Jay Morrish considered it a “solid par 3.” That’s how the architect described the 16th hole at TPC Scottsdale, the design he completed in 1986 in collaboration with Tom Weiskopf (with input from Tour pro Howard Twitty).
In 1987, the newly unveiled course hosted its first Phoenix Open. The tournament never left. But most everything else went out the window. The event’s name changed. Equipment advanced. And a hole that Morrish envisioned as a 7- or 8-iron now plays for many pros as a baby wedge.
That’s the quiet part of the transformation. The rest has been ear-bleed loud.
Over nearly four decades in this patch of the Sonoran Desert, the WM Phoenix Open has evolved from lively to boisterous to outright bacchanal. And no hole better tracks that arc than the 16th, which began as a modest attention-grabber and morphed into a full-blown arena, with an atmosphere fit for a gladiator flick. Fans boo middling shots and use beer cups as projectiles. That’s when they’re being polite. Masters patrons they are not.
The hole did not become the Colosseum overnight. Tiger Woods’ ace in 1997 was the first key flashpoint in the 16th’s rise to renown. Or was it notoriety? The short-lived emergence of caddie races added another layer of zaniness, until tournament officials decided that loopers in a dash from tee to green was too much, even for this tournament. The competitions were banned after the 2013 event.
Nowadays, every player in the field knows what he’s in for. But over time, not all have reacted the same. Some have leaned into the chaos; others have bristled. In 2002, Chris DiMarco had a heckler removed for yelling “Noonan” as he stood over a putt, an incident that, in retrospect, may have been less about crowd control than controlling the use of Caddyshack clichés.
There was much more to come. In 2022, Harry Higgs lifted his shirt to proudly display his belly, and Joel Dahmen took his top off altogether, a moment that went viral and earned a reprimand from the PGA Tour. Tournament organizers have long walked a line, encouraging exuberance up to a point, yet always close to tipping over the edge. At times, they’ve had to pull things back from the brink. In 2024, wet weather and long delays turned parts of the property into a quagmire of over-served revelers.
Morrish, who died in 2015, was not subjected to that sight. But he lived long enough to form some firm opinions on the span of events. The evolution of clubs and balls, he said, had “destroyed the strategy” of the course’s closing stretch, while cultural shifts had turned a relatively simple-looking par 3 into “a rallying point for the unduly enthusiastic and sobriety-challenged portion of the gallery.”
One can only wonder what he’d make of the scene now: tens of thousands packed into grandstands, beers flowing by the gallon, bellies exposed in the stands on the greens, and noise levels on par with a NASCAR race. Love it or loathe, it will all be on display this week.