It wasn’t that long ago that golf felt more ‘dad joke’ than cultural moment.
It was the Boss’s sport. A pastel game for staid dads. Defined by pleated khakis and Scotch-at-the-lubhouse vibes. A tad anal-retentive. Exclusive…yet unhip.
A good walk spoiled, as the famous old line says.
But then a few years ago, something weird happen…
