Why Some of Golf’s Most Famous Venues Are Putting Us to Sleep

After 35 years covering professional golf—and having walked the fairways of nearly every major tour venue as a caddie, reporter, and observer—I’ve learned that prestige and quality don’t always walk hand in hand. A course can be steeped in history, dripping with tradition, and still be genuinely boring to watch week after week.

That’s the uncomfortable truth at the heart of a recent piece highlighting golf’s most overrated tour venues, and frankly, it’s a conversation we need to have.

The Prestige Problem

Here’s what strikes me about this list: every single course mentioned holds a coveted spot on the PGA Tour or DP World Tour calendar. Pebble Beach, East Lake, Torrey Pines, Bay Hill, Trump National Doral, Wentworth, and Renaissance Club aren’t fringe events. They’re signature tournaments. They’re the ones we’re supposed to care about. Yet the central argument is difficult to dismiss—we’re watching the same holes, year after year, and many of them are simply mundane.

In my experience covering Tom Lehman and watching the evolution of tour scheduling, I’ve noticed something troubling: tradition has calcified into obligation. We keep returning to venues not necessarily because they produce great golf, but because they’ve always been there, because sponsors write big checks, because “that’s how it’s done.”

“Yes, it finishes with an enormous bang at 17 and 18 but the holes preceding these don’t belong on a course that sits inside the top 20 in the world.”

That criticism of Pebble Beach—perhaps golf’s most iconic layout—really landed with me. Because it’s true. We’ve all marveled at those oceanside holes. But play Pebble as a member, or caddie there regularly, and you’ll notice something: the opening stretch is forgettable, the middle section drags, and the turn for home feels like you’re grinding through someone’s backyard before the movie magic returns at 17 and 18.

When Rankings Don’t Tell the Whole Story

The article makes an astute observation: courses don’t need to be Top 100 layouts to host important tournaments. But they probably should be better than 30th in their own state. Torrey Pines sits at roughly 30th in California. East Lake isn’t even in the Top 100 nationally. Yet we’ve been watching the Tour Championship return there since 2004—that’s over 20 years of the same formulaic routing.

What’s particularly revealing is the gap between “looks good on television” and “plays well in person.” Scenic views mask mediocre architecture. A dramatic setting can distract from bland holes. I’ve caddied in places so beautiful you could forgive almost anything, yet when you break down the actual golf—the flow, the strategy, the variety—it simply isn’t there.

“It’s so unmemorable and that tells us plenty.”

That single line about Trump National Doral captures the core issue. Can you name five memorable holes from there? Most people can’t. Now try Riviera or Augusta or Pebble—you’ll rattle off a dozen instantly. Memorability matters. It’s the difference between a course that challenges players and tests our patience as viewers, versus one that simply isn’t particularly interesting.

The Bay Hill Paradox

Bay Hill deserves special attention here because it highlights something I’ve wrestled with throughout my career: nostalgia versus substance. We love returning to Bay Hill to honor Arnold Palmer’s legacy. That’s real. That matters. But does that legacy require us to watch mediocre golf year after year? The par-5 6th with its massive lake in the middle—it’s become the definition of a gimmick hole. Water for water’s sake. No imagination, no strategy, just “here’s a lake, try not to hit it.”

Having watched countless tournaments from the press box and the caddie yard, I can tell you: the best test holes don’t need gimmicks. They don’t rely on one dramatic feature. They work because of architecture, because of choices, because players face meaningful decisions with real consequences.

Not All Criticism, Some Hope

Now, I’m not suggesting we tear down Pebble Beach or abandon the Tour Championship at East Lake out of spite. That would be foolish. These venues have their place. But this critique does point toward something the tour needs to consider: rotation and variety matter more than we’ve acknowledged.

The PGA Tour has shown it can adapt. Look at the Signature Event model itself—by bringing the best players to these events, at least we get elite competition to compensate for mediocre venues. That’s something. But imagine what would happen if we rotated through genuinely great courses more regularly. Imagine the Scottish Open actually moving to the Renaissance Club’s equals instead of staying put.

“It would be great to see the Scots’ national Open move around more and to better courses.”

That sentiment captures it perfectly. Tradition is valuable. History matters. But tradition shouldn’t be mistaken for quality, and history shouldn’t trap us into watching the same uninspiring golf week after week.

After three and a half decades in this business, I believe golf’s future depends on honest evaluation. We need to ask hard questions about our marquee events. We need to distinguish between venues worth preserving and venues worth reconsidering. Most importantly, we need to remember that we’re in the entertainment business. If a course isn’t entertaining—if it’s not producing compelling, memorable golf—then perhaps it’s time to reconsider why we keep returning.

The game is better than that. Our venues should be too.