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Winter is Ruining Your Golf Game—Here’s How to Survive Until Spring

Surviving the Brutal Wait for Spring’s Glorious Return

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Ah, winter—a time of holiday cheer, cozy sweaters, and absolute, soul-crushing misery for golfers everywhere. As the latest round of winter storms batter the U.S., dumping snow where we don’t want it (on our fairways) and ice where we don’t need it (on our driveways), we golfers find ourselves trapped in a seasonal purgatory, longing for the smell of freshly cut grass and the sweet, soul-redeeming sound of a well-struck 7-iron.

If you’re like me, you’ve started to wonder: Is spring ever coming? Or is golf now just a distant memory, a sport we once played before Mother Nature decided we needed an extended lesson in patience?

The 5 Stages of Golf Winter Withdrawal

  1. Denial: “It’s fine. Winter won’t last that long. I’ll be back on the course in no time.”
  2. Anger: “WHY do I live in a place where my driver spends more time in the garage than in my hands?”
  3. Bargaining: “Maybe if I buy an indoor putting mat, it’ll feel like the real thing? Maybe?”
  4. Depression: “Is watching old Masters highlights at 2 AM healthy? Asking for a friend.”
  5. Acceptance: “Guess I’ll just work on my swing in the mirror until April. Or move to Florida.”

The Snow-Covered Fairway Blues

Somewhere out there, our favorite golf courses are suffering. Once lush fairways now sit buried under six inches of snow, tee boxes frozen solid, and bunkers transformed into icy death traps. A cruel joke, really—Mother Nature took our sand hazards and said, “Here, let me make this worse.”

And yet, we dream. We dream of that first warm day when the snow finally melts, and the smell of spring fills the air. That first glorious tee shot—likely a slice after months of rust—will still feel like the best shot we’ve ever hit. Until then, we sit, bundled up indoors, questioning every life choice that led us to live somewhere that experiences seasons.

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Indoor Golf: A Poor Substitute for the Real Thing

Some of us turn to golf simulators to get our fix, stepping into an artificial paradise where every shot is met with a digital readout rather than a real-world outcome. Sure, it’s fun, but let’s be honest—it’s not the same.

You know what’s missing? The smell of the grass. The feel of the wind. The guy in your foursome who takes five practice swings and still tops the ball 30 yards. Golf is a sensory experience, and no amount of indoor screens can truly replace the joy of walking down a sun-drenched fairway, feeling like you might break 80 today (but probably won’t).

Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

As winter drags on, golfers get creative. Maybe you’ve chipped foam balls in your living room, narrowly avoiding a disaster with the ceiling fan. Maybe you’ve tried putting into a coffee mug, pretending it’s the final hole at Augusta. Maybe you’ve looked longingly at your clubs, whispering, “Soon, my loves. Soon.”

Whatever your coping mechanism, just know—you’re not alone. Golfers everywhere are suffering in silence, counting down the days until the courses reopen and we can finally, finally duff a wedge shot in real grass instead of on our living room carpet.

Hope Springs Eternal (Eventually)

Yes, winter is cruel. Yes, the storms will keep coming. But, fellow golfers, our time will come. The snow will melt, the courses will reopen, and we’ll once again complain about slow play and missed putts under the warm spring sun.

Until then, keep your head down, keep your grip loose, and try not to lose your mind while waiting for golf season to return. And if all else fails—maybe it’s time to book that trip to Arizona or Florida. Just saying.

Stay strong, my fellow golf-deprived souls. Warmer days are coming.

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Meet The Canadian Open Qualifier Tied To ClickIt Golf!

“This week was incredible,” he said. “A dream come true.”

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Josh Goldenberg doesn’t plan to quit his day job. But he had a great time dabbling in his old career.

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He gave up on pro golf, then qualified for his first PGA Tour event.

Read the full story here
https://golf.com/news/josh-goldenberg-rbc-canadian-open/?amp=1

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Bets & Babes: Betting on Birdies

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In this latest episode of Bets and Babes join me and my special guest Robert from the World Series of Golf as we tee up a whole new way to think about betting on the green.

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We break down golf betting basics, share hilarious stories and talk about how to bet in a way that might resonate with us ladies.

Whether you’re a total newbie or just curious how to make golf Sundays more exciting, this episode delivers fun, flirty, and smart tips to get you in the game. 🎧⛳💸

Click below to listen to the entire episode and leave your comments and suggestions for future episodes.

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The Bogey Man’s Guide to Accidental Course Exploration: Or, How I Found My Ball (Eventually) in the Rough of Life

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Ah, golf. The gentle game of precision, patience, and occasionally, profound personal humiliation. You know, the kind that makes you question all your life choices, particularly the one where you decided to spend your Saturday morning chasing a tiny white ball around 18 acres of manicured torture.

Boo here, reporting live from the depths of a particularly thorny patch of “rough” that I’m fairly certain wasn’t on the course map. My mission? To recount a tale of a golf shot so spectacularly off-target, it became less about breaking par and more about breaking new ground. Literally.

It was a glorious Tuesday. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and my swing felt… well, it felt like something. I was on the par-4 7th, a hole notorious for its deceptive dogleg and a bunker that swallows balls faster than a hungry teenager devours pizza. My plan was simple: a nice, controlled fade, landing gently just short of the green. A textbook approach, really.

What actually happened was less “textbook” and more “abstract expressionism.” My driver, bless its misguided heart, decided that “fade” was merely a suggestion, and “controlled” was a concept best left to professional pilots. The ball, a brand-new, gleaming Titleist Pro V1 (because, you know, optimism), launched with the trajectory of a startled pheasant and veered sharply right. So sharply, in fact, it cleared the cart path, hopped over the maintenance shed, and disappeared into what I can only describe as a dense, untamed jungle previously known as “the woods bordering the 7th fairway.”

Now, a lesser golfer, a more sensible golfer, might have declared it lost, taken a drop, and moved on with their dignity mostly intact. But I, dear readers, am Mr. Bogey Man. And the Bogey Man doesn’t abandon his children, especially when they cost $5 a pop.

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So, armed with a 7-iron (optimism again, clearly), a profound sense of misplaced determination, and a faint hope that perhaps a deer had picked it up and was using it as a chew toy, I plunged into the abyss.

The first five minutes were a blur of tangled vines, unseen roots, and the distinct feeling that I was being watched by small, judgmental woodland creatures. My pristine golf shoes quickly became mud-caked relics. My carefully tucked-in shirt became a casualty of low-hanging branches. I swear, I heard a squirrel snicker.

Then, a glimmer! A flash of white amidst the green. “Aha!” I cried, startling a family of robins. I pushed through a particularly stubborn bush, only to find… a discarded plastic water bottle. My heart sank faster than my last putt from 3 feet.

I pressed on, muttering to myself about the unfairness of golf, the existential dread of lost balls, and whether it was too late to take up competitive napping. Just as I was about to give up and declare the ball a permanent resident of the arboreal underworld, I saw it. Nestled perfectly at the base of an ancient oak, gleaming defiantly, was my Pro V1.

The triumph! The sheer, unadulterated joy! It was like finding the Holy Grail, if the Holy Grail was spherical and prone to slicing. I carefully extracted it, brushed off a few leaves, and held it aloft.

Then I looked around. I had no idea where I was. The fairway was a distant, hazy memory. The cart path? A myth. I was utterly, gloriously lost.

It took another fifteen minutes of bushwhacking, a brief but intense wrestling match with a particularly aggressive thistle, and the accidental discovery of what I’m pretty sure was a very old, very moldy sandwich, but I eventually stumbled back onto the course. My playing partners, who had long since finished the hole and were contemplating sending out a search party (or at least ordering another round of drinks), looked at me with a mixture of pity and amusement.

My score on the 7th? Let’s just say it involved a number that would make a mathematician weep. But the story? The adventure? The sheer ridiculousness of it all? Priceless.

So, the next time your ball decides to take an unscheduled tour of the local flora and fauna, don’t despair. Embrace it. See it as an opportunity for accidental exploration. You might not break 80, but you’ll definitely have a story. And isn’t that what golf is really about? (Besides the frustration, the lost balls, and the occasional snickering squirrel, of course.)

Until next time, keep those swings (mostly) in bounds, and remember: even a bogey can be an adventure.

Boo

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