I absolutely adore a good session of digital golf. Seriously, I’m a huge fan—I even have a Golden Tee arcade machine at home. Back in my teenage years, EA’s Tiger Woods games were my ultimate comfort zone, something I’d dive into to relax. Now, as an adult who owns a set of real golf clubs that gather more dust than mileage, due to my hectic schedule, I realize a golf video game is just what I need to bridge that gap in my life.
With some room for gaming, I thought PGA Tour 2K25 might be my latest go-to. I enjoyed 2K’s initial venture into golf simulations when it first arrived, so it seemed a safer bet compared to EA’s alternative. I eagerly hopped onto Steam and confidently shelled out for the Premium Edition to get an early taste. Initially, I was ecstatic.
Revisiting my slightly hazy memories of the 2021 installment, this 2025 version from 2K is evidently polished to perfection. Everything about it—sleek, refined, and more intuitive—makes it a delight to play. The assists system particularly caught my eye, reminiscent of racing games like Forza Motorsport, striking a delightful balance between realistic simulation and fast-paced arcade excitement.
Imagine the nostalgia—playing a game that echoes the golden days of the PS2-era EA Tiger Woods games rewards your custom career player with all the experience points for each round. The fewer assists you use, the more EXP you rack up.
Here’s where the racing analogy fits perfectly. In Forza, I ditch the racing line for an EXP boost. Similarly, here I challenge myself by turning off assists like crosswind compensation, yet I happily leave the putting aids on, given my less-than-stellar skills on the green.
With my settings fine-tuned, I was on course to earn 120% of the standard EXP gain. More seasoned players could rake in even higher rewards.
Experience points are crucial—they unlock rewards, boost your player’s level, and provide currency for gear. I find its ease with assists compelling, knowing I can tweak the settings for a more challenging experience if desired.
Another commendable feature is the career mode’s flexibility—you’re not compelled to play every single hole. The default might have you tackling four or five holes per round, letting AI handle the rest. It’s laid-back, but you can switch to manually play each hole if you wish. Beyond the main course, there are training mini-games, press conferences, and rivalries to keep you entertained.
This blend of serious sports sim and fun-loving gameplay brings back what I cherished about earlier golf games. Golf’s accessibility in real life—you can grab some second-hand clubs and hit the course with friends for next to nothing—is mirrored in the gaming realm, offering a high-level, career-like experience with a relaxation-first approach—unlike real life where it’s anxiety-inducing for me.
However, there’s a downside lurking within the game. For all the excellent golfing action, a troubling element runs beneath PGA 2K25. It became more evident with the game’s first quiet update.
Your virtual golf hero’s evolution hinges on spending in-game currency, which you either earn or purchase. Need new clubs? That’s VC. Want to boost your character’s golfing prowess? Hand over some VC!
While common in many games, with currency unlocking progression, and even though selling it for real-world money feels shady, 2K pushes its limits.
Once the game launched, it tweaked the VC earning rate negatively from its early access phase, worsening what was already a lengthy grind. Fans on Reddit calculated that leveling to 99 now takes 214 hours, up from 92, and VC costs for progress necessities have surged by up to 60%. It seems 2K thought the pre-release pace wasn’t slow enough to encourage extra spending, prompting a rapid adjustment post-launch.
Immediately, I felt the slower VC accumulation myself, unaware of the community uproar until I checked Reddit. Steam reviews harshly criticize the game, notably mentioning “greedy” and “predatory” practices. My two cents: it’s pretty “disgusting.”
Initially thrilled with PGA Tour 2K25, this has deflated my enjoyment. My earlier gripe—cumbersome menus—is now overshadowed by a cash-grabbing progression system. One that feels suited for a mobile game instead of a premium console experience, closely tying online competition to either relentless grinding or opening your wallet.
Frankly, this nonsense might be acceptable in free-to-play models, but for a game people paid over a hundred pounds for, it’s laughably bad. It eclipses an otherwise outstanding golf game experience, arguably the best in a decade. Like botched putts spoiling a great round, 2K crafted something brilliant but marred it with greed. What a pity.
