Do We Need a Zebra in Stripes to Throw a Flag?
Let’s talk about the real hazard on the golf course these days—and no, it’s not that pond you convinced yourself you could carry. It’s the one thing that turns Sunday rounds into Monday migraines: slow. freaking. play.
Seriously, the pace on Tour right now makes molasses look like Usain Bolt. We’re at the point where golf might need its own version of a referee—zebra stripes, whistle, red card and all. Imagine it: Bryson takes 4 minutes to read a 6-foot putt—BOOM! Ref tosses the delay-of-game flag and sends him to the penalty box with his protein shake.
So what’s really causing this glacial pace? Let’s investigate the usual suspects:
Idle Waiting
You know the guy. Stands around like he’s in line for a concert, not realizing he is the reason the entire course is backed up to Hole 2. Maybe he’s waiting for the green to clear… from 285 out… with a 3-wood. Spoiler alert: he’s not reaching. But sure, let’s wait. And wait. And wait.
Bag Mismanagement
How many clubs does one man need to pull before he decides none of them are right? We’ve got guys out here playing musical chairs with wedges. Just pick one. It’s not a wine pairing. It’s a chip shot.
Did I Ever Tell You About the Time…
Oh, you used to be scratch? You once eagled this hole back in ’97? That’s awesome. Can you tell me about it after you hit your ball, Grandpa Par? This ain’t story time, it’s tee time. Pipe it or zip it.
The Green Reads Like War and Peace
Some of these guys study a putt like it holds the secrets of the universe. We’re talking AimPoint, plumb-bobbing, pacing circles like Sherlock Holmes at a crime scene. Bro, it’s a left-edge putt, not a lunar landing. You don’t need a doctorate in green contouring—just roll the rock and move on before the grass grows taller.
Game Delusion
Gotta get the yardage exact, I’m between a smooth 8 and a juiced 9. Buddy, you’re hitting 3 off the tee and you haven’t made contact with the sweet spot since 2015. Your “stock shot is as mythical as Bigfoot riding a unicorn. Let it go.
The Bottom Line? We don’t need to speed up golf—we just need to stop the nonsense. Maybe we give marshals some authority—tactical vests, GoPros, a megaphone: “Let’s pick it up, sunshine. Your Titleist isn’t gonna levitate itself.
Or maybe—just maybe—we roast ‘em publicly. Name and shame, baby. Nobody wants to top the Tour’s new stat: Strokes Over Sanity.
Until then, we’ll be over here timing our tee shots with a sundial and questioning our life choices.
Wanna see change? Start clapping when they play fast. Boo when they don’t. And if you’re on the course with a slowpoke—just yell fore, swing your club like Happy Gilmore, and run past them.
Life’s short. Golf rounds shouldn’t be.