Our favorite golf memories from 2025
Did you have fun watching and playing golf in 2025? We hope so, because we sure did. Granted, it’s our “job” to cover all things golf—professional events, personalities, instruction, equipment, the recreational game, etc.—yet it’s also something our entire staff takes joy in. Like most of you, the game isn’t just a sport for us but a passion that consumes us. This past year, we all indulged in that passion in different ways. Allow us once more, then, to share some of our favorite memories from 2025 that aim to spotlight our own connections to the game.
A good walk enjoyed
The analogies I can best muster are standing alone in the Louvre appreciating the Mona Lisa without a million cell phones and in total silence, or hiking in Yosemite with not a single other soul in sight. Both highly improbable, but they feel like apt comparisons to my experience on a Thursday afternoon in early September at Cypress Point Club in Pebble Beach. I was on site to cover the 50th Walker Cup Match between the U.S. and Great Britain & Ireland, and the teams had completed their practice rounds, leaving the course wide open for a walk. The weather was gorgeous, and I ventured out to do a reverse loop of the 18th through 15th holes—a jaw-dropping stretch that rivals any piece of land in the world.
What I didn’t know is that I’d be the only person making that trip over that next hour. Other than a few stray workers in golf carts and a large deer I saw grazing near the 18th fairway, it was just me in the serenity and exquisite beauty of Cypress Point, and I can’t properly articulate the emotions I was feeling, other than saying it was some mushy mix of joy, gratitude and humility.
Among the highlights: walking along the cliff’s edge of the 17th fairway, where there’s a beautiful little cove on the left side, toward the 16th green; standing on the fringe at 16 and looking back across the watery chasm to the tee; of course, then standing on the tee at 16 to get the mirror view of one of the most iconic holes in the world; and, finally, the walk along the par-3 15th that is my favorite hole at Cypress. I smiled at the special treat on the green, where a lonesome-looking Walker Cup trophy was placed on the edge, to be later visited for drone footage.
The 15th green at Cypress Point.
Did I wish I had a golf club in my hand for this little journey? Maybe you’ll be appalled that my answer is no. It can sometimes feel that even at the most extraordinary courses, we can be so myopic, letting a swing or a score overshadow what we should be appreciating. I know that happened to me during the one and only time I was fortunate enough to play Cypress Point years ago. I cherished that opportunity, for sure, but regretted later not soaking up the entire experience more.
I ventured to the Walker Cup telling myself that I would appreciate every craggy tree, every steep dune, every nuance to Alister MacKenzie’s masterpiece. I believe I pulled that off for four glorious days at a competition that is unlike any other in the game, and Cypress Point and the Walker Cup mean more to me than ever before.
Still, I know the color and detail of watching the golf will blend and fade over time. Sadly, they always do. But the memories from an opportunity taken and a walk made never will. —Tod Leonard
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Almost without exception my favorite golf memories are made at my home club, Rock Ridge C.C. in Newtown, Conn. This year was no different. However, in a nod to web editor Sam Weinman’s book Win at Losing, my top memory came in defeat.
The annual member-guest is my favorite week on the golf calendar but in the last five years two things happened. COVID, weddings, business commitments and eye surgery kept me and my partner, colleague Mike Stachura, from pairing up all but once. We also had a dry run of making the horse race shootout for overall champion. It looked like both would continue as Stach had shoulder surgery in January and was told playing by July was a longshot.
Unbelievably, he made it back. However, he had not hit a ball on a golf course until the day before the member-guest started. I’ll spare you blow-by-blow. He played well, I played good enough and we won our flight.
In the horse race, where teams are eliminated on each hole, we won three chip-offs in a row to advance to the final. Waiting for us was Eugene Singer and his guest, Marc Wolpert from PGA West. I was conflicted.
Eugene is a close friend and universally loved. He’s also my member-member partner. As anyone who belongs to a club knows, getting your name on a board is a big deal. Euge had pitched a shutout. Making matters worse: He couldn’t play the member-member this year and I won it with a substitute partner. Ouch!
On the green I found myself standing next to Marc and said something along the lines of “I almost want you guys to win this more than us.” I wasn’t tanking by any means, but I meant it. And indeed, they did win.
Eugene (right) was a very happy winner.
I was barely disappointed. I got to play with Stach, we exceeded expectations and Euge will finally get his name on a board. Five months later I feel even better about it. Win at losing, indeed. —E. Michael Johnson
Look who's watching
I missed witnessing golf history in person—and I’m completely fine with it. After being at Augusta National from Monday through Sunday, I flew home ahead of the final round as Rory McIlroy attempted to finally win an elusive green jacket and complete the career Grand Slam. As is always the case when I’m home for big events, I set up shop in the basement. Only a funny thing happened this time as I had some unexpected company.
My 7-year-old daughter wandered downstairs to watch and quickly aligned with me on my Rory rooting interest. (Sorry, Justin Rose, you’re the man, but McIlroy was the better story.) At first, I thought she was just trying to delay bedtime, but she genuinely and surprisingly seemed into it. And when that final putt went in, she cheered as much as I did and didn’t question seeing her dad shed a few tears as Rory pounded the ground. What an amazing moment for McIlroy and all golf fans. Even for those just getting into the sport. Oh, and I was at Augusta for the last playoff that also happened to involve Rose (Sorry, again, Justin), and I couldn’t see anything. So being in my basement was actually better.
Anyway, for a second straight year, Julia tried some golf lessons before losing interest. So, McIlroy’s moment didn’t quite translate into a love of being on the course. But a couple months later, she was back in our basement watching the end of the U.S. Open with me. For some reason, she gravitated to J.J. Spaun, and she celebrated when that final bomb of a putt dropped like she had when McIlroy won the Masters. While I may not have found another golf playing partner yet, I’m hopeful that I at least have a new golf watching buddy for many years to come. —Alex Myers
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I was at Augusta National on Sunday during the final round of the Masters to see Rory McIlroy capture the career Grand Slam. It was wonderful, but it doesn’t top my list of best memories this year. I will never take for granted covering a historical event like that, but when you reach my age, the things you remember are the places you play with those you love the most.
Back in February, my son and I were watching the final round of the AT&T Pebble Beach Pro-Am and while McIlroy was putting his finishing touches on winning the championship, my son mentioned how much he loved Pebble Beach. The next day I made some calls and came up with an epic trip—as his high-school graduation gift—for us to head to Pebble in April. We played Pasatiempo, Pacific Grove, Spyglass Hill and topped it all off with Pebble Beach. We stayed at the Lodge, the weather was glorious, the trip was perfect. He birdied the 18th hole at Pebble and I nearly shed a tear. I told him that for the rest of his life, when he watches Pebble on television or speaks to anyone about the glorious place, he’ll always be able to say he birdied the famed hole.
Yet, that may not be my favorite moment. In early June, while having dinner with my buddy Tim, I told him I had tickets to the British Open but didn’t know what to do with them. After a few too many drinks, we vowed to talk more about putting together a last-minute trip with our boys. I called my friends at Irish Links and within 48 hours they had put together an epic trip where we’d play six rounds in five days. We flew into Dublin, drove north, attended the third round of the Open at Royal Portrush then went on our way—Portsalon, all three courses at Rosapenna, Narin & Portnoo and Donegal. The final totals: 108 holes played, 37.9 miles walked, 70,961 total steps, 91 floors climbed, zero holes played in the rain.
The dinners, the car rides, the stories, the laughs, the golf … to be able to do something like that with my son, my buddy and his son … priceless. Blessed. Long live this great game and the places it can take you. —Jay Coffin
The Rory Story
There’s no cheering in the press box. At least that’s what they taught for the longest time in journalism class. Before flagging me for breaking the once cardinal rule, I contend that I wasn’t rooting for Rory McIlroy to win the Masters as the drama unfolded while working in the press box that Sunday afternoon at Augusta National. It was more that I was rooting for McIlroy not to lose (again).
I’ve been fortunate to cover McIlroy from his big hair days as an amateur at the 2007 Open Championship and Walker Cup. I was at the 2011 Masters when the young pro looked like he was cruising to a first major title only to crumble on the back nine. I then saw him bounce back to win four majors over the next three years … only to struggle the past decade to win one more. More to the point, I’ve heard him poignantly talk about putting himself in the arena with the goal of one day finally reaching his dream, and empathized for him as he continued to come up short.
All this explains why the roller coaster of a final round last April produced in me emotions I don’t quite remember ever feeling covering a golf tournament. The Tiger Slam in 2001 was amazing for the history it represented. And Tiger’s 2019 Masters win left me with more of a “can you believe this just happened?!?” reaction. But Rory finally shedding the Augusta heartbreak, well, it just came with it different feeling as he looked to be in control on the front nine. Which was why it felt so wretched when he hit the shot into the water on 13 and all, once again, felt lost. Until the shot on 15, when the triumph looked likely once more. Only to see him miss the putt on 18.
Mercy.
When Rory made the birdie in the playoff, it was finally over. I can’t really imagine what it would have been like writing about another loss that night, and what McIlroy might have had to do to bounce back from this one. How would we all bounce back from this one?
The video of McIlroy in his moment of glory is mesmerizing. There are no words (literally) … only raw emotions encapsulating the relief and joy Rory was feeling, but also what much of the collective golf world was feeling too.
“What are we all going to talk about next year?” Rory joked to open his press conference after his win. Thankfully anything but the one that got away. —Ryan Herrington
Good deeds rewarded
My favorite golf memory of the year was all the new people I met and stories I had the pleasure of sharing. The people are always the best part about sports.
The golfer I met that stood out most, however, was Mo Martin. I’d never met the former LPGA golfer before this year, and the circumstances were hatched out of tragedy. Martin’s longtime family home in Altadena burned to the ground in the Eaton Fire, along with countless homes in the community. Thank goodness her family was OK. All of her golf memorabilia, including her AIG Women’s Open trophy from her 2014 victory, burned. Martin eagled the 18th hole at Royal Birkdale in England for a dramatic win, and shockingly, the original trophy was found in the rubble as a burned-beyond-recognition souvenir. It’s still special.
Martin opened her South Bay home to her mom and brother and the family’s four dogs becoming a lifeline for the family. There was a lot of love in the home. I talked to her several times throughout the year and got to help her share her story, one that continued throughout the year.
Jill poses with Mo Martin (right) in California earlier this year.
So many folks reached out to the R&A after learning about her burned trophy, and six months later, thanks to the governing body, she had a replica. I was there to see her unbox it with her family, and it was such a meaningful gesture in a difficult time. She hadn’t displayed the trophy in her house since her family was such a big support in her golf career. That’s why it was in living room of the family’s 1,000-square-foot home in Altadena.
Former golf teammates, friends and neighbors reached out to Martin and immediately dropped off clothes for her family, food for the dogs and gift cards to help with anything they needed. It was a lesson that the golf community is loyal, strong and loving.
Martin helped her family and the golf community helped her, and it was such a heartwarming story to witness. —Jill Painter Lopez
When my kid became a walker
“Cushy” is the best single word to describe my son’s introduction to golf. Goldfish, candy, high-fives, endless mulligans and untucked shirts. Literally, we’ve built castles in the sand. Earl Woods I am not. Bo turned 7 this summer, and we played all our golf in the evenings, safe from the disapproving glances of a sterner generation sitting down to their early dinners.
In Golf Digest’s June Issue, I oversaw a package called “How to Not Become a Crazy Golf Parent” whose central message was to keep it fun throughout all the trials that come with learning this hard game. Very much so, the good journalism of my colleagues informed the summer I spent with my child. As correct as I felt (look at what the leading psychologists say!) shaping the country club experience to be less intimidating to Bo, one thing that bothered me was taking a cart. For so many reasons—pace of play, a cupholder for the sugary soda I bought him, an exit strategy should his legs or attention give out—riding seemed the way to go. Looking around, it’s what all the other dads did at our course, too.
But I am a walker. I’m not pretentious about it, ask around, but I believe all golf courses are meant to be walked unless you have a medical reason not to. It rankled me to be introducing my son to the game I love most in a manner that I do not love.
So, one evening, I ripped off the band-aid. Bo’s small carry bag with three clubs weighs almost nothing, but psychologically, it’s like a yoke upon his neck. He also gets confused by the double shoulder straps. I knew it would be easiest for me to carry his bag like a briefcase and mine the normal way.
On the first hole I handed Bo his driver, which is 22 degrees. He can tee his ball and typically gets it airborne. After he did so, I told him to go hit it again. He sprinted 50 yards down the fairway carrying his club and hit it again. At this moment, I recognized two things I should’ve long before. First, due to a quirk of launch, spin, roll and equipment at this low swing speed, Bo hits a low stinger with no tee much farther. The whole summer that I had been teeing it in the fairway for him was actually working against him. Second, he loves to run. The strategy became clear: Let him have at it with the 22-degree, then hand him his wedge or putter when he got near the green.
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We played nine holes in an hour and 20 minutes. We’ve walked every round since. And he’s forgotten about the soda. —Max Adler
The best kind of nervous
I’ve never thrown up on a tee box, but standing on the first hole of the member-member shootout, with every cart at our club surrounding the green, a drone flying overhead and our pro calling out our names on a loudspeaker, I was pretty sure I might. The first hole of the shootout was a downhill par 3. Short, but treacherous. The tee box sits perched high above the green. Bunkers guard it short and left. A pond sits to the right. My partner and I had won our flight. So we were up on that elevated tee box playing against the winners of the other women’s flight, as well as the winners of all of the men’s flights. The format was alternate shot. I agreed to hit first.
I played DIII golf in college, but I’ve never felt nerves like these while holding a golf club. Probably because I’ve never been so unprepared for a competition. I hadn’t swung a club for the two weeks leading up to the member-member as I allowed some tendonitis to heal. And with two toddlers and a job, I sneak out when I can, but practice? Really prepare to hit any kind of decent shot under pressure? No.
My hands shook as I watched the first few guys hit. How am I going to hold the club? I drew in deep breaths and walked to the back of the tee. My logical mind tried to take control of the situation. This is just a pitching wedge. My body wasn’t prepared to listen to reason. The queasiness held, but didn’t worsen. I came to terms with the fact I was going to have to hit this shot, regardless of how much my body apparently didn’t want to. I laughed at myself. This is so ridiculous. But also, it was my reality. Just hit the shot.
I was able to get the tee into the ground and the ball steadily on top of it, which felt like a good start. My legs felt weak. My hands did everything they could to not stay on the club. Tempo, I said to myself, and pulled the club back.
A little fade, a little weak, but it landed in the fringe on the right side of the green and trickled into the rough. Safe. And not a terrible place for my partner, Lisa. I had survived.
“Good swing, Keely,” one of the guys said as I walked back to the edge of the tee box and let the next poor soul try to hit one under these most impossible circumstances. Did I actually make a good swing, while feeling like I was about to crumple to the ground? I decided to believe him. And the nerves began to evaporate. My partner and I continued to hit good shots, and when it was over, we were donned with green jackets for our victory. Each time we wear them to the club, we drink for free. For a year. A prize certainly worth the nerves.
Keely (left) with her victorious partner.
Since that day, I’ve not only enjoyed my free beers and Arnold Palmers, but also the privilege it is to care so much about something that doesn’t actually matter much at all. And appreciated how this game asks you, relentlessly, how you’re going to show up when things get hard. What a lucky thing to know, that even when it feels like you’re about to fail, there’s always a chance you can still make a good swing. —Keely Levins
Hitting more balls after a day of hitting balls
I’m sure most of these 2025 golf highlights will be centered on a career round, a hole-in-one or a trek to a historic course. This is certainly not that. Instead, this is 6.25 holes at Reunion Resort’s Arnold Palmer course.
I’ve been lucky enough to become a staple of the Gol Digest Hot List summit in Florida, which features an annual trip to The Happiest Place on Earth … Kissimmee, to test out and take notes on all the new golf equipment releasing the following year. Because it’s a bunch of golf sickos and junkies on an annual pilgrimage, the long hours of trying out new clubs are promptly followed by all of us rushing to get out onto the course to try to get a few holes in. The testers spend all day swinging away, requiring massages and more blister tape than should be possible, and yet, when they get a second to themselves, they’re back out on the course. It’s frankly inspiring (and slightly nauseating).
One afternoon—after all of the tents, launch monitors and golf balls were finally put away—I found myself hitting the course with fellow Golf Digesters Cara Gonzalez, Carley Strauss and JD Cuban. I wouldn’t say the golf itself was memorable, some good shots here, some nobody-saw-that-just-hit-it-again there, but it was a nice opportunity to unwind as the sun set on another day of Hot List.
We became fast friends with the cart girl. And drinks were had, why lie? As we got to the seventh hole, we realized we were running out of time, so we bypassed No. 7 and went straight to No. 8, wanting to hit one more long drive as the night approached.
We drilled our respective shots and tried to find our golf balls to no avail. They may still be sitting there. Evidence of a good time had by all. —Greg Gottfried
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We know from the time that we're young that life is temporary and good things pass, but unless that truth is brought home in devastating ways, we only understand it in the abstract. By the time we're older, there's no hiding, and it settles inside us, coloring our experience of the world. This can go as deep as an awareness of death, or as shallow as what I'm writing about today—the Ryder Cup-style tournament my friends and I play every fall.
It's called the Channels Cup, and this fall we held it at Hillandale Golf Course in Durham, N.C. It was the fifth installment, and we had more friends than ever, enough for 20 players on the course in each session. We hoped that we could avoid the blowouts of the last two years, when my team, called Carolinas & Canada, beat Team World by absurd margins, but as it turned out, we overcorrected, and Team World dusted us 15½-9½.
Even in the midst of another blowout, there were sparkling moments—my friend Ivan and I winning a tense opening match on the 18th hole, my friend Noodles and I playing (for our level) an almost perfect scramble match. My favorite moment, though, came when Team World won the trophy, and exploded together with three years of deferred joy:
Losing isn't fun, but this was a reminder of what we built and how much we cared, and it made up for a few shortcomings in the event itself. Where the Channels Cup goes from here is up in the air. I hope it lasts for decades, but the nice memories we've made can't insulate us from time and change. They are a little bit sweeter today than they might have been when I was younger, though, because I understand now that whether the end comes this year or 40 years hence, it's coming fast. —Shane Ryan
It’s all good
We were supposed to be deciding what to hit. Something between a bladed 4-iron or a chunked 3, but the shot had receded from consideration. The world spread beneath our feet at the fourth tee at Royal County Down, one of golf's most sublime vantage points at one of its most storied links, with the Open beginning the following morning. I'm typically a brisk player, but certain moments demand pause to think, How good is this?
I joined Golf Digest in June 2015. For those keeping score, this past summer marked my 10th anniversary here. It was a dream opportunity then, I'm fortunate it remains one now, and I work to ensure I never take that for granted. At the same time, I'm approaching 40, an inflection point where you assess how life is unfolding and how you want to spend what remains and whether adjustments are needed to reconcile the distance between ambition and reality. Having the luxury to weigh this is a privilege, but there is a weight that comes with contemplating the consequences of that decision.
I mention this because the assignment here is to share favorite memories. The truth is, every moment here, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Perhaps not the times I've been dressed down by agents upset with my reporting, or by media officials, or by editors—which in my mind often resembles a rogue detective getting hauled into the captain's office because the mayor is catching heat for something I wrote. I'm realizing now I get chewed out rather frequently, which likely says something about me. But even those uncomfortable moments, the times I fell short … it’s all been the best type of ride. The bucket-list experiences come easily: Royal County Down, major championships, the chance to examine some of the most compelling figures and narratives in golf. But I value all of it.
So I end this ramble as a thank you. To readers for allowing us to do this, to coworkers to have become family. I’m not a guy who takes many photos when I play golf, yet I was lucky that my colleague Will Irwin snapped this photo at the Royal County Down’s fourth. How good is this? Damn good, actually. —Joel Beall
