Ah, the Waste Management Open—golf’s rowdiest, booziest, most gloriously unhinged tournament. If Augusta is a pristine cathedral of the sport, the WM Open is a frat party with a dress code. And honestly? It’s perfect.
Let’s be real, nobody’s coming to TPC Scottsdale to admire the purity of a well-struck 7-iron. No, they’re here to crush beers, heckle the pros, and—if history has taught us anything—make incredibly poor life choices in broad daylight.
The Stadium Hole: Where Dignity Goes to Die
Hole 16 at TPC Scottsdale is the Colosseum of Chaos, where inebriated spectators transform into an unruly mob, ready to erupt over the slightest of triumphs—or failures. Hit a good shot? Roars of approval. Chunk one into the bunker? Prepare for a verbal beating usually reserved for out-of-town quarterbacks. This is the only place on the PGA Tour where golfers feel like they’re teeing off inside a Las Vegas nightclub at 2 a.m.
By noon, the crowd is a beautiful disaster of sunburned bros, tequila-fueled bachelorettes, and corporate executives who left their professionalism at the entrance. “Networking event” my ass—Chad from accounting just did a keg stand and lost a bet that resulted in his new nickname, “Shoeless Chad.”
The Drinks Flow Like the Tears of PGA Officials
Some tournaments are known for their rich history. The Waste Management Open is known for its legendary hangovers. Beer cans stack up like mini skyscrapers, overpriced cocktails disappear in seconds, and someone inevitably treats a $19 hard seltzer like it’s a hydration strategy. By Saturday afternoon, the crowd-to-blood-alcohol-ratio starts to resemble a tailgate at the Super Bowl, and the leaderboard might as well be written in hieroglyphics for all they care.
The real winners of this tournament? The Uber drivers cashing in on the mass exodus of stumbling golf fans attempting to negotiate surge pricing while still wearing sunglasses at 8 p.m.
Sunday Sorries, Sponsored by Bad Decisions
After four days of partying disguised as a golf tournament, reality starts to set in. The bleary-eyed survivors emerge, clutching Pedialyte bottles like they contain the secrets of the universe. Golfers pack up their bags, Scottsdale’s bartenders take a well-earned nap, and thousands of fans spend the next 48 hours contemplating their life choices.
And yet, next year, they’ll be back. Ready to drink, cheer, boo, and witness the most entertaining spectacle in golf. The Wasted Management Open is a tradition like no other—one part sport, two parts spring break, and 100% mayhem.
See you next year, degenerates. Bring your Advil.