The Uncomfortable Truth About Tour Golf: When Calendar Prestige Outpaces Playing Excellence
After 35 years watching professional golf from every angle—from the bag as Tom Lehman’s caddie to the press tower at fifteen Masters—I’ve learned that the PGA Tour’s schedule is built on tradition, television contracts, and sponsorship dollars far more than it is on pure course quality. But lately, I’m noticing something that troubles me: we’re collectively pretending that several of our most prestigious annual stops are better golf venues than they actually are.
The article making the rounds this week cuts at something I’ve been thinking about for years. Someone finally said it out loud, and while I don’t agree with every single criticism, the underlying argument has real teeth. The question isn’t whether these are historically important courses—they absolutely are. The question is whether they should command prime real estate on the calendar when genuinely superior courses sit idle, waiting for their moment.
The Tradition Trap
Here’s what I think is happening, and it’s not sinister: golf’s tour schedule is essentially locked in amber by decades of institutional loyalty. We return to Pebble Beach, East Lake, Bay Hill, and Torrey Pines not because they’re the five best venues available each year, but because they always have been. The infrastructure exists. The sponsors are comfortable. The broadcast partnerships are established. Change is expensive and risky.
What strikes me most forcefully is how the article nails the Pebble Beach paradox:
“Once you’ve gotten over the fact that you’re at Pebble Beach and done the customary walk to the 18th green and taken in the amazing views, you are quickly hit by obligations to part with money at every turn! It is a massive money-making enterprise with countless people dropping a small fortune.”
I’ve walked those fairways during pro-ams dozens of times. Pebble has become less about golf and more about the experience of Pebble. The 6th through 14th holes—the journey home—can genuinely feel like slogging through a series of ordinary par 4s while your wallet gets lighter. Yes, 17 and 18 are magnificent. Yes, the coastal views are unmatched. But is that enough to justify the hype anymore? After three decades, I’m not sure it is.
When Venues Outgrow Their Welcome
The East Lake situation particularly bothers me. We’ve been returning to the Tour Championship there since 2004—over two decades of the same holes deciding the season’s richest prize. The article gets it right:
“East Lake is remarkable” for its history and clubhouse, but we’re watching a collection of “par 4s that run alongside one another” and finishing with an 18th hole that “is a dull finish to the course and the PGA Tour season.”
That’s not nostalgia talking. That’s truth. Arnold Palmer’s legacy deserves respect, and East Lake has it. But deserving respect and being the optimal stage for the FedExCup finale are two different things entirely. The course has been tweaked, sure, but fundamental design limitations remain. We’ve asked this property to be something it may not be structurally capable of being: consistently compelling television from wire to wire.
The Forgotten Courses on the Calendar
What really intrigues me about this critique is what it reveals about our blind spots. Torrey Pines doesn’t crack Golf Digest’s Top 200 US courses. Trump National (Doral) ranks 35th in Florida alone. Yet we circle back to them annually while genuinely superior layouts get marginal tour exposure. The Blue Monster, as it was once branded, is practically unmemorable—and that single word tells you more than any detailed analysis could.
I’ll push back slightly on the Scottish Open criticism regarding Renaissance Club. The course is genuinely stunning, and East Lothian is special territory. But the article’s point stands: the Scottish national championship deserves to rotate among more of Scotland’s finest layouts rather than settling into a home base, no matter how picturesque.
The Real Problem Isn’t the Courses
Here’s where I want to separate myself from pure negativity: these venues aren’t bad. They’re not unworthy of tour events. But there’s a meaningful distinction between “good enough to host a major championship” and “optimal for annual television entertainment and player experience.” We’ve conflated those categories.
In my experience, the best tour stops—think Riviera, which the article uses as the gold standard for memorability—combine several elements: striking visual character, varied hole design that plays differently depending on conditions, finishing sequences that genuinely excite, and enough architectural distinctiveness that you can actually remember individual holes. When you ask a seasoned professional to describe holes at Riviera, they light up. Ask them to describe five memorable holes at Trump National, and you get silence.
Moving Forward Thoughtfully
What matters now is whether the tour has the institutional courage to evolve. I’m not suggesting we bulldoze traditions or abandon storied venues. But there’s room for rotation, for experimentation, for occasionally testing different properties that might elevate the spectacle.
The game has never been healthier at the grassroots level. We have genuinely excellent courses opening regularly. Some existing tour stops could gracefully rotate off the calendar without losing their historical standing. That’s not disrespect—that’s evolution.
The article’s frustration isn’t really about the courses themselves. It’s about the disconnect between tour prestige and actual playability, between calendar convenience and viewer experience. After three and a half decades covering this tour, I recognize that gap. And I think our sport deserves better.
