Metro Pulse/Gamut/Golden Tee

Comment
on this story

Geeks, gamers, and golfers—it’s golden

by Cassie J. Moore

It is only 8:15 on a Tuesday night, but the crowd inside Bailey's is partying hard. Men and women crowd the bar, yell sloppy jokes at each other across pool tables, and sing along to Top 40 hits blaring over the speakers. In the back, right hand corner, two men are taking turns at a video game. Between turns, they'll talk a little bit together, or watch Beyoncé Knowles wiggle on the TV screen, or take long pulls off their beers. But once they step up to play, it's all business.

Jason Howell, 24, sporting a baseball cap, polo shirt and jeans, plants himself firmly in front of one of three Golden Tee Fore! 2004 video games lining the wall. His feet are shoulder-length apart, his gaze intense. His fingers are nimble as they manipulate the little white ball that acts as a sophisticated joystick, accounting for virtual wind and weather conditions that the golfer on the screen is facing. Then he pulls back, and SMACK! The flat palm of his hand hits the little white ball in a fast, hard, but smooth motion. The representative golfer drives it almost 300 yards on the "Bluestone" course.

Howell, pleased, picks up his beer and his Marlboro, and stands back while his buddy, Ben Hazlewood, goes to line up the ball. Two other guys swagger up to the Golden Tee game next to Howell and Hazlewood. A single PGA Tour video game sits on the opposite wall, ignored in the face of what is currently the most popular quarter-eater this side of Pacman.

But the Tee doesn't mess with chump change. Revenue from the game this year is projected between $350 and $450 million for distributors and bar owners. Tonight, Howell has played two eighteen-hole games with Hazlewood, spending a total of $6 on Golden Tee. He generally goes out to play at Bailey's, O'Charley's, or Charlie Peppers an average of two nights a week for about three games per night, spending nearly $20 per week on the game. Multiply that by 10 million other 21-35 year old guys, mix in national on-line tournaments and a National Golden Tee Championship, splash with millions of pitchers of beer and a healthy dose of competitive camaraderie, and you've got a phenomenon of a pastime.

Valerie Cognevich, editor of Play Meter magazine, says when Tee first came out in 1995, it was a gaming revolution. "Our industry has had significant gains that seem to make a difference," she says. "When Golden Tee came out, it was unique because it was set up as an on-line tournament. Everybody talks about on-line this and on-line that—we're attuned to it now—but back in the late '90s, that was something new that operators could really push."

Cognevich also says Tee is non-threatening, and therefore open to whoever wants to play. "It's not intimidating. Everybody knows what golf is. You can just go up and try to hit the ball. You're not going to feel stupid going up to it and trying to figure out what to do. You don't get stressed out playing it. It is relaxing."

She's right—Howell insists that I play, and it's not difficult. "C'mon, just three holes. I'll play with you," he says. He tries to tell me how to line up a shot, but when I hesitate, he does it for me, leaving me with the fun part. I back up a little and shoot my arm out, spinning my ball well over 200 yards. It feels good. There is no one to fight, no ghosts to dodge, just me and the ball and the hole. I'm left with a craving to see how much farther I can go.

"Good job!" he says and gives me what is probably my first ever sports-related high-five. He sends me off with a list of Tee hot spots around town. Late Saturday night, I figure there'll be lots of Tee action, so I go over to the Charlie Peppers on Morrell Road. The place is crowded and loud. Inside, I spot Dave Fri and Tim Ellison. Their dance is familiar—one man steps up to play while the other sips his beer. When they finish their game, they're mobbed—women grin and flirt, men rush in to ask questions. I have to jostle up to Fri, and when I ask him about Tee, he slyly pulls out his Golden Tee Gold Card. Apparently, this club has memberships.

"Basically it means you're a real geek," he says about the card. "We used to laugh at people who got them. When you have the card, you can play league play. All it does is track your stats, it keeps track of birdies, eagles.... You can go on-line and see your stats, if you want to," he says. For an extra dollar per game, players can go on-line and compete nationally. Companies like Michelob sponsor national on-line tournaments, although Fri says he's not good enough to win tournaments. His longest drive on Golden Tee is 401 yards.

Fri, 31, says he got into Golden Tee about four years ago via other bar games. He likes darts and pool, but says some of his favorite bars don't have dart boards or pool tables. And when he'd go out to drink after an actual round of golf, the virtual version was the logical next step.

"My friends and I used to play real golf every Friday last year," he says. "You're at the bar talking about golf with your friends and then there's a golf game there, so you play it." Howell also enjoys outdoor golf. But 18 holes on a real course can take half a day—Golden Tee satisfies the golf fix quickly and comparatively inexpensively. And it satisfies a social fix, as well.

"It's very social. That's the best part about it," says Jeff Epperson, a 27-year-old tournament player. "I mean there's the money, people gamble...but you meet a lot of great people. I played with a bunch of guys from Vegas who were in town for the bowling tournament. We hooked up on the Internet, went out, drank beer and played golf all night."

Of all the men I have met on my Golden Tee tour, Epperson is the most obsessed. But he's laid-back enough, friendly, and right at home at Rooster's on Northshore. I found him on-line, where his stats are listed (like Fri, he has a Gold Card). He's in the "bronze" division of tournament play, which is the entry division.

"There's an on-line tournament every month, from the first to the 21st. It cuts off on the 21st, and you collect your check," Epperson says. "It's an easy 25, 50 dollars. I haven't moved up to silver...that takes a lot of money. It normally takes about 100 bucks to get 100 bucks out."

Players move from bronze to silver, then gold. But Epperson says it takes a lot of practice to get to the gold division, and practice takes money. Already, he goes out three or four nights a week, for about four or five games per night, spending anywhere from $40-$60 per week on the game—beer not included. That's why, like many Tee players before him, he's considering buying his own $4,000 game.

"I'm still deciding. It's a possibility. I'd probably keep it at home for a few months and then put it in a bar. There's a couple of tournaments coming up—Atlanta later this month, and Vegas is in January. So it'd be for practice," Eppperson says.

Amazingly, he says he plays less Golden Tee than he used to. He started playing almost three years ago, when a friend of his got laid off from work and suddenly had a lot of time to go out drinking. Epperson, a self-described video game junkie, says it wasn't long before he was spending lots of time at the bars.

"I was addicted for awhile, but it's calmed down. I was going out six, seven nights a week. You know, I'd just go out for an hour two at night, maybe after work, and come home at 9 o'clock, drunk. Not good," he says. One of the reasons he calmed down was his wife. "I told the wife if she'd get a job down here (at Rooster's), we'd see a lot more of each other," he jokes. "She hasn't gone for it."

It's true—the fairer sex seems to avoid Golden Tee play. Only 10 percent of players are women. I heard rumors of female players, but never saw one in action. Although there is nothing inherent about Tee that would prevent a woman from indulging, the game seems to be, at its core, a vehicle for male friendship. The men I talked with mention their male friends more than the beer, more than the money, even more than the game itself.

"For guys, especially the older we get, the less sporting activities we're involved in. Games like Golden Tee, you can still do all the guy stuff you would do in other sports, you know—rub it in if you beat somebody, get real competitive," Howell says, and I get it. Instead of a smoky bar and an oversized video game, I suddenly see an open ball field, little boys running and yelling with the exhilaration of winning. I see who these guys were 15, 20 years ago, and how they play Tee now to make and keep friends the way they did back then—through competition. And the obsession starts making sense.