I don’t miss you. And I’m not sure I ever will

I’ve watched five men’s golf tournaments this year from start to finish. Four were Majors, and the other was the Olympics, but despite golf options galore every other weekend on TV, the PGA and DP World Tours have mostly passed me by. And after twenty years courting both, the mad thing is, I now feel nothing for either. Not even a bit.

It’s been a year since I left Ireland for pastures new and while watching golf was never going to be high on the backpacking agenda, part of me thought the distance would make the heart grow fonder. That removing PGA Tour Commissioner Jay Monahan from my life would make me forget the hypocrisy of the proposed PIF deal he’s trying desperately to push through. That muting Twitter would spare me the petty squabbles of golf’s fading personalities, and that the separation from out of touch stars picketing for more prize money might distract me from the toxic dollar wars enough to warrant giving it all another go.

Spoiler alert. It hasn’t, not even a little, and news of the PGA Tour’s uninspiring 2025 schedule did nothing more than reinforce my belief that the suits aren’t interested in mending bridges with fed-up fans wholly forgotten during golf’s great decline over the past two seasons. They’re merely out to make the rich even richer with more paralysingly dull no-cut, limited-field events in store next season; the great gameshow of the PGA Tour where jeopardy is removed to ensure prizes for everyone in the audience.