An unintended consequence of the golf boom
The two best things to come out of Scotland are golf and economic theory. Adam Smith, born in Kirkcaldy in 1723, formalized the mechanics of supply and demand in The Wealth of Nations , writing, “It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest. ” Smith didn’t mention golf facility operators and tee times specifically, but of course his “invisible hand” sets prices there, too.
Why is this so topical for America in 2026? The huzzah records of the post-COVID golf boom—the National Golf Foundation reports 48. 1 million Americans played golf or hit balls last year, 3.
3 million beginners tried the course, total rounds are up 16 percent, and on and on—have everyone in the golf biz clinking glasses after two lean decades. While soaring initiations at private clubs and elevated green fees at high-profile resorts have made for bug-eyed conversation, the heart of golf has stayed in check. The average 18-hole public round costs $41—a 27 percent increase since 2019 that’s in lockstep with inflation.
But there’s an unintended consequence of this positive momentum that defies statistical description: How many junior golfers are getting squeezed amid the surge in demand? The other afternoon I was picking up a repaired club from a golf studio in my hometown. It was stunning spring weather, and being the cornball dad I’ve become, I asked the kids hanging around the simulators why they weren’t outside playing real golf.
One by one, they gravely cited the tee-sheet situation at every course in the area. For all the wonderful new programs and initiatives that put golf clubs in small hands, it can be easy to forget that the general psyche of the junior player mostly remains unchanged. They’re easily intimidated, and know that the restrictions on when they can play always stand to tighten whether they remember to keep their shirt tucked in or not.