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Ummm, Why Haven’t I Attended A PGA Event Before…?

Okay, so it’s Wednesday, which means we’re yet another day closer to Memorial Day Weekend. Yesterday, I got absolutely DRAGGED for an article I wrote about whether or not a passenger should help pay for a speeding ticket under particular circumstances.

Everyone disagreed but that’s because everyone else is a fucking idiot and I’m a genius capable of manipulating weather patterns with my brain. Either that or I’m just the most munificent person on Earth. Also, I’m remarkably humble…

Anyway, I went to Bethpage Black in Long Island over the weekend for the PGA Championship. And as some of you know, I’m a GIGANTIC Tiger fan, which was incredible because we had Saturday tickets and he completely missed the cut. That said, it was still a solid time.

It was the first PGA event I’ve attended—which just happened to be a major—and it didn’t disappoint, but it also wasn’t exactly what you’d expect heading in.

For the record, golf’s awesome but it’s also the stingiest, wasp-infected, “respect the game” sport of all time. I understand part of that is tradition by this point, but these are the same people who’ll call the authorities if you sneeze within 500 feet of their bayside property in Jupiter.

That said, you’d be pleasantly surprised by the environment. Sure, you had your core flock of Lacoste-wearing, country club cucks who took their permit test in a Range Rover; however, there was a decent mix of shameless degenerates like myself who were half in the bag by the opening tee shots.

Which brings me to my next point: BRING NIPS.

I know most people who’re reading this are thinking “Yeah, no shit Joe” and you’re right. I fucked up, didn’t plan ahead, and damnnn did I pay for it (both literally and figuritively).

Whereas most sporting events are within a 2-4 hour window, a PGA event is just 8 hours of calculated chaos. It’s a marathon rather than a sprint and if you aren’t properly equipped, you’re going to run up a pretty insurmountable tab.

For some reason, part of me thought that beers would be reasonably priced (at Augusta, I’m pretty sure they’ve preserved their concession prices) but NOOO. Not only do you have to wait a fortnight in line, but you also have to take out a loan for the sausage cart. By my seventh or eighth beer, I was refinancing the car for God’s sake.

As for the spectator value, there really isn’t anything else like it in sports. The intimacy between fans and players is unrivaled. No area is ever too crowded (the fact Tiger whiffed on any semblance of contention helped) and at any point, you could be within arms distance of a pro. I pet roughly 3-4 former Major winners on the day.

So yeah, I’d highly suggest going, even if you aren’t a fan of golf. It’s a beautiful environment—just a ton of wifed-up smokes to dream about dating in-between shots and beer. Can’t go wrong with that ambiance…

Last Thing: Normally when I bully my way into events like this, there is a shitload of free stuff. I was expecting to roll out of that place with a free polo, dad hat, and perhaps a couple Red Bulls or something but NADA. All I left with was a sunburn and an impending hangover. Other than that, it was worth the free ticket…

– Joey Boats (@joey_boats)

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