Most of the time these days, when I play simulator golf, it’s because I’ve gone north.
I live in Florida now.
My family doesn’t.
When I head north in the winter, it usually involves icy slush, bitter cold temperatures, and a strong reminder of why I left.
But in the spirit of still doing something fun with my brothers and cousins, something that vaguely resembles physical activity other than drinking, we almost always end up booking at least one or two sessions of “simulator golf.”
Simulator golf gives us a few important things.
First, it gives us a few hours together.
Second, it gets us out of the cold.
Third – and this matters – it eliminates most actual hazards.
No alligators.
No rattlesnakes.
No losing forty-seven balls by the seventh hole because my banana slice decided to be the star of the round.
The only real danger is occasionally hitting one so poorly that it ricochets off the impact screen and comes straight back at you like a Major League fastball. You must duck like a third-base coach playing Candy Crush instead of watching the game.
It keeps things exciting.
Standing there with a beer in one hand and a club in the other, staring at a projected fairway, I always end up asking the same question:
(No light beers today!)
Is this really golf?
I mean, we’re still together.
We’re still swinging clubs.
We’re still hitting golf shots.
And in the simulator, I suddenly have access to shots that do not exist in real life.
Flop shots? Automatic.
Hero shots from what the simulator calls 800% rough? Totally doable.
Apparently, I can also carry the ball 290 yards and keep it playable.
Consistently.
Which is wild, because in real life I consider 220 and straight to be a spiritual experience.
Simulator golf is generous. Encouraging. Borderline irresponsible.
There’s no walk of shame.
No ball hunting like you’re working a crime scene.
No hazards that reallllly matter.
Even when I miss, I usually miss hard. And the machine seems to respect that. I’ll try shots I’d never attempt on a real course because there are no consequences. The screen doesn’t judge you. It just gives you numbers.
Cold, optimistic numbers.
And of course, you’re always playing courses you’ll never touch in real life.
St. Andrews?
Muirfield?
Or one of these greatest-hits courses where you bounce from Amen Corner to 17 at Sawgrass like you’re on a golf theme-park ride.
Courses generally outside my budget, my friend group, and my talent.
But there you are. Striping it. Feeling elite.
(Scotty who?)
Which does sometimes lead to a problem.
I always leave the simulator thinking I’ve figured it out.
I walk out convinced the next time I play real golf, I’m shooting in the mid-80s. That something clicked. That I’ve finally unlocked it.
Then I go back outside… and shoot a 110.
Because simulator golf has no snakes.
No bad lies.
No uneven stances.
No heat stroke in the Florida sun.
It’s golf without embarrassment.
But let’s be clear, I still hit an 8 or two.
Unless we’re playing best ball.
Then charity-tournament scoring is allowed.
(You know, -19 that nobody believes.)
The only thing that really carries over is this:
My back still hurts the next day.
Which feels fair. Although..
I didn’t walk 18.
I didn’t sweat through my shirt.
I didn’t hit anyone with near the 5th tee box with my wicked hosel rocket…
But I did spend a few hours getting chirped by my brothers and cousins and returning fire like it was WrestleMania.
And that beer?
That beer was cold and delicious.
So, is simulator golf real golf?
I don’t know…