The Phoenix Open’s Greatest Strength Is Also Its Most Fragile Asset
I’ve been covering professional golf for 35 years, and I’ve watched this tour evolve in ways I never could have predicted back when I was carrying bags for Tom Lehman in the ’90s. But if there’s one thing that’s remained constant—one thing that separates golf from every other sport I cover—it’s the relationship between the game and its spectators. We don’t have the physicality of football or the raw tribal energy of basketball. What we have is intimacy, tradition, and increasingly, controlled chaos. The WM Phoenix Open has become the living embodiment of all three, and Amanda Balionis’ latest Instagram posts perfectly capture why this event matters far more than casual golf fans realize.
Let me be clear about something: the 16th hole at TPC Scottsdale isn’t just a par-3. It’s become a cultural phenomenon that speaks volumes about where professional golf is headed. The infrastructure tells the story. Corporate skyboxes arrived in 1992. Full stadium surrounding by 2009. But the real inflection point? That came in 1997 when Tiger Woods made his ace. According to the article, the roar carried nearly five miles away—so loud that commentator Jock Holliman said it felt like “standing behind a 747 taking off.” That wasn’t just a moment. That was a turning point.
What strikes me about this evolution is how intentional it’s become. This isn’t organic chaos anymore—it’s curated spectacle with guardrails. The fans now line up before dawn to sprint to the 16th hole grandstands. Balionis herself, a seasoned CBS Sports reporter with real credibility in this space, has made it a tradition. She even shared her pre-tournament ritual of hiking Camelback Mountain, writing that the hike helps her find “balance” before the madness begins. There’s something telling in that language. Even the professionals covering golf need to prepare mentally for what the Phoenix Open has become.
The Line Between Fun and Dysfunction
Here’s where my experience matters: I’ve seen the tour try to manage fan behavior for decades. We’ve had unruly galleries before. We’ve had hecklers. But the Phoenix Open represents something different—a wholesale embrace of rowdiness as feature, not bug. The article notes that fans “turn rowdy if they see poor performances,” and that Jack Doherty, a content creator, was actually banned by the PGA Tour and warned of arrest for heckling.
“As most things in professional golf, Tiger Woods’ hole-in-one on 16 feels like a pretty good jumping-off point. It was already crazy, but I feel like everybody wanted to be in that.”
Max Homa’s observation here is exactly right—and it reveals the trap. Once you establish that this is the place to be, once you make it the loudest hole in golf, you’ve created a self-perpetuating cycle where the spectacle itself becomes the draw, sometimes more than the golf. I’ve watched that dynamic play out at Augusta National (though they’d never admit it), at the Open Championship’s most storied venues. But nowhere is it as raw, as unfiltered, as the 16th at Scottsdale.
The water bottle throwing incident after Sam Ryder’s ace in 2022—the one Balionis documented—that’s the moment when you realize you’re managing something that’s developed its own momentum. You can set rules (as the tour clearly has with Doherty), but you’re essentially trying to organize organized chaos, which is a delicate business.
Why This Actually Matters for Professional Golf
In my three decades covering the tour, I’ve watched golf struggle with one fundamental question: how do we stay relevant to younger audiences without compromising what makes golf special? The Phoenix Open has found an answer, whether that answer is entirely healthy or not.
“It’s good to be (camel)back for the @wmphoenixopen 🐫 one of my favorite traditions is knocking out this hike before the madness begins this weekend. *balance* or whatever 😂”
Balionis’ tone here—that winking acknowledgment of “madness”—reveals something important. The broadcast professionals aren’t blind to what’s happening. They’re choosing to lean into it, to celebrate it, to help market it. That’s a strategic decision by CBS Sports, and it’s working. The Phoenix Open gets ratings. It gets social media engagement. It gets journalists like Balionis genuinely excited.
But I think we need to be honest about the trade-offs. For every fan who loves the party atmosphere, there’s a golfer who finds it distracting. For every ace that sparks a five-mile roar, there’s potentially an etiquette concern brewing beneath the surface. The tour’s decision to warn and ban hecklers suggests they’re aware of where the line sits—and how easily it can be crossed.
The Future of Spectator Golf
What I find genuinely optimistic is that this event exists at all. In an era when golf’s television ratings have been inconsistent, when younger fans often don’t understand why they should care about a 72-hole stroke play competition, the Phoenix Open proves that context matters. You can’t manufacture Tiger Woods’ ace. You can’t script genuine fan passion. But you can create the conditions where both are possible, and that’s worth something.
The fact that Balionis maintains her Camelback Mountain hiking ritual suggests she understands something essential: the Phoenix Open’s greatest strength—its unfiltered, stadium-like energy—is also the thing that requires the most careful management. You need some quiet before the noise. You need reflection before the madness. That’s not weakness. That’s wisdom.
