional game, where 7,500 yards or more is needed to keep the longest hitters in an ever-growing sport in the ballpark. Any shorter than that and golfers smash the subtleties and complexities that make great golf courses by simply hitting over them.

Ironically, the situation at many historic courses is a riff on the bad-faith argument parroted by so many pros: Would they move the fences at Wrigley Field if players hit too many home runs? Or would they just build a new ballpark?

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“I go back to Oak Hill a couple years ago at the PGA, and I tried to play the golf course strategically over the first couple of days,” Rory McIlroy said. “I just realized that these new renovated old-school courses, like the strategy is just hit driver everywhere and then figure it out from there.”

Pro golf is a natural fit in the Philly suburbs, where the fans are rabid and the courses are wonderful and the conditioning is perfect. But the sport’s future in this loaded metro area seems tied to a dangerous question: Can Philly Cricket — or any other land-exhausted Golden Age gem, for that matter — prove a worthy test for professional golfers in the era of 325-yard drives? And if golf’s best won’t play by the rules of the design (or with equipment that forces them to), is golf better served not visiting its best courses?

If you are an optimist, the most compelling answer can be found on the 14th, the pint-sized par-3 tucked into the corner of the property. Here, the green calls to mind the famed 13th at Merion, tiny and ferocious. Yes, it would be better with wind, and yes, the tee shot is mind-numbingly simple. But even without a breeze, 14 is toothy and fascinating: A miss to the wrong shelf makes a challenging two-putt, while missing the putting surface altogether is almost certainly dead.

Even the great shots can tell us something, as Erik van Rooyen, the South African pro, showed us Wednesday evening. Van Rooyen was swinging it well — fresh off a solo-second-place finish at the Byron Nelson — and his confidence over the ball reflected it. He plunged his wedge into the turf with a flick of the wrists so casual it bordered on disinterest, but then his ball surged toward the flagstick and his spine straightened. It was on a good line … a great line … a perfect line. Finally, Van Rooyen’s ball dropped to the earth like a mortar shell just inches from the flagstick, bouncing straight up in the air and beginning the slow roll back toward the hole.

A volunteer in a bright purple shirt close to the flag lifted his arms as the ball rolled nearer as if to will it into the hole, and for an instant, it seemed he just might. But then the ball snapped left, effectively U-turning around the flagstick and leaving just inches for a tap-in birdie. It wasn’t until minutes later that the golfer revealed the magnitude of what might have been.

“I haven’t had an ace in 12, 13 years,” van Rooyen said. “Wow. That was close.”

Was the incredulity in van Rooyen’s voice a sign that the 14th was too easy? Should a golfer be allowed to end a decade-plus-long drought with a flick of the wrist? Or was it a sign that the 14th was just right, rewarding precision and intention and execution, but turning away everything else?

The answer will arrive over the next four days, when a great golf course hosts the world’s greatest golfers.

In theory, it’s worth watching. Now, we get to see it in practice.

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