It’s the unofficial, unapproved, and highly regrettable round for the guys whose golf addiction outweighs their survival instinct. While the rest head to the airport like responsible adults, these heroes are out there chasing birdies and explaining to their wives why they 'missed the early flight… again.'

The winners walk in like they just won the Masters, and the rest of us nod politely while mentally drafting revenge arcs for next year. It’s hours of forced clapping, backhanded acknowledgments, and listening to Meyer explain his ‘strategy’ like he cracked the Da Vinci Code. Let’s just focus on not getting asked to leave.

Retreat lulls you in like it’s the chill one—then sucker punches you with doglegs and bunkers placed by a psychopath. By the 12th hole, you'll be blaming your clubs, the architect, and maybe your parents for ever letting you pick up the game.

It’s that magical evening where everyone pretends they’re ‘just happy to be here’ while secretly replaying every missed 4-footer like a war flashback. Smiles are fake, backs are tight, and nobody wants to talk about golf — unless they played well, in which case they won’t shut up.

Consider your group’s format and tees in light of the fact that there will be none if your round takes more than 4hrs. This goes for the earlier groups too who the last group must follow..

This one lures you in with wide fairways, then wrecks your ego with greens that roll like your ex’s mood swings. You'll feel like a hero on the front nine and a hostage on the back—classic bait and switch.

Hope you like wind, because Seaside’s gonna slap you around like it caught you texting its sister. You’ll spend 4 hours pretending to ‘work the ball’ while actually just aiming 40 yards left and praying.

The bus leaves at 7:00 sharp, not ‘7-ish,’ not ‘I was grabbing coffee’ — if you're not there, enjoy your Uber and the shame. If you can’t make it downstairs on time, maybe golf isn’t your sport — try something more forgiving, like Storey’s irons.

It’s the one night a year where grown men treat picking tee times like it’s the NFL Draft and they’re all GMs with drinking problems. Everyone shows up claiming they ‘didn’t really prepare,’ then suddenly has spreadsheets, stats, and a full-blown strategy to avoid playing against Tommy.